möbel das deutsche wohnzimmer rustikal auf
chapter xxxiv it was near christmas by the time all wassettled: the season of general holiday approached. i now closed morton school, taking carethat the parting should not be barren on my side. good fortune opens the hand as well as theheart wonderfully; and to give somewhat when we have largely received, is but toafford a vent to the unusual ebullition of the sensations. i had long felt with pleasure that many ofmy rustic scholars liked me, and when we
parted, that consciousness was confirmed:they manifested their affection plainly and strongly. deep was my gratification to find i hadreally a place in their unsophisticated hearts: i promised them that never a weekshould pass in future that i did not visit them, and give them an hour's teaching intheir school. mr. rivers came up as, having seen theclasses, now numbering sixty girls, file out before me, and locked the door, i stoodwith the key in my hand, exchanging a few words of special farewell with some half- dozen of my best scholars: as decent,respectable, modest, and well-informed
young women as could be found in the ranksof the british peasantry. and that is saying a great deal; for afterall, the british peasantry are the best taught, best mannered, most self-respectingof any in europe: since those days i have seen paysannes and bauerinnen; and the best of them seemed to me ignorant, coarse, andbesotted, compared with my morton girls. "do you consider you have got your rewardfor a season of exertion?" asked mr. rivers, when they were gone. "does not the consciousness of having donesome real good in your day and generation give pleasure?""doubtless."
"and you have only toiled a few months! would not a life devoted to the task ofregenerating your race be well spent?" "yes," i said; "but i could not go on forever so: i want to enjoy my own faculties as well as to cultivate those of otherpeople. i must enjoy them now; don't recall eithermy mind or body to the school; i am out of it and disposed for full holiday."he looked grave. "what now? what sudden eagerness is this you evince?what are you going to do?" "to be active: as active as i can.
and first i must beg you to set hannah atliberty, and get somebody else to wait on you.""do you want her?" "yes, to go with me to moor house. diana and mary will be at home in a week,and i want to have everything in order against their arrival.""i understand. i thought you were for flying off on someexcursion. it is better so: hannah shall go with you." "tell her to be ready by to-morrow then;and here is the schoolroom key: i will give you the key of my cottage in the morning."he took it.
"you give it up very gleefully," said he;"i don't quite understand your light- heartedness, because i cannot tell whatemployment you propose to yourself as a substitute for the one you arerelinquishing. what aim, what purpose, what ambition inlife have you now?" "my first aim will be to clean down (doyou comprehend the full force of the expression?)--to clean down moor housefrom chamber to cellar; my next to rub it up with bees-wax, oil, and an indefinite number of cloths, till it glitters again;my third, to arrange every chair, table, bed, carpet, with mathematical precision;afterwards i shall go near to ruin you in
coals and peat to keep up good fires in every room; and lastly, the two dayspreceding that on which your sisters are expected will be devoted by hannah and meto such a beating of eggs, sorting of currants, grating of spices, compounding of christmas cakes, chopping up of materialsfor mince-pies, and solemnising of other culinary rites, as words can convey but aninadequate notion of to the uninitiated like you. my purpose, in short, is to have all thingsin an absolutely perfect state of readiness for diana and mary before next thursday;and my ambition is to give them a beau-
ideal of a welcome when they come." st. john smiled slightly: still he wasdissatisfied. "it is all very well for the present," saidhe; "but seriously, i trust that when the first flush of vivacity is over, you willlook a little higher than domestic endearments and household joys." "the best things the world has!"i interrupted. "no, jane, no: this world is not the sceneof fruition; do not attempt to make it so: nor of rest; do not turn slothful." "i mean, on the contrary, to be busy."
"jane, i excuse you for the present: twomonths' grace i allow you for the full enjoyment of your new position, and forpleasing yourself with this late-found charm of relationship; but then, i hope you will begin to look beyond moor houseand morton, and sisterly society, and the selfish calm and sensual comfort ofcivilised affluence. i hope your energies will then once moretrouble you with their strength." i looked at him with surprise."st. john," i said, "i think you are almost wicked to talk so. i am disposed to be as content as a queen,and you try to stir me up to restlessness!
to what end?" "to the end of turning to profit thetalents which god has committed to your keeping; and of which he will surely oneday demand a strict account. jane, i shall watch you closely andanxiously--i warn you of that. and try to restrain the disproportionatefervour with which you throw yourself into commonplace home pleasures. don't cling so tenaciously to ties of theflesh; save your constancy and ardour for an adequate cause; forbear to waste them ontrite transient objects. do you hear, jane?"
"yes; just as if you were speaking greek.i feel i have adequate cause to be happy, and i will be happy.goodbye!" happy at moor house i was, and hard iworked; and so did hannah: she was charmed to see how jovial i could be amidst thebustle of a house turned topsy-turvy--how i could brush, and dust, and clean, and cook. and really, after a day or two of confusionworse confounded, it was delightful by degrees to invoke order from the chaosourselves had made. i had previously taken a journey to s--- topurchase some new furniture: my cousins having given me carte blanche to effectwhat alterations i pleased, and a sum
having been set aside for that purpose. the ordinary sitting-room and bedrooms ileft much as they were: for i knew diana and mary would derive more pleasure fromseeing again the old homely tables, and chairs, and beds, than from the spectacleof the smartest innovations. still some novelty was necessary, to giveto their return the piquancy with which i wished it to be invested. dark handsome new carpets and curtains, anarrangement of some carefully selected antique ornaments in porcelain and bronze,new coverings, and mirrors, and dressing- cases, for the toilet tables, answered the
end: they looked fresh without beingglaring. a spare parlour and bedroom i refurnishedentirely, with old mahogany and crimson upholstery: i laid canvas on the passage,and carpets on the stairs. when all was finished, i thought moor houseas complete a model of bright modest snugness within, as it was, at this season,a specimen of wintry waste and desert dreariness without. the eventful thursday at length came.they were expected about dark, and ere dusk fires were lit upstairs and below; thekitchen was in perfect trim; hannah and i were dressed, and all was in readiness.
st. john arrived first. i had entreated him to keep quite clear ofthe house till everything was arranged: and, indeed, the bare idea of thecommotion, at once sordid and trivial, going on within its walls sufficed to scarehim to estrangement. he found me in the kitchen, watching theprogress of certain cakes for tea, then baking. approaching the hearth, he asked, "if i wasat last satisfied with housemaid's work?" i answered by inviting him to accompany meon a general inspection of the result of my labours.
with some difficulty, i got him to make thetour of the house. he just looked in at the doors i opened;and when he had wandered upstairs and downstairs, he said i must have gonethrough a great deal of fatigue and trouble to have effected such considerable changes in so short a time: but not a syllable didhe utter indicating pleasure in the improved aspect of his abode.this silence damped me. i thought perhaps the alterations haddisturbed some old associations he valued. i inquired whether this was the case: nodoubt in a somewhat crest-fallen tone. "not at all; he had, on the contrary,remarked that i had scrupulously respected
every association: he feared, indeed, imust have bestowed more thought on the matter than it was worth. how many minutes, for instance, had idevoted to studying the arrangement of this very room?--by-the-bye, could i tell himwhere such a book was?" i showed him the volume on the shelf: hetook it down, and withdrawing to his accustomed window recess, he began to readit. now, i did not like this, reader. st. john was a good man; but i began tofeel he had spoken truth of himself when he said he was hard and cold.
the humanities and amenities of life had noattraction for him--its peaceful enjoyments no charm. literally, he lived only to aspire--afterwhat was good and great, certainly; but still he would never rest, nor approve ofothers resting round him. as i looked at his lofty forehead, stilland pale as a white stone--at his fine lineaments fixed in study--i comprehendedall at once that he would hardly make a good husband: that it would be a tryingthing to be his wife. i understood, as by inspiration, the natureof his love for miss oliver; i agreed with him that it was but a love of the senses.
i comprehended how he should despisehimself for the feverish influence it exercised over him; how he should wish tostifle and destroy it; how he should mistrust its ever conducting permanently tohis happiness or hers. i saw he was of the material from whichnature hews her heroes--christian and pagan--her lawgivers, her statesmen, herconquerors: a steadfast bulwark for great interests to rest upon; but, at the fireside, too often a cold cumbrous column,gloomy and out of place. "this parlour is not his sphere," ireflected: "the himalayan ridge or caffre bush, even the plague-cursed guinea coastswamp would suit him better.
well may he eschew the calm of domesticlife; it is not his element: there his faculties stagnate--they cannot develop orappear to advantage. it is in scenes of strife and danger--wherecourage is proved, and energy exercised, and fortitude tasked--that he will speakand move, the leader and superior. a merry child would have the advantage ofhim on this hearth. he is right to choose a missionary'scareer--i see it now." "they are coming! they are coming!" criedhannah, throwing open the parlour door. at the same moment old carlo barkedjoyfully. out i ran.
it was now dark; but a rumbling of wheelswas audible. hannah soon had a lantern lit. the vehicle had stopped at the wicket; thedriver opened the door: first one well- known form, then another, stepped out. in a minute i had my face under theirbonnets, in contact first with mary's soft cheek, then with diana's flowing curls. they laughed--kissed me--then hannah:patted carlo, who was half wild with delight; asked eagerly if all was well; andbeing assured in the affirmative, hastened into the house.
they were stiff with their long and joltingdrive from whitcross, and chilled with the frosty night air; but their pleasantcountenances expanded to the cheerful firelight. while the driver and hannah brought in theboxes, they demanded st. john. at this moment he advanced from theparlour. they both threw their arms round his neckat once. he gave each one quiet kiss, said in a lowtone a few words of welcome, stood a while to be talked to, and then, intimating thathe supposed they would soon rejoin him in the parlour, withdrew there as to a placeof refuge.
i had lit their candles to go upstairs, butdiana had first to give hospitable orders respecting the driver; this done, bothfollowed me. they were delighted with the renovation anddecorations of their rooms; with the new drapery, and fresh carpets, and rich tintedchina vases: they expressed their gratification ungrudgingly. i had the pleasure of feeling that myarrangements met their wishes exactly, and that what i had done added a vivid charm totheir joyous return home. sweet was that evening. my cousins, full of exhilaration, were soeloquent in narrative and comment, that
their fluency covered st. john'staciturnity: he was sincerely glad to see his sisters; but in their glow of fervourand flow of joy he could not sympathise. the event of the day--that is, the returnof diana and mary--pleased him; but the accompaniments of that event, the gladtumult, the garrulous glee of reception irked him: i saw he wished the calmermorrow was come. in the very meridian of the night'senjoyment, about an hour after tea, a rap was heard at the door. hannah entered with the intimation that "apoor lad was come, at that unlikely time, to fetch mr. rivers to see his mother, whowas drawing away."
"where does she live, hannah?" "clear up at whitcross brow, almost fourmiles off, and moor and moss all the way." "tell him i will go.""i'm sure, sir, you had better not. it's the worst road to travel after darkthat can be: there's no track at all over the bog.and then it is such a bitter night--the keenest wind you ever felt. you had better send word, sir, that youwill be there in the morning." but he was already in the passage, puttingon his cloak; and without one objection, one murmur, he departed.
it was then nine o'clock: he did not returntill midnight. starved and tired enough he was: but helooked happier than when he set out. he had performed an act of duty; made anexertion; felt his own strength to do and deny, and was on better terms with himself.i am afraid the whole of the ensuing week tried his patience. it was christmas week: we took to nosettled employment, but spent it in a sort of merry domestic dissipation. the air of the moors, the freedom of home,the dawn of prosperity, acted on diana and mary's spirits like some life-givingelixir: they were gay from morning till
noon, and from noon till night. they could always talk; and theirdiscourse, witty, pithy, original, had such charms for me, that i preferred listeningto, and sharing in it, to doing anything else. st. john did not rebuke our vivacity; buthe escaped from it: he was seldom in the house; his parish was large, the populationscattered, and he found daily business in visiting the sick and poor in its differentdistricts. one morning at breakfast, diana, afterlooking a little pensive for some minutes, asked him, "if his plans were yetunchanged."
"unchanged and unchangeable," was thereply. and he proceeded to inform us that hisdeparture from england was now definitively fixed for the ensuing year. "and rosamond oliver?" suggested mary, thewords seeming to escape her lips involuntarily: for no sooner had sheuttered them, than she made a gesture as if wishing to recall them. st. john had a book in his hand--it was hisunsocial custom to read at meals--he closed it, and looked up. "rosamond oliver," said he, "is about to bemarried to mr. granby, one of the best
connected and most estimable residents ins-, grandson and heir to sir frederic granby: i had the intelligence from herfather yesterday." his sisters looked at each other and at me;we all three looked at him: he was serene as glass. "the match must have been got up hastily,"said diana: "they cannot have known each other long.""but two months: they met in october at the county ball at s-. but where there are no obstacles to aunion, as in the present case, where the connection is in every point desirable,delays are unnecessary: they will be
married as soon as s--- place, which sir frederic gives up to them, can he refittedfor their reception." the first time i found st. john alone afterthis communication, i felt tempted to inquire if the event distressed him: but heseemed so little to need sympathy, that, so far from venturing to offer him more, i experienced some shame at the recollectionof what i had already hazarded. besides, i was out of practice in talkingto him: his reserve was again frozen over, and my frankness was congealed beneath it. he had not kept his promise of treating melike his sisters; he continually made
little chilling differences between us,which did not at all tend to the development of cordiality: in short, now that i was acknowledged his kinswoman, andlived under the same roof with him, i felt the distance between us to be far greaterthan when he had known me only as the village schoolmistress. when i remembered how far i had once beenadmitted to his confidence, i could hardly comprehend his present frigidity. such being the case, i felt not a littlesurprised when he raised his head suddenly from the desk over which he was stooping,and said--
"you see, jane, the battle is fought andthe victory won." startled at being thus addressed, i did notimmediately reply: after a moment's hesitation i answered-- "but are you sure you are not in theposition of those conquerors whose triumphs have cost them too dear?would not such another ruin you?" "i think not; and if i were, it does notmuch signify; i shall never be called upon to contend for such another.the event of the conflict is decisive: my way is now clear; i thank god for it!" so saying, he returned to his papers andhis silence.
as our mutual happiness (i.e., diana's,mary's, and mine) settled into a quieter character, and we resumed our usual habitsand regular studies, st. john stayed more at home: he sat with us in the same room,sometimes for hours together. while mary drew, diana pursued a course ofencyclopaedic reading she had (to my awe and amazement) undertaken, and i faggedaway at german, he pondered a mystic lore of his own: that of some eastern tongue, the acquisition of which he thoughtnecessary to his plans. thus engaged, he appeared, sitting in hisown recess, quiet and absorbed enough; but that blue eye of his had a habit of leavingthe outlandish- looking grammar, and
wandering over, and sometimes fixing upon us, his fellow-students, with a curiousintensity of observation: if caught, it would be instantly withdrawn; yet ever andanon, it returned searchingly to our table. i wondered what it meant: i wondered, too,at the punctual satisfaction he never failed to exhibit on an occasion thatseemed to me of small moment, namely, my weekly visit to morton school; and still more was i puzzled when, if the day wasunfavourable, if there was snow, or rain, or high wind, and his sisters urged me notto go, he would invariably make light of their solicitude, and encourage me to
accomplish the task without regard to theelements. "jane is not such a weakling as you wouldmake her," he would say: "she can bear a mountain blast, or a shower, or a fewflakes of snow, as well as any of us. her constitution is both sound andelastic;--better calculated to endure variations of climate than many morerobust." and when i returned, sometimes a good dealtired, and not a little weather-beaten, i never dared complain, because i saw that tomurmur would be to vex him: on all occasions fortitude pleased him; thereverse was a special annoyance. one afternoon, however, i got leave to stayat home, because i really had a cold.
his sisters were gone to morton in mystead: i sat reading schiller; he, deciphering his crabbed oriental scrolls. as i exchanged a translation for anexercise, i happened to look his way: there i found myself under the influence of theever-watchful blue eye. how long it had been searching me throughand through, and over and over, i cannot tell: so keen was it, and yet so cold, ifelt for the moment superstitious--as if i were sitting in the room with somethinguncanny. "jane, what are you doing?""learning german." "i want you to give up german and learnhindostanee."
"you are not in earnest?""in such earnest that i must have it so: and i will tell you why." he then went on to explain that hindostaneewas the language he was himself at present studying; that, as he advanced, he was aptto forget the commencement; that it would assist him greatly to have a pupil with whom he might again and again go over theelements, and so fix them thoroughly in his mind; that his choice had hovered for sometime between me and his sisters; but that he had fixed on me because he saw i couldsit at a task the longest of the three. would i do him this favour?
i should not, perhaps, have to make thesacrifice long, as it wanted now barely three months to his departure. st. john was not a man to be lightlyrefused: you felt that every impression made on him, either for pain or pleasure,was deep-graved and permanent. i consented. when diana and mary returned, the formerfound her scholar transferred from her to her brother: she laughed, and both she andmary agreed that st. john should never have persuaded them to such a step. he answered quietly--"i know it."
i found him a very patient, veryforbearing, and yet an exacting master: he expected me to do a great deal; and when ifulfilled his expectations, he, in his own way, fully testified his approbation. by degrees, he acquired a certain influenceover me that took away my liberty of mind: his praise and notice were more restrainingthan his indifference. i could no longer talk or laugh freely whenhe was by, because a tiresomely importunate instinct reminded me that vivacity (atleast in me) was distasteful to him. i was so fully aware that only seriousmoods and occupations were acceptable, that in his presence every effort to sustain orfollow any other became vain: i fell under
a freezing spell. when he said "go," i went; "come," i came;"do this," i did it. but i did not love my servitude: i wished,many a time, he had continued to neglect me. one evening when, at bedtime, his sistersand i stood round him, bidding him good- night, he kissed each of them, as was hiscustom; and, as was equally his custom, he gave me his hand. diana, who chanced to be in a frolicsomehumour (she was not painfully controlled by his will; for hers, in another way, wasas strong), exclaimed--
"st. john! you used to call jane your thirdsister, but you don't treat her as such: you should kiss her too."she pushed me towards him. i thought diana very provoking, and feltuncomfortably confused; and while i was thus thinking and feeling, st. john benthis head; his greek face was brought to a level with mine, his eyes questioned myeyes piercingly--he kissed me. there are no such things as marble kissesor ice kisses, or i should say my ecclesiastical cousin's salute belonged toone of these classes; but there may be experiment kisses, and his was anexperiment kiss. when given, he viewed me to learn theresult; it was not striking: i am sure i
did not blush; perhaps i might have turneda little pale, for i felt as if this kiss were a seal affixed to my fetters. he never omitted the ceremony afterwards,and the gravity and quiescence with which i underwent it, seemed to invest it for himwith a certain charm. as for me, i daily wished more to pleasehim; but to do so, i felt daily more and more that i must disown half my nature,stifle half my faculties, wrest my tastes from their original bent, force myself to the adoption of pursuits for which i had nonatural vocation. he wanted to train me to an elevation icould never reach; it racked me hourly to
aspire to the standard he uplifted. the thing was as impossible as to mould myirregular features to his correct and classic pattern, to give to my changeablegreen eyes the sea-blue tint and solemn lustre of his own. not his ascendancy alone, however, held mein thrall at present. of late it had been easy enough for me tolook sad: a cankering evil sat at my heart and drained my happiness at its source--theevil of suspense. perhaps you think i had forgotten mr.rochester, reader, amidst these changes of place and fortune.not for a moment.
his idea was still with me, because it wasnot a vapour sunshine could disperse, nor a sand-traced effigy storms could wash away;it was a name graven on a tablet, fated to last as long as the marble it inscribed. the craving to know what had become of himfollowed me everywhere; when i was at morton, i re-entered my cottage everyevening to think of that; and now at moor house, i sought my bedroom each night tobrood over it. in the course of my necessarycorrespondence with mr. briggs about the will, i had inquired if he knew anything ofmr. rochester's present residence and state of health; but, as st. john had
conjectured, he was quite ignorant of allconcerning him. i then wrote to mrs. fairfax, entreatinginformation on the subject. i had calculated with certainty on thisstep answering my end: i felt sure it would elicit an early answer. i was astonished when a fortnight passedwithout reply; but when two months wore away, and day after day the post arrivedand brought nothing for me, i fell a prey to the keenest anxiety. i wrote again: there was a chance of myfirst letter having missed. renewed hope followed renewed effort: itshone like the former for some weeks, then,
like it, it faded, flickered: not a line,not a word reached me. when half a year wasted in vain expectancy,my hope died out, and then i felt dark indeed.a fine spring shone round me, which i could not enjoy. summer approached; diana tried to cheer me:she said i looked ill, and wished to accompany me to the sea-side. this st. john opposed; he said i did notwant dissipation, i wanted employment; my present life was too purposeless, irequired an aim; and, i suppose, by way of supplying deficiencies, he prolonged still
further my lessons in hindostanee, and grewmore urgent in requiring their accomplishment: and i, like a fool, neverthought of resisting him--i could not resist him. one day i had come to my studies in lowerspirits than usual; the ebb was occasioned by a poignantly felt disappointment. hannah had told me in the morning there wasa letter for me, and when i went down to take it, almost certain that the long-looked for tidings were vouchsafed me at last, i found only an unimportant note frommr. briggs on business. the bitter check had wrung from me sometears; and now, as i sat poring over the
crabbed characters and flourishing tropesof an indian scribe, my eyes filled again. st. john called me to his side to read; inattempting to do this my voice failed me: words were lost in sobs. he and i were the only occupants of theparlour: diana was practising her music in the drawing-room, mary was gardening--itwas a very fine may day, clear, sunny, and breezy. my companion expressed no surprise at thisemotion, nor did he question me as to its cause; he only said--"we will wait a few minutes, jane, till you are more composed."
and while i smothered the paroxysm with allhaste, he sat calm and patient, leaning on his desk, and looking like a physicianwatching with the eye of science an expected and fully understood crisis in apatient's malady. having stifled my sobs, wiped my eyes, andmuttered something about not being very well that morning, i resumed my task, andsucceeded in completing it. st. john put away my books and his, lockedhis desk, and said-- "now, jane, you shall take a walk; and withme." "i will call diana and mary." "no; i want only one companion thismorning, and that must be you.
put on your things; go out by the kitchen-door: take the road towards the head of marsh glen: i will join you in a moment." i know no medium: i never in my life haveknown any medium in my dealings with positive, hard characters, antagonistic tomy own, between absolute submission and determined revolt. i have always faithfully observed the one,up to the very moment of bursting, sometimes with volcanic vehemence, into theother; and as neither present circumstances warranted, nor my present mood inclined me to mutiny, i observed careful obedience tost. john's directions; and in ten minutes i
was treading the wild track of the glen,side by side with him. the breeze was from the west: it came overthe hills, sweet with scents of heath and rush; the sky was of stainless blue; thestream descending the ravine, swelled with past spring rains, poured along plentiful and clear, catching golden gleams from thesun, and sapphire tints from the firmament. as we advanced and left the track, we troda soft turf, mossy fine and emerald green, minutely enamelled with a tiny whiteflower, and spangled with a star-like yellow blossom: the hills, meantime, shut us quite in; for the glen, towards itshead, wound to their very core.
"let us rest here," said st. john, as wereached the first stragglers of a battalion of rocks, guarding a sort of pass, beyondwhich the beck rushed down a waterfall; and where, still a little farther, the mountain shook off turf and flower, had only heathfor raiment and crag for gem--where it exaggerated the wild to the savage, andexchanged the fresh for the frowning--where it guarded the forlorn hope of solitude,and a last refuge for silence. i took a seat: st. john stood near me. he looked up the pass and down the hollow;his glance wandered away with the stream, and returned to traverse the uncloudedheaven which coloured it: he removed his
hat, let the breeze stir his hair and kisshis brow. he seemed in communion with the genius ofthe haunt: with his eye he bade farewell to something. "and i shall see it again," he said aloud,"in dreams when i sleep by the ganges: and again in a more remote hour--when anotherslumber overcomes me--on the shore of a darker stream!" strange words of a strange love!an austere patriot's passion for his fatherland! he sat down; for half-an-hour we neverspoke; neither he to me nor i to him: that
interval past, he recommenced-- "jane, i go in six weeks; i have taken myberth in an east indiaman which sails on the 20th of june.""god will protect you; for you have undertaken his work," i answered. "yes," said he, "there is my glory and joy.i am the servant of an infallible master. i am not going out under human guidance,subject to the defective laws and erring control of my feeble fellow-worms: my king,my lawgiver, my captain, is the all- perfect. it seems strange to me that all round me donot burn to enlist under the same banner,--
to join in the same enterprise." "all have not your powers, and it would befolly for the feeble to wish to march with the strong." "i do not speak to the feeble, or think ofthem: i address only such as are worthy of the work, and competent to accomplish it.""those are few in number, and difficult to discover." "you say truly; but when found, it is rightto stir them up--to urge and exhort them to the effort--to show them what their giftsare, and why they were given--to speak heaven's message in their ear,--to offer
them, direct from god, a place in the ranksof his chosen." "if they are really qualified for the task,will not their own hearts be the first to inform them of it?" i felt as if an awful charm was framinground and gathering over me: i trembled to hear some fatal word spoken which would atonce declare and rivet the spell. "and what does your heart say?" demandedst. john. "my heart is mute,--my heart is mute," ianswered, struck and thrilled. "then i must speak for it," continued thedeep, relentless voice. "jane, come with me to india: come as myhelpmeet and fellow-labourer."
the glen and sky spun round: the hillsheaved! it was as if i had heard a summons fromheaven--as if a visionary messenger, like him of macedonia, had enounced, "come overand help us!" but i was no apostle,--i could not beholdthe herald,--i could not receive his call. "oh, st. john!"i cried, "have some mercy!" i appealed to one who, in the discharge ofwhat he believed his duty, knew neither mercy nor remorse.he continued-- "god and nature intended you for amissionary's wife. it is not personal, but mental endowmentsthey have given you: you are formed for
labour, not for love. a missionary's wife you must--shall be.you shall be mine: i claim you--not for my pleasure, but for my sovereign's service.""i am not fit for it: i have no vocation," i said. he had calculated on these firstobjections: he was not irritated by them. indeed, as he leaned back against the cragbehind him, folded his arms on his chest, and fixed his countenance, i saw he wasprepared for a long and trying opposition, and had taken in a stock of patience to last him to its close--resolved, however,that that close should be conquest for him.
"humility, jane," said he, "is thegroundwork of christian virtues: you say right that you are not fit for the work. who is fit for it?or who, that ever was truly called, believed himself worthy of the summons?i, for instance, am but dust and ashes. with st. paul, i acknowledge myself thechiefest of sinners; but i do not suffer this sense of my personal vileness to dauntme. i know my leader: that he is just as wellas mighty; and while he has chosen a feeble instrument to perform a great task, hewill, from the boundless stores of his providence, supply the inadequacy of themeans to the end.
think like me, jane--trust like me. it is the rock of ages i ask you to leanon: do not doubt but it will bear the weight of your human weakness.""i do not understand a missionary life: i have never studied missionary labours." "there i, humble as i am, can give you theaid you want: i can set you your task from hour to hour; stand by you always; help youfrom moment to moment. this i could do in the beginning: soon (fori know your powers) you would be as strong and apt as myself, and would not require myhelp." "but my powers--where are they for thisundertaking?
i do not feel them.nothing speaks or stirs in me while you talk. i am sensible of no light kindling--no lifequickening--no voice counselling or cheering. oh, i wish i could make you see how much mymind is at this moment like a rayless dungeon, with one shrinking fear fetteredin its depths--the fear of being persuaded by you to attempt what i cannotaccomplish!" "i have an answer for you--hear it.i have watched you ever since we first met: i have made you my study for ten months.
i have proved you in that time by sundrytests: and what have i seen and elicited? in the village school i found you couldperform well, punctually, uprightly, labour uncongenial to your habits andinclinations; i saw you could perform it with capacity and tact: you could win whileyou controlled. in the calm with which you learnt you hadbecome suddenly rich, i read a mind clear of the vice of demas:--lucre had no unduepower over you. in the resolute readiness with which youcut your wealth into four shares, keeping but one to yourself, and relinquishing thethree others to the claim of abstract justice, i recognised a soul that revelledin the flame and excitement of sacrifice.
in the tractability with which, at my wish,you forsook a study in which you were interested, and adopted another because itinterested me; in the untiring assiduity with which you have since persevered in it- -in the unflagging energy and unshakentemper with which you have met its difficulties--i acknowledge the complementof the qualities i seek. jane, you are docile, diligent,disinterested, faithful, constant, and courageous; very gentle, and very heroic:cease to mistrust yourself--i can trust you unreservedly. as a conductress of indian schools, and ahelper amongst indian women, your
assistance will be to me invaluable."my iron shroud contracted round me; persuasion advanced with slow sure step. shut my eyes as i would, these last wordsof his succeeded in making the way, which had seemed blocked up, comparatively clear. my work, which had appeared so vague, sohopelessly diffuse, condensed itself as he proceeded, and assumed a definite formunder his shaping hand. he waited for an answer. i demanded a quarter of an hour to think,before i again hazarded a reply. "very willingly," he rejoined; and rising,he strode a little distance up the pass,
threw himself down on a swell of heath, andthere lay still. {he threw himself down on a swell of heath,and there lay still: p389.jpg} "i can do what he wants me to do: i amforced to see and acknowledge that," i meditated,--"that is, if life be spared me. but i feel mine is not the existence to belong protracted under an indian sun. what then? he does not care for that: when my timecame to die, he would resign me, in all serenity and sanctity, to the god who gaveme. the case is very plain before me.
in leaving england, i should leave a lovedbut empty land--mr. rochester is not there; and if he were, what is, what can that everbe to me? my business is to live without him now:nothing so absurd, so weak as to drag on from day to day, as if i were waiting someimpossible change in circumstances, which might reunite me to him. of course (as st. john once said) i mustseek another interest in life to replace the one lost: is not the occupation he nowoffers me truly the most glorious man can adopt or god assign? is it not, by its noble cares and sublimeresults, the one best calculated to fill
the void left by uptorn affections anddemolished hopes? i believe i must say, yes--and yet ishudder. alas!if i join st. john, i abandon half myself: if i go to india, i go to premature death. and how will the interval between leavingengland for india, and india for the grave, be filled?oh, i know well! that, too, is very clear to my vision. by straining to satisfy st. john till mysinews ache, i shall satisfy him--to the finest central point and farthest outwardcircle of his expectations.
if i do go with him--if i do make thesacrifice he urges, i will make it absolutely: i will throw all on the altar--heart, vitals, the entire victim. he will never love me; but he shall approveme; i will show him energies he has not yet seen, resources he has never suspected.yes, i can work as hard as he can, and with as little grudging. "consent, then, to his demand is possible:but for one item--one dreadful item. it is--that he asks me to be his wife, andhas no more of a husband's heart for me than that frowning giant of a rock, downwhich the stream is foaming in yonder gorge.
he prizes me as a soldier would a goodweapon; and that is all. unmarried to him, this would never grieveme; but can i let him complete his calculations--coolly put into practice hisplans--go through the wedding ceremony? can i receive from him the bridal ring,endure all the forms of love (which i doubt not he would scrupulously observe) and knowthat the spirit was quite absent? can i bear the consciousness that everyendearment he bestows is a sacrifice made on principle?no: such a martyrdom would be monstrous. i will never undergo it. as his sister, i might accompany him--notas his wife: i will tell him so."
i looked towards the knoll: there he lay,still as a prostrate column; his face turned to me: his eye beaming watchful andkeen. he started to his feet and approached me. "i am ready to go to india, if i may gofree." "your answer requires a commentary," hesaid; "it is not clear." "you have hitherto been my adopted brother--i, your adopted sister: let us continue as such: you and i had better not marry."he shook his head. "adopted fraternity will not do in thiscase. if you were my real sister it would bedifferent: i should take you, and seek no
wife. but as it is, either our union must beconsecrated and sealed by marriage, or it cannot exist: practical obstacles opposethemselves to any other plan. do you not see it, jane? consider a moment--your strong sense willguide you." i did consider; and still my sense, such asit was, directed me only to the fact that we did not love each other as man and wifeshould: and therefore it inferred we ought not to marry. i said so."st. john," i returned, "i regard you as a
brother--you, me as a sister: so let uscontinue." "we cannot--we cannot," he answered, withshort, sharp determination: "it would not do.you have said you will go with me to india: remember--you have said that." "conditionally.""well--well. to the main point--the departure with mefrom england, the co-operation with me in my future labours--you do not object. you have already as good as put your handto the plough: you are too consistent to withdraw it.
you have but one end to keep in view--howthe work you have undertaken can best be done. simplify your complicated interests,feelings, thoughts, wishes, aims; merge all considerations in one purpose: that offulfilling with effect--with power--the mission of your great master. to do so, you must have a coadjutor: not abrother--that is a loose tie--but a husband.i, too, do not want a sister: a sister might any day be taken from me. i want a wife: the sole helpmeet i caninfluence efficiently in life, and retain
absolutely till death." i shuddered as he spoke: i felt hisinfluence in my marrow--his hold on my limbs."seek one elsewhere than in me, st. john: seek one fitted to you." "one fitted to my purpose, you mean--fittedto my vocation. again i tell you it is not theinsignificant private individual--the mere man, with the man's selfish senses--i wishto mate: it is the missionary." "and i will give the missionary myenergies--it is all he wants--but not myself: that would be only adding the huskand shell to the kernel.
for them he has no use: i retain them." "you cannot--you ought not.do you think god will be satisfied with half an oblation?will he accept a mutilated sacrifice? it is the cause of god i advocate: it isunder his standard i enlist you. i cannot accept on his behalf a dividedallegiance: it must be entire." "oh! i will give my heart to god," i said. "you do not want it."i will not swear, reader, that there was not something of repressed sarcasm both inthe tone in which i uttered this sentence, and in the feeling that accompanied it.
i had silently feared st. john till now,because i had not understood him. he had held me in awe, because he had heldme in doubt. how much of him was saint, how much mortal,i could not heretofore tell: but revelations were being made in thisconference: the analysis of his nature was proceeding before my eyes. i saw his fallibilities: i comprehendedthem. i understood that, sitting there where idid, on the bank of heath, and with that handsome form before me, i sat at the feetof a man, caring as i. the veil fell from his hardness anddespotism.
having felt in him the presence of thesequalities, i felt his imperfection and took courage. i was with an equal--one with whom i mightargue--one whom, if i saw good, i might resist. he was silent after i had uttered the lastsentence, and i presently risked an upward glance at his countenance.his eye, bent on me, expressed at once stern surprise and keen inquiry. "is she sarcastic, and sarcastic to me!"it seemed to say. "what does this signify?"
"do not let us forget that this is a solemnmatter," he said ere long; "one of which we may neither think nor talk lightly withoutsin. i trust, jane, you are in earnest when yousay you will serve your heart to god: it is all i want. once wrench your heart from man, and fix iton your maker, the advancement of that maker's spiritual kingdom on earth will beyour chief delight and endeavour; you will be ready to do at once whatever furthersthat end. you will see what impetus would be given toyour efforts and mine by our physical and mental union in marriage: the only unionthat gives a character of permanent
conformity to the destinies and designs of human beings; and, passing over all minorcaprices--all trivial difficulties and delicacies of feeling--all scruple aboutthe degree, kind, strength or tenderness of mere personal inclination--you will hastento enter into that union at once." "shall i?" i said briefly; and i looked at hisfeatures, beautiful in their harmony, but strangely formidable in their stillseverity; at his brow, commanding but not open; at his eyes, bright and deep and searching, but never soft; at his tallimposing figure; and fancied myself in idea
his wife.oh! it would never do! as his curate, his comrade, all would beright: i would cross oceans with him in that capacity; toil under eastern suns, inasian deserts with him in that office; admire and emulate his courage and devotion and vigour; accommodate quietly to hismasterhood; smile undisturbed at his ineradicable ambition; discriminate thechristian from the man: profoundly esteem the one, and freely forgive the other. i should suffer often, no doubt, attachedto him only in this capacity: my body would be under rather a stringent yoke, but myheart and mind would be free.
i should still have my unblighted self toturn to: my natural unenslaved feelings with which to communicate in moments ofloneliness. there would be recesses in my mind whichwould be only mine, to which he never came, and sentiments growing there fresh andsheltered which his austerity could never blight, nor his measured warrior-march trample down: but as his wife--at his sidealways, and always restrained, and always checked--forced to keep the fire of mynature continually low, to compel it to burn inwardly and never utter a cry, though the imprisoned flame consumed vital aftervital--this would be unendurable.
"st. john!"i exclaimed, when i had got so far in my meditation. "well?" he answered icily."i repeat i freely consent to go with you as your fellow-missionary, but not as yourwife; i cannot marry you and become part of you." "a part of me you must become," he answeredsteadily; "otherwise the whole bargain is void. how can i, a man not yet thirty, take outwith me to india a girl of nineteen, unless she be married to me?
how can we be for ever together--sometimesin solitudes, sometimes amidst savage tribes--and unwed?" "very well," i said shortly; "under thecircumstances, quite as well as if i were either your real sister, or a man and aclergyman like yourself." "it is known that you are not my sister; icannot introduce you as such: to attempt it would be to fasten injurious suspicions onus both. and for the rest, though you have a man'svigorous brain, you have a woman's heart and--it would not do.""it would do," i affirmed with some disdain, "perfectly well.
i have a woman's heart, but not where youare concerned; for you i have only a comrade's constancy; a fellow-soldier'sfrankness, fidelity, fraternity, if you like; a neophyte's respect and submission to his hierophant: nothing more--don'tfear." "it is what i want," he said, speaking tohimself; "it is just what i want. and there are obstacles in the way: theymust be hewn down. jane, you would not repent marrying me--becertain of that; we must be married. i repeat it: there is no other way; andundoubtedly enough of love would follow upon marriage to render the union righteven in your eyes."
"i scorn your idea of love," i could nothelp saying, as i rose up and stood before him, leaning my back against the rock. "i scorn the counterfeit sentiment youoffer: yes, st. john, and i scorn you when you offer it."he looked at me fixedly, compressing his well-cut lips while he did so. whether he was incensed or surprised, orwhat, it was not easy to tell: he could command his countenance thoroughly. "i scarcely expected to hear thatexpression from you," he said: "i think i have done and uttered nothing to deservescorn."
i was touched by his gentle tone, andoverawed by his high, calm mien. "forgive me the words, st. john; but it isyour own fault that i have been roused to speak so unguardedly. you have introduced a topic on which ournatures are at variance--a topic we should never discuss: the very name of love is anapple of discord between us. if the reality were required, what shouldwe do? how should we feel?my dear cousin, abandon your scheme of marriage--forget it." "no," said he; "it is a long-cherishedscheme, and the only one which can secure
my great end: but i shall urge you nofurther at present. to-morrow, i leave home for cambridge: ihave many friends there to whom i should wish to say farewell. i shall be absent a fortnight--take thatspace of time to consider my offer: and do not forget that if you reject it, it is notme you deny, but god. through my means, he opens to you a noblecareer; as my wife only can you enter upon it. refuse to be my wife, and you limityourself for ever to a track of selfish ease and barren obscurity.
tremble lest in that case you should benumbered with those who have denied the faith, and are worse than infidels!"he had done. turning from me, he once more "looked to river, looked to hill."but this time his feelings were all pent in his heart: i was not worthy to hear themuttered. as i walked by his side homeward, i readwell in his iron silence all he felt towards me: the disappointment of anaustere and despotic nature, which has met resistance where it expected submission-- the disapprobation of a cool, inflexiblejudgment, which has detected in another
feelings and views in which it has no powerto sympathise: in short, as a man, he would have wished to coerce me into obedience: it was only as a sincere christian he bore sopatiently with my perversity, and allowed so long a space for reflection andrepentance. that night, after he had kissed hissisters, he thought proper to forget even to shake hands with me, but left the roomin silence. i--who, though i had no love, had muchfriendship for him--was hurt by the marked omission: so much hurt that tears startedto my eyes. "i see you and st. john have beenquarrelling, jane," said diana, "during
your walk on the moor. but go after him; he is now lingering inthe passage expecting you--he will make it up." i have not much pride under suchcircumstances: i would always rather be happy than dignified; and i ran after him--he stood at the foot of the stairs. "good-night, st. john," said i. "good-night, jane," he replied calmly."then shake hands," i added. what a cold, loose touch, he impressed onmy fingers! he was deeply displeased by what hadoccurred that day; cordiality would not
warm, nor tears move him. no happy reconciliation was to be had withhim--no cheering smile or generous word: but still the christian was patient andplacid; and when i asked him if he forgave me, he answered that he was not in the habit of cherishing the remembrance ofvexation; that he had nothing to forgive, not having been offended.and with that answer he left me. i would much rather he had knocked me down.