jane eyre-凯发k8官网

a splendid midsummer shone over england: skies so pure, suns so radiant as were then seen in long succession, seldom favour even singly, our wave-girt land. it was as if a band of italian days had come from the south, like a flock of glorious passenger birds, and lighted to rest them on the cliffs of albion. the hay was all got in; the fields round thornfield were green and shorn; the roads white and baked; the trees were in their dark prime; hedge and wood, full-leaved and deeply ², contrasted well with the sunny ³ of the cleared meadows between.

on midsummer-eve, adele, weary with ⁴ wild strawberries in hay lane half the day, had gone to bed with the sun. i watched her drop asleep, and when i left her, i sought the garden.

it was now the sweetest hour of the twenty-four:- "day its ⁵ fires had wasted," and dew fell cool on panting plain and ⁶ summit. where the sun had gone down in simple state--pure of the pomp of clouds--spread a solemn purple, burning with the light of red jewel and furnace flame at one point, on one hill-peak, and extending high and wide, soft and still softer, over half heaven. the east had its own charm or fine deep blue, and its own modest ⁷, a casino and ⁸ star: soon it would boast the moon; but she was yet beneath the horizon.

i walked a while on the pavement; but a subtle, well-known ⁹-- that of a cigar--stole from some window; i saw the library ¹⁰ open a handbreadth; i knew i might be watched thence; so i went apart into the ¹¹. no nook in the grounds more sheltered and more eden-like; it was full of trees, it bloomed with flowers: a very high wall shut it out from the court, on one side; on the other, a ¹² avenue screened it from the lawn. at the bottom was a sunk fence; its sole separation from lonely fields: a ¹³ walk, bordered with ¹⁴ and terminating in a giant horse- ¹⁵, circled at the base by a seat, led down to the fence. here one could wander unseen. while such honey-dew fell, such silence ¹⁷, such gloaming gathered, i felt as if i could haunt such shade for ever; but in threading the flower and fruit parterres at the upper part of the enclosure, ¹⁸ there by the light the now rising moon cast on this more open quarter, my step is stayed-- not by sound, not by sight, but once more by a warning ¹⁹.

sweet-briar and southernwood, jasmine, pink, and rose have long been yielding their evening sacrifice of ²⁰: this new scent is neither of ²¹ nor flower; it is--i know it well--it is mr. rochester's cigar. i look round and i listen. i see trees ²² with ²³ fruit. i hear a nightingale warbling in a wood half a mile off; no moving form is visible, no coming step audible; but that perfume increases: i must flee. i make for the wicket leading to the shrubbery, and i see mr. rochester entering. i step aside into the ^{24 25}; he will not stay long: he will soon return whence he came, and if i sit still he will never see me.

but no--eventide is as pleasant to him as to me, and this antique garden as attractive; and he strolls on, now lifting the gooseberry- tree branches to look at the fruit, large as plums, with which they are laden; now taking a ripe cherry from the wall; now stooping towards a knot of flowers, either to ²⁷ their fragrance or to admire the dew-beads on their ²⁸. a great ²⁹ goes humming by me; it alights on a plant at mr. rochester's foot: he sees it, and bends to examine it.

"now, he has his back towards me," thought i, "and he is occupied too; perhaps, if i walk softly, i can slip away unnoticed."

i trode on an edging of turf that the crackle of the ^{30 31} might not betray me: he was ³² among the beds at a yard or two distant from where i had to pass; the moth ³³ engaged him. "i shall get by very well," i ³⁴. as i crossed his shadow, thrown long over the garden by the moon, not yet risen high, he said quietly, without turning -

"jane, come and look at this fellow."

i had made no noise: he had not eyes behind--could his shadow feel? i started at first, and then i approached him.

"look at his wings," said he, "he reminds me rather of a west indian insect; one does not often see so large and gay a night-rover in england; there! he is flown."

the moth roamed away. i was sheepishly retreating also; but mr. rochester followed me, and when we reached the wicket, he said -

"turn back: on so lovely a night it is a shame to sit in the house; and surely no one can wish to go to bed while sunset is thus at meeting with moonrise."

it is one of my faults, that though my tongue is sometimes prompt enough at an answer, there are times when it sadly fails me in framing an excuse; and always the ³⁶ occurs at some crisis, when a facile word or ^{37 38} is ³⁹ wanted to get me out of painful ⁴⁰. i did not like to walk at this hour alone with mr. rochester in the shadowy orchard; but i could not find a reason to ⁴¹ for leaving him. i followed with lagging step, and thoughts busily ⁴² on discovering a means of ⁴³; but he himself looked so composed and so grave also, i became ashamed of feeling any confusion: the evil--if evil existent or ⁴⁴ there was--seemed to lie with me only; his mind was unconscious and quiet.

"jane," he recommenced, as we entered the laurel walk, and slowly strayed down in the direction of the sunk fence and the horse- chestnut, "thornfield is a pleasant place in summer, is it not?"

"yes, sir."

"you must have become in some degree attached to the house,--you, who have an eye for natural beauties, and a good deal of the organ of ⁴⁵?"

"i am attached to it, indeed."

"and though i don't comprehend how it is, i perceive you have acquired a degree of regard for that foolish little child adele, too; and even for simple ⁴⁶ fairfax?"

"yes, sir; in different ways, i have an affection for both."

"and would be sorry to part with them?"

"yes."

"pity!" he said, and sighed and paused. "it is always the way of events in this life," he continued presently: "no sooner have you got settled in a pleasant resting-place, than a voice calls out to you to rise and move on, for the hour of ⁴⁷ is expired."

"must i move on, sir?" i asked. "must i leave thornfield?"

"i believe you must, jane. i am sorry, janet, but i believe indeed you must."

this was a blow: but i did not let it ⁴⁸ me.

"well, sir, i shall be ready when the order to march comes."

"it is come now--i must give it to-night."

"then you are going to be married, sir?"

"ex-act-ly--pre-cise-ly: with your usual acuteness, you have hit the nail straight on the head."

"soon, sir?"

"very soon, my--that is, miss eyre: and you'll remember, jane, the first time i, or ⁴⁹, plainly intimated to you that it was my intention to put my old bachelor's neck into the sacred ⁵⁰, to enter into the holy estate of matrimony--to take miss ingram to my ⁵¹, in short (she's an extensive armful: but that's not to the point--one can't have too much of such a very excellent thing as my beautiful blanche): well, as i was saying--listen to me, jane! you're not turning your head to look after more ⁵², are you? that was only a lady-clock, child, 'flying away home.' i wish to remind you that it was you who first said to me, with that ⁵³ i respect in you--with that ⁵⁴, ⁵⁵, and ⁵⁶ which befit your responsible and dependent position--that in case i married miss ingram, both you and little adele had better ⁵⁷ forthwith. i pass over the sort of ⁵⁸ conveyed in this suggestion on the character of my beloved; indeed, when you are far away, janet, i'll try to forget it: i shall notice only its wisdom; which is such that i have made it my law of action. adele must go to school; and you, miss eyre, must get a new situation."

"yes, sir, i will advertise immediately: and meantime, i suppose--" i was going to say, "i suppose i may stay here, till i find another shelter to betake myself to:" but i stopped, feeling it would not do to risk a long sentence, for my voice was not quite under command.

"in about a month i hope to be a bridegroom," continued mr. rochester; "and in the ⁵⁹, i shall myself look out for employment and an ⁶⁰ for you."

"thank you, sir; i am sorry to give--"

"oh, no need to apologise! i consider that when a dependent does her duty as well as you have done yours, she has a sort of claim upon her employer for any little assistance he can conveniently render her; indeed i have already, through my future mother-in-law, heard of a place that i think will suit: it is to undertake the education of the five daughters of mrs. dionysius o'gall of bitternutt ⁶¹, connaught, ireland. you'll like ireland, i think: they're such warm-hearted people there, they say."

"it is a long way off, sir."

"no matter--a girl of your sense will not object to the voyage or the distance."

"not the voyage, but the distance: and then the sea is a barrier--"

"from what, jane?"

"from england and from thornfield: and--"

"well?"

"from you, sir."

i said this almost involuntarily, and, with as little sanction of free will, my tears ⁶² out. i did not cry so as to be heard, however; i avoided ⁶³. the thought of mrs. o'gall and bitternutt lodge struck cold to my heart; and colder the thought of all the brine and ⁶⁴, ⁶⁵, as it seemed, to rush between me and the master at whose side i now walked, and coldest the remembrance of the wider ocean--wealth, caste, custom intervened between me and what i naturally and ⁶⁶ loved.

"it is a long way," i again said.

"it is, to be sure; and when you get to bitternutt lodge, connaught, ireland, i shall never see you again, jane: that's morally certain. i never go over to ireland, not having myself much of a fancy for the country. we have been good friends, jane; have we not?"

"yes, sir."

"and when friends are on the eve of separation, they like to spend the little time that ⁶⁷ to them close to each other. come! we'll talk over the voyage and the parting quietly half-an-hour or so, while the stars enter into their shining life up in heaven yonder: here is the chestnut tree: here is the bench at its old roots. come, we will sit there in peace to-night, though we should never more be destined to sit there together." he seated me and himself.

"it is a long way to ireland, janet, and i am sorry to send my little friend on such weary travels: but if i can't do better, how is it to be helped? are you anything ²⁶ to me, do you think, jane?"

i could risk no sort of answer by this time: my heart was still.

"because," he said, "i sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you--especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if i had a string somewhere under my left ⁶⁸, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string ⁶⁹ in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. and if that ⁷⁰ channel, and two hundred miles or so of land come broad between us, i am afraid that cord of communion will be snapt; and then i've a nervous notion i should take to bleeding inwardly. as for you,--you'd forget me."

"that i never should, sir: you know--" impossible to proceed.

"jane, do you hear that nightingale singing in the wood? listen!"

in listening, i ⁷¹ convulsively; for i could repress what i endured no longer; i was obliged to yield, and i was shaken from head to foot with acute ⁷². when i did speak, it was only to express an impetuous wish that i had never been born, or never come to thornfield.

"because you are sorry to leave it?"

the ⁷³ of emotion, stirred by grief and love within me, was claiming mastery, and struggling for full sway, and asserting a right to predominate, to overcome, to live, rise, and ¹⁶ at last: yes,--and to speak.

"i grieve to leave thornfield: i love thornfield:- i love it, because i have lived in it a full and ⁷⁴ life,--momentarily at least. i have not been ⁷⁵ on. i have not been ⁷⁶. i have not been buried with inferior minds, and excluded from every glimpse of communion with what is bright and energetic and high. i have talked, face to face, with what i ⁷⁷, with what i delight in,--with an original, a vigorous, an expanded mind. i have known you, mr. rochester; and it strikes me with terror and ⁷⁸ to feel i absolutely must be torn from you for ever. i see the necessity of departure; and it is like looking on the necessity of death."

"where do you see the necessity?" he asked suddenly.

"where? you, sir, have placed it before me."

"in what shape?"

"in the shape of miss ingram; a noble and beautiful woman,--your bride."

"my bride! what bride? i have no bride!"

"but you will have."

"yes;--i will!--i will!" he set his teeth.

"then i must go:- you have said it yourself."

"no: you must stay! i swear it--and the oath shall be kept."

"i tell you i must go!" i retorted, roused to something like passion. "do you think i can stay to become nothing to you? do you think i am an ⁷⁹?--a machine without feelings? and can bear to have my ⁸⁰ of bread snatched from my lips, and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? do you think, because i am poor, obscure, plain, and little, i am soulless and heartless? you think wrong!--i have as much soul as you,--and full as much heart! and if god had gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, i should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it is now for me to leave you. i am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh;--it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at god's feet, equal,--as we are!"

"as we are!" repeated mr. rochester--"so," he added, enclosing me in his arms. gathering me to his breast, pressing his lips on my lips: "so, jane!"

"yes, so, sir," i rejoined: "and yet not so; for you are a married man--or as good as a married man, and ³⁵ to one inferior to you--to one with whom you have no sympathy--whom i do not believe you truly love; for i have seen and heard you ⁸¹ at her. i would scorn such a union: therefore i am better than you--let me go!"

"where, jane? to ireland?"

"yes--to ireland. i have spoken my mind, and can go anywhere now."

"jane, be still; don't struggle so, like a wild ⁸³ bird that is ⁸⁴ its own plumage in its desperation."

"i am no bird; and no net ensnares me; i am a free human being with an independent will, which i now exert to leave you."

another effort set me at liberty, and i stood ⁸⁵ before him.

"and your will shall decide your destiny," he said: "i offer you my hand, my heart, and a share of all my possessions."

"you play a ⁸⁶, which i merely laugh at."

"i ask you to pass through life at my side--to be my second self, and best earthly companion."

"for that fate you have already made your choice, and must ⁸⁷ by it."

"jane, be still a few moments: you are over-excited: i will be still too."

a ⁸⁸ of wind came ⁸⁹ down the laurel-walk, and trembled through the ⁹⁰ of the chestnut: it wandered away--away--to an indefinite distance--it died. the nightingale's song was then the only voice of the hour: in listening to it, i again wept. mr. rochester sat quiet, looking at me gently and seriously. some time passed before he ⁸²; he at last said -

"come to my side, jane, and let us explain and understand one another."

"i will never again come to your side: i am torn away now, and cannot return."

"but, jane, i summon you as my wife: it is you only i intend to marry."

i was silent: i thought he mocked me.

"come, jane--come hither."

"your bride stands between us."

he rose, and with a stride reached me.

"my bride is here," he said, again drawing me to him, "because my equal is here, and my ⁹¹. jane, will you marry me?"

still i did not answer, and still i ⁹² myself from his grasp: for i was still incredulous.

"do you doubt me, jane?"

"⁹³."

"you have no faith in me?"

"not a ¹."

"am i a ⁹⁴ in your eyes?" he asked ⁹⁵. "little sceptic, you shall be convinced. what love have i for miss ingram? none: and that you know. what love has she for me? none: as i have taken pains to prove: i caused a rumour to reach her that my fortune was not a third of what was supposed, and after that i presented myself to see the result; it was coldness both from her and her mother. i would not--i could not--marry miss ingram. you-- you strange, you almost unearthly thing!--i love as my own flesh. you--poor and obscure, and small and plain as you are--i ⁹⁶ to accept me as a husband."

"what, me!" i ejaculated, beginning in his earnestness--and especially in his incivility--to credit his ⁹⁷: "me who have not a friend in the world but you- if you are my friend: not a shilling but what you have given me?"

"you, jane, i must have you for my own--entirely my own. will you be mine? say yes, quickly."

"mr. rochester, let me look at your face: turn to the moonlight."

"why?"

"because i want to read your countenance--turn!"

"there! you will find it scarcely more legible than a ⁹⁸, scratched page. read on: only make haste, for i suffer."

his face was very much ⁹⁹ and very much flushed, and there were strong workings in the features, and strange gleams in the eyes

"oh, jane, you torture me!" he exclaimed. "with that searching and yet faithful and generous look, you torture me!"

"how can i do that? if you are true, and your offer real, my only feelings to you must be ¹⁰⁰ and devotion--they cannot torture."

"gratitude!" he ejaculated; and added wildly--"jane accept me quickly. say, edward--give me my name--edward--i will marry you."

"are you in earnest? do you truly love me? do you sincerely wish me to be your wife?"

"i do; and if an oath is necessary to satisfy you, i swear it."

"then, sir, i will marry you."

"edward--my little wife!"

"dear edward!"

"come to me--come to me entirely now," said he; and added, in his deepest tone, speaking in my ear as his cheek was laid on mine, "make my happiness--i will make yours."

"god pardon me!" he subjoined ere long; "and man ¹⁰¹ not with me: i have her, and will hold her."

"there is no one to meddle, sir. i have no kindred to ¹⁰²."

"no--that is the best of it," he said. and if i had loved him less i should have thought his accent and look of ^{103 104}; but, sitting by him, roused from the nightmare of parting--called to the paradise of union--i thought only of the ¹⁰⁵ given me to drink in so abundant a flow. again and again he said, "are you happy, jane?" and again and again i answered, "yes." after which he murmured, "it will ¹⁰⁶--it will atone. have i not found her friendless, and cold, and comfortless? will i not guard, and cherish, and ¹⁰⁷ her? is there not love in my heart, and constancy in my resolves? it will ¹⁰⁸ at god's tribunal. i know my ¹⁰⁹ sanctions what i do. for the world's judgment--i wash my hands thereof. for man's opinion--i defy it."

but what had befallen the night? the moon was not yet set, and we were all in shadow: i could scarcely see my master's face, near as i was. and what ¹¹⁰ the chestnut tree? it writhed and ¹¹¹; while wind roared in the laurel walk, and came sweeping over us.

"we must go in," said mr. rochester: "the weather changes. i could have sat with thee till morning, jane."

"and so," thought i, "could i with you." i should have said so, perhaps, but a livid, vivid spark leapt out of a cloud at which i was looking, and there was a crack, a crash, and a close ^{112 113}; and i thought only of hiding my dazzled eyes against mr. rochester's shoulder.

the rain rushed down. he hurried me up the walk, through the grounds, and into the house; but we were quite wet before we could pass the threshold. he was taking off my shawl in the hall, and shaking the water out of my loosened hair, when mrs. fairfax emerged from her room. i did not observe her at first, nor did mr. rochester. the lamp was lit. the clock was on the stroke of twelve.

"hasten to take off your wet things," said he; "and before you go, good-night--good-night, my darling!"

he kissed me repeatedly. when i looked up, on leaving his arms, there stood the widow, pale, grave, and amazed. i only smiled at her, and ran upstairs. "explanation will do for another time," thought i. still, when i reached my ¹¹⁴, i felt a ¹¹⁵ at the idea she should even temporarily misconstrue what she had seen. but joy soon ¹¹⁶ every other feeling; and loud as the wind blew, near and deep as the thunder crashed, fierce and frequent as the lightning gleamed, cataract-like as the rain fell during a storm of two hours' duration, i experienced no fear and little ¹¹⁷. mr. rochester came thrice to my door in the course of it, to ask if i was safe and ¹¹⁸: and that was comfort, that was strength for anything.

before i left my bed in the morning, little adele came running in to tell me that the great horse-chestnut at the bottom of the orchard had been struck by lightning in the night, and half of it split away.

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