Chapter 13
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Mr. Rochester, it seems, by the surgeon’s orders, went to bed early that night; nor did he rise soo m. When he did e down, it was to attend to business: his agent and some of his tenants were arrived, and waiting to speak with him.Adèle and I had now to vacate the library: it would be in daily requisition as a reception-room for callers. A fire was lit in an apartment upstairs, and there I carried our books, and arrang<tt>..t>ed it for the future schoolroom. I dised in the course of the m that Thornfield Hall was a ged plao longer silent as a church, it echoed every hour or two to a knock at the door, or a g of the bell; steps, too, often traversed the hall, and new voices spoke in different keys below; a rill from the outer world was flowing through it; it had a master: for my part, I liked it better.
Adèle was not easy to teach that day; she could not apply: she kept running to the door and looking over the bao see if she could get a glimpse of Mr. Rochester; then she ed pretexts to go downstairs, in order, as I shrewdly suspected, to visit the library, where I knew she was not wahen, when I got a? little angry, and made her sit still, she tio talk incessantly of her “ami, Monsieur Edouard Fairfax de Rochester,” as she dubbed him (I had not before heard his prenomens), and to jecture resents he had brought her: for it appears he had intimated the night before, that when his luggage came from Millcote, there would be found amongst it a little box in whose tents she had an i.
“Et cela doit signifier,” said she, “qu’il y aura le dedans un cadeau pour moi, et peut-être pour vous aussi, mademoiselle. Monsieur a parle de vous: il m’a demande le nom de ma gouver si elle pas ue personne, assez mi un peu pale. J’ai dit qu’oui: car c’est vrai, -ce pas, mademoiselle?”
I and my pupil dined as usual in Mrs. Fairfax’s parlour; the afternoon was wild and snowy, and we passed it in the schoolroom. At dark I allowed Adèle to put away books and work, and to run downstairs; for, from the parative silence below, and from the cessation of appeals to the door-bell, I jectured that Mr. Rochester was now at liberty. Left alone, I walked to the window; but nothing was to be seen thewilight and snowflakes to>藏书网</a>gether thied the air, and hid the very shrubs on the lawn. I let down the curtain a back to the fireside.
In the clear embers I was trag a view, not unlike a picture I remembered to have seen of the castle of Heidelberg, on the Rhine, when Mrs. Fairfax came in, breaking up by her entrahe fiery mosaic I had been pierg together, and scattering too some heavy unwele thoughts that were beginning t on my solitude.
“Mr. Rochester would be glad if you and your pupil would take tea with him in the drawing-room this evening,” said she: “he has been so mugaged all day that he could not ask to see you before.”
“When is his tea-time?” I inquired.
“Oh, at six o’clock: he keeps early hours in the try. You had better ge your froow; I will go with you and fasten it. Here is a dle.”
“Is it necessary to ge my frock?”
“Yes, you had better: I always dress for the evening when Mr. Rochester is here.”
This additional ceremony seemed somewhat stately; however, I repaired to my room, and, with Mrs. Fairfax’s aid, replaced my black stuff dress by one of black silk; the best and the only additional one I had, except one of light grey, which, in my Lowood notions of the toilette, I thought too fio be worn, except on first-rate occasions.
“You want a brooch,” said Mrs. Fairfax. I had a sitle pearl or which Miss Temple gave me as a parting keepsake: I put it on, and then we went downstairs. Unused as I was ters, it was rather a trial to appear thus formally summoned in Mr. Rochester’s presence. I let Mrs. Fairfax precede me into the dining-room, a in her shade as we crossed that apartment; and, passing the arch, whose curtain was now dropped, ehe elegant recess beyond.
Two wax dles stood lighted oable, and two on the mantelpiece; basking in the light a of a superb fire, lay Pilot—Adèle k near him. Half reed on a couch appeared Mr. Rochester, his foot supported by the cushion; he was looking at Adèle and the dog: the fire shone full on his face. I knew my traveller with his broad ay eyebrows; his square forehead, made squarer by the horizontal sweep of his black hair. I reised his decisive nose, more remarkable for character thay; his full nostrils, denoting, I thought, choler; his grim mouth, , and jaw—yes, all three were very grim, and no mistake. His shape, now divested of cloak, I perceived harmonised in squareness with his physiognomy: I suppose it was a good figure ihletise of the term—broad chested and thin flahough her tall nraceful.
Mr. Rochester must have been aware of the entranrs. Fairfax and myself; but it appeared he was not in the mood to notice us, for he never lifted his head as roached.
“Here is Miss Eyre, sir,” said Mrs. Fairfax, in her quiet way. He bowed, still not taking his eyes from the group of the dog and child.
“Let Miss Eyre be seated,” said he: and there was something in the forced stiff bow, in the impatie formal tone, which seemed further to express, “What the deuce is it to me whether Miss Eyre be there or not? At this moment I am not disposed to accost her.”
I sat down quite disembarrassed. A reception of finished politeness would probably have fused me: I could not have returned or repaid it by answering grad elegany part; but harsh caprice laid me under no obligation; on the trary, a det quiesce, uhe freak of manner, gave me the advantage. Besides, the etricity of the proceeding iquant: I felt ied to see how he would go on.
He went on as a statue would, that is, he her spoke nor moved. Mrs. Fairfax seemed to think it necessary that some one should be amiable, and she began to talk. Kindly, as usual—and, as usual, rather trite—she doled with him on the pressure of business he had had all day; on the annoya must have been to him with that painful sprain: then she ended his patiend perseveran going through with it.
“Madam, I should like some tea,” was the sole rejoinder she got. She haste the bell; and wheray came, she proceeded te the cups, spoons, &c., with assiduous celerity. I and Adèle went to the table; but the master did not leave his couch.
“Will you hand Mr. Rochester’s cup?” said Mrs. Fairfax to me; “Adèle might perhaps spill it.”
I did as requested. As he took the cup from my hand, Adèle, thinking the moment propitious for making a request in my favour, cried out—
“-ce pas, monsieur, qu’il y a un cadeau pour Mademoiselle Eyre dans votre petit coffre?”
“Who talks of cadeaux?” said he gruffly. “Did you expect a present, Miss Eyre? Are you fond of presents?” and he searched my face with eyes that I saw were dark, irate, and pierg.
“I hardly know, sir; I have little experience of them: they are generally thought pleasant things.”
“Generally thought? But what do you think?”
“I should be obliged to take time, sir, before I could give you an answer worthy of your acceptance: a present has many faces to it, has it not? and one should sider all, before pronoung an opinion as to its nature.”
“Miss Eyre, you are not so unsophisticated as Adèle: she demands a ‘cadeau,’ clamorously, the moment she sees me: you beat about the bush.”
“Because I have less fiden my deserts than Adèle has: she prefer the claim of old acquaintance, and the right too of ; for she says you have always been in the habit of giving her playthings; but if I had to make out a case I should be puzzled, since I am a stranger, and have dohing to entitle me to an aowledgment.”
“Oh, don’t fall ba over-modesty! I have examined Adèle, and find you have take pains with her: she is nht, she has no talents; yet in a short time she has made much improvement.”
“Sir, you have now given me my ‘cadeau;’ I am obliged to you: it is the meed teachers most covet—praise of their pupils’ progress.”
“Humph!” said Mr. Rochester, aook his tea in silence.
“e to the fire,” said the master, wheray was taken away, and Mrs. Fairfax had settled into a er with her knitting; while Adèle was leading me by the hand round the room, showihe beautiful books and ors on the soles and chiffonnieres. We obeyed, as in duty bound; Adèle wao take a seat on my knee, but she was ordered to amuse herself with Pilot.
“You have been resident in my house three months?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you came from—?”
“From Lowood school, in—shire.”
“Ah! a charitable . How long were you there?”
“Eight years.”
“Eight years! you must be tenacious of life. I thought half the time in such a place would have done up any stitution! No wonder you have rather the look of another world. I marvelled where you had got that sort of face. When you came on me in Hay Lane last night, I thought unatably of fairy tales, and had half a mind to demand whether you had bewitched my horse: I am not sure yet. Who are your parents?”
“I have none.”
“Nor ever had, I suppose: do you remember them?”
“No.”
“I thought not. And so you were waiting for your people when you sat on that stile?”
“For whom, sir?”
“For the men in green: it roper moonlight evening for them. Did I break through one of ys, that you spread that d>9９ｌｉb?</a>amned i the causeway?”
I shook my head. “The men in green all forsook England a hundred years ago,” said I, speaking as seriously as he had done. “And not even in Hay Lane, or the fields about it, could you find a trace of them. I don’t thiher summer or harvest, or winter moon, will ever shine on their revels more.”
Mrs. Fairfax had dropped her knitting, and, with raised eyebrows, seemed w what sort of talk this was.
“Well,” resumed Mr. Rochester, “if you disown parents, you must have some sort of kinsfolk: uncles and aunts?”
“No; hat I ever saw.”
“And your home?”
“I have none.”
“Where do your brothers and sisters live?”
“I have no brothers or sisters.”
“Who reended you to e here?”
“I advertised, and Mrs. Fairfax answered my advertisement.”
“Yes,” said the good lady, who now knew what ground we were upon, “and I am daily thankful for the choice Providence led me to make. Miss Eyre has been an invaluable panion to me, and a kind and careful teacher to Adèle.”
“Don’t trouble yourself to give her a character,” returned Mr. Rochester: “eulogiums will not bias me; I shall judge for myself. She began by felling my horse.”
“Sir?” said Mrs. Fairfax.
“I have to thank her for this sprain.”
The widow looked bewildered.
“Miss Eyre, have you ever lived in a town?”
“No, sir.”
“Have you seen much society?”
“ the pupils and teachers of Lowood, and now the inmates of Thornfield.”
“Have you read much?”
“Only such books as came in my way; and they have not been numerous or very learned.”
“You have lived the life of a nun: no doubt you are well drilled in religious forms;—Brocklehurst, who I uand directs Lowood, is a parson, is he not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you girls probably worshipped him, as a vent full ieuses would worship their director.”
“Oh, no.”
“You are very cool! No! What! a noviot worship her priest! That sounds blasphemous.”
“I disliked Mr. Brocklehurst; and I was not alone in the feeling. He is a harsh man; at onpous and meddling; he cut off our hair; and for ey’s sake bought us bad needles and thread, with which we could hardly sew.”
“That was very false ey,” remarked Mrs. Fairfax, who now again caught the drift of the dialogue.
“And was that the head and front of his offending?” demanded Mr. Rochester.
“He starved us when he had the sole superintendence of the provisioment, before the ittee ointed; and he bored us with loures once a week, and with evening readings from books of his own inditing, about suddehs and judgments, which made us afraid to go to bed.”
“What age were you when you went to Lowood?”
“About ten.”
“And you stayed there eight years: you are now, theeen?”
I assented.
“Arithmetic, you see, is useful; without its aid, I should hardly have been able to guess ye. It is a point difficult to fix where the features and tenance are so much at variance as in your case. And now what did you learn at Lowood? you play?”
“A little.”
“Of course: that is the established answer. Go into the library—I mean, if you please.—(Excuse my tone of and; I am used to say, ‘Do this,’ and it is done: I ot alter my ary habits for one new inmate.)—Go, then, into the library; take a dle with you; leave the door open; sit down to the piano, and play a tune.”
I departed, obeying his dires.
“Enough!” he called out in a few minutes. “You play A little, I see; like any lish school-girl; perhaps rather better than some, but not well.”
I closed the piano aurned. Mr. Rochester tinued—“Adèle showed me some sketches this m, which she said were yours. I don’t know whether they were entirely of your doing; probably a master aided you?”
“No, indeed!” I interjected.
“Ah! that pricks pride. Well, fetch me your portfolio, if you vouch for its tents being inal; but don’t pass your word unless you are certain: I reise patchwork.”
“Then I will say nothing, and you shall judge for yourself, sir.”
I brought the portfolio from the library.
“Approach the table,” said he; and I wheeled it to his couch. Adèle and Mrs. Fairfax drew o see the pictures.
“No crowding,” said Mr. Rochester: “take the drawings from my hand as I finish with them; but don’t push your faces up to mine.”
He deliberately scrutinised each sketd painting. Three he laid aside; the others, when he had examihem, he swept from him.
“Take them off to the other table, Mrs. Fairfax,” said he, and look at them with Adèle;—you” (glang at me) “resume your seat, and answer my questions. I perceive those pictures were done by one hand: was that hand yours?”
“Yes.”
“And when did you find time to do them? They have taken much time, and some thought.”
“I did them in the last two vacations I spent at Lowood, when I had no other occupation.”
“Where did you get your copies?”
“Out of my head.”
“That head I see now on your shoulders?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Has it other furniture of the same kind within?”
“I should think it may have: I should hope—better.”
He spread the pictures before him, and again surveyed them alternately.
While he is so occupied, I will tell you, reader, what they are: and first, I must premise that they are nothing wonderful. The subjects had, indeed, risen vividly on my mind. As I saw them with the spiritual eye, before I attempted to embody them, they were striking; but my hand would not sey fancy, and in each case it had wrought out but a pale portrait of the thing I had ceived.
These pictures were in water-colours. The first represented clouds low and livid, rolling over a swollen sea: all the distance was in eclipse; so, too, was the fround; or rather, the billows, for there was no land. One gleam of light lifted into relief a half-submerged mast, on which sat a orant, dark and large, with wings flecked with foam; its beak held a gold bracelet set with gems, that I had touched with as brilliant tints as my palette could yield, and as glittering distiness as my pencil could impart. Sinking below the bird and mast, a drowned corpse glahrough the green water; a fair arm was the only limb clearly visible, whehe bracelet had been washed or torn.
The sed picture tained for fround only the dim peak of a hill, with grass and some leaves slanting as if by a breeze. Beyond and above spread an expanse of sky, dark blue as at twilight: rising into the sky was a woman’s shape to the bust, portrayed in tints as dusk and soft as I could bihe dim forehead was ed with a star; the lis below were seen as through the suffusion of vapour; the eyes shone dark and wild; the hair streamed shadowy, like a beamless cloud torn by storm or by electric travail. On the neck lay a pale refle like moonlight; the same faint lustre touched the train of thin clouds from which rose and bowed this vision of the Evening Star.
The third showed the pinnacle of an iceberg pierg a polar winter sky: a muster of northern lights reared their dim lances, close serried, along the horizon. Throwing these into distance, rose, in the fround, a head,—a colossal head, ined towards the iceberg, aing against it. Two thin hands, joined uhe forehead, and supp it, drew up before the lower features a sable veil, a brow quite bloodless, white as bone, and an eye hollow and fixed, blank of meaning but for the glassiness of despair, alone were visible. Above the temples, amidst wreathed turban folds of black drapery, vague in its character and sistency 藏书网as cloud, gleamed a ring of white flame, gemmed with sparkles of a more lurid tihis pale crest was “the likeness of a kingly ;” what it diademed was “the shape which shape had none.”
“Were you happy when you paihese pictures?” asked Mr. Rochester presently.
“I was absorbed, sir: yes, and I was happy. To paint them, in short, was to enjoy one of the kee pleasures I have ever known.”
“That is not saying much. Your pleasures, by your own at, have been few; but I daresay you did exist in a kind of artist’s dreamland while you blent and arrahese straints. Did you sit at them long each day?”
“I had nothing else to do, because it was the vacation, and I sat at them from m till noon, and from noon till night: the length of the midsummer days favoured my ination to apply.”
“And you felt self-satisfied with the result of your ardent labours?”
“Far from it. I was tormented by the trast between my idea and my handiwork: in each case I had imagined something which I was quite powerless to realise.”
“Not quite: you have secured the shadow of your thought; but no more, probably. You had not enough of the artist’s skill and sce to give it full being: yet the drawings are, for a school- girl, peculiar. As to the thoughts, they are elfish. These eyes in the Evening Star you must have seen in a dream. How could you make them look so clear, a not at all brilliant? for the pla above quells their rays. And what meaning is that in their solemh? And who taught you to paint wind. There is a high gale in that sky, and on this hill-top. Where did you see Latmos? For that is Latmos. There! put the drawings away!”
I had scarce tied the strings of the portfolio, when, looking at his watch, he said abruptly—
“It is nine o’clock: what are you about, Miss Eyre, to let Adèle sit up so long? Take her to bed.”
Adèle went to kiss him before quitting the room: he ehe caress, but scarcely seemed to relish it more than Pilot would have done, nor so much.
“I wish you all good-night, now,” said he, making a movement of the hand towards the door, in token that he was tired of our pany, and wished to dismiss us. Mrs. Fairfax folded up her knitting: I took my portfolio: we curtseyed to him, received a frigid bow iurn, and so withdrew.
“You said Mr. Rochester was not strikingly peculiar, Mrs. Fairfax,” I observed, when I rejoined her in her room, after putting Adèle to bed.
“Well, is he?”
“I think so: he is very geful and abrupt.”
“True: no doubt he may appear so to a stranger, but I am so aced to his manner, I hink of it; and then, if he has peculiarities of temper, allowance should be made.”
“Why?”
“Partly because it is his nature—and we one of us help our nature; and partly because he has painful thoughts, no doubt, to harass him, and make his spirits unequal.”
“What about?”
“Family troubles, for ohing.”
“But he has no family.”
“Not now, but he has had—or, at least, relatives. He lost his elder brother a few years since.”
“His elder brother?”
“Yes. The present Mr. Rochester has not been very long in possession of the property; only about nine years.”
“Nine years is a tolerable time. Was he so very fond of his brother as to be still insolable for his loss?”
“Why, no—perhaps not. I believe there were some misuandings between them. Mr. Rowland Rochester was not quite just to Mr. Edward; and perhaps he prejudiced his father against him. The old gentleman was fond of money, and anxious to keep the family estate together. He did not like to diminish the property by division, a he was anxious that Mr. Edward should have wealth, too, to keep up the sequence of the name; and, soon after he was of age, some steps were taken that were not quite fair, and made a great deal of mischief. Old Mr. Rochester and Mr. Rowland bi Mr. Edward into what he sidered a painful position, for the sake of making his fortune: what the precise nature of that position was I never clearly knew, but his spirit could not brook what he had to suffer in it. He is not very fiving: he broke with his family, and now for many years he has led an uled kind of life. I don’t think he has ever been resident at Thornfield for a fht together, sihe death of his brother without a will left him master of the estate; and, indeed, no wonder he shuns the old place.”
“Why should he shun it?”
“Perhaps he thinks it gloomy.”
The answer was evasive. I should have liked something clearer; but Mrs. Fairfax either could not, or would not, give me more explicit information of the in and nature of Mr. Rochester’s trials. She averred they were a mystery to herself, and that what she knew was chiefly from jecture. It was evident, ihat she wished me to drop the subject, which I did accly.
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