Chapter 32
Itihelaboursofthevillage-schoolasactivelyandfaithfullyasIcould.Itwastrulyhardworkatfirst.Sometimeelapsedbefore,withallmyefforts,Icouldprehendmyscholarsandtheirnature.Whollyuntaught,withfacultiesquitetorpid,theyseemedtomehopelesslydull;and,atfirstsight,alldullalike:butIsoonfoundIwasmistaken.Therewasadifferenceamongstthemasamongsttheeducated;andwhenIgottoknowthem,andtheyme,thisdifferencerapidlydevelopeditself.Theiramazementatme,mylanguage,myrules,andways,oncesubsided,Ifoundsomeoftheseheavy-looking,gapingrusticsintosharp-wittedgirlsenough.Manyshowedthemselvesobliging,andamiabletoo;andIdiscoveredamongstthemnotafelesofnaturalpoliteness,andinnateself-respect,aswellasofexcellentcapacity,thatwonbothmygoodwillandmyadmiration.Thesesoontookapleasureindoingtheirworkwell,inkeepingtheirperso,inlearniasksregularly,inacquiringquietandorderlymaherapidityoftheirprogress,iances,wasevensurprising;andaandhappyprideItookinit:besides,Ibeganpersonallytolikesomeofthebestgirls;andtheylikedme.Ihadamongstmyscholarsseveralfarmers’daughters:youngwomengrown,almost.Thesecouldalreadyread,write,andsew;andtothemItaughttheelementsofgrammar,geography,history,andthefinerkindsofneedlework.Ifouimablecharactersamongstthem—charactersdesirousofinformationanddisposedforimprovement—withwhomIpassedmanyapleasanteveninghourintheirowheirparentsthen(thefarmerandhiswife)loadedmewithattentions.Therewasanenjoymentiingtheirsimplekindness,andinrepayingitbyasideration—ascrupulardtotheirfeelings—towhichtheywerenot,perhaps,atalltimesaced,andwhichbothcharmedandbeedthem;because,whileitelevatedthemintheirowmadethememuloustomeritthedeferentialtreatmenttheyreceived.
IfeltIbecameafavouriteintheneighbourhood.WheneverIwentout,Iheardonallsidescordialsalutations,andwasweledwithfriendlysmiles.Toliveamidstgeneralregard,thoughitbebuttheregardpeople,islike“sittinginsunshine,calma;”sereneinwardfeelingsbudandbloomuheray.Atthisperiodofmylife,myheartfaroftenerswelledwiththankfulhansankwithdeje:a,reader,totellyouall,inthemidstofthiscalm,thisusefulexisteeradaypassedinhonourableexertionamongstmyscholars,aneveniindrawingorreadingtentedlyalone—Iusedtorushintedreamsatnight:dreamsmany-coloured,agitated,fulloftheideal,thestirring,thestormy—dreamswhere,amidstunusualses,chargedwithadvehagitatingriskandromantice,IstillagainandagaiMr.Rochester,alwaysatsomeexgcrisis;ahesenseofbeinginhisarms,hearinghisvoice,meetinghiseye,toughishandandcheek,lovinghim,beinglovedbyhim—thehopeofpassingalifetimeathisside,wouldberenewed,withallitsfirstfordfire.ThenIawoke.ThenIrecalledwhereIwas,andhowsituated.ThenIroseuponmycurtainlessbed,tremblingandquivering;ahestill,darknightwithevulsionofdespair,aheburstofpassion.Bynineo’clockthemIunctuallyopeningtheschool;tranquil,settled,preparedforthesteadydutiesoftheday.
RosamondOliverkeptherwordiningtovisitme.Hercallattheschoolwasgenerallymadeinthecourseofhermride.Shewouldteruptothedooronherpony,followedbyamountedliveryservant.Anythingmoreexquisitethanherappearanherpurplehabit,withherAmazon’scapofblackvelvetplacedgracefullyabovethelongcurlsthatkissedhercheekandfloatedtohershoulders,scarcelybeimagined:anditwasthusshewouldeherusticbuilding,andglidethroughthedazzledranksofthevillagechildren.ShegenerallycameatthehourwhenMr.Riverswasengagedingivinghisdailycatechisinglesson.Keenly,Ifear,didtheeyeofthevisitresspiercetheyoungpastor’sheart.Asortofinstinctseemedtowarnhimofherentrance,evenwhenhedid;andwhenhewaslookingquiteawayfromthedoor,ifsheappearedatit,hischeekwouldglow,andhismarble-seemiures,thoughtheyrefusedtorelax,gedindescribably,andintheirveryquiescebecameexpressiveofarepressedfervour,strohanwmuscleglancecouldindicate.
Ofcourse,sheknewherpower:indeed,hedidnot,becausehecouldnot,cealitfromher.InspiteofhisChristianstoicism,wheupandaddressedhim,andsmiledgaily,encingly,evenfondlyinhisface,hishandwouldtrembleandhiseyeburn.Heseemedtosay,withhissadandresolutelook,ifhedidnotsayitwithhislips,“Iloveyou,andIknowyoupreferme.Itisnotdespairofsuccessthatkeepsmedumb.IfIofferedmyheart,Ibelieveyouwouldacceptit.Butthatheartisalreadylaidonasacredaltar:thefireisarrangedroundit.Itwillsoonbenomorethanasacrified.”
Andthenshewouldpoutlikeadisappointedchild;apensivecloudwouldsoftenherradiantvivacity;shewouldwithdrawherhandhastilyfromhis,andturnintrapetulanhisaspect,atoncesoheroidsomartyr-like.St.John,nodoubt,wouldhavegiventheworldtofollow,recall,retainher,whehuslefthim;buthewouldnotgiveoneceofheaven,norrelinquish,fortheelysiumofherlove,onehopeofthetrue,eternalParadise.Besides,hecouldnotbindallthathehadinhisnature—therover,theaspirant,thepoet,thepriest—inthelimitsofasinglepassion.Hecouldnot—hewouldnot—renouncehiswildfieldofmissionwarfarefortheparloursandthepeaceofValeHall.IlearntsomuselfinaninroadIonce,despitehisreserve,hadthedaringtomakeonhisfidence.
MissOliveralreadyhonouredmewithfrequentvisitstomycottage.Ihadlearntherwholecharacter,whichwaswithoutmysteryuise:shewascoquettishbutless;exag,butnotworthlesslyselfish.Shehadbeenindulgedfromherbirth,butwasnotabsolutelyspoilt.Shewashasty,butgood-humoured;vain(shecould,wheneveryglaheglassshowedhersuchaflushofloveliness),butnotaffected;liberal-handed;ioftheprideofwealth;ingenuous;suffitlyintelligent;gay,lively,andunthinking:shewasverycharming,inshort,eventoacoolobserverofherownsexlikeme;butshewasnotprofoundlyiingorthhlyimpressive.Averydifferentsortofmindwashersfromthat,forinstahesistersofSt.John.Still,IlikedheralmostasIlikedmypupilAdèle;exceptthat,forachildwhomwehavewatchedoverandtaught,acloseraffeisengehanwegiveanequallyattractiveadultacquaintance.
Shehadtakenanamiablecaprie.ShesaidIwaslikeMr.Rivers,only,certainly,sheallowed,“notohsohandsome,thoughIwasalittlesoulenough,buthewasanangel.”Iwas,however,good,clever,posed,andfirm,likehim.Iwasalususnaturae,sheaffirmed,asavillagesistress:shewassuremyprevioushistory,ifknown,wouldmakeadelightfulromance.
Oneevening,while,withherusualchild-likeactivity,andthoughtlessyetnotoffensiveinquisitiveness,shewasrummagingthecupboardaable-drawerofmylittlekit,shediscoveredfirsttwoFrenchbooks,avolumeofSchiller,aGermangrammaranddiary,andthenmydrawing-materialsandsomesketches,includingapencil-headofaprettylittlecherub-likegirl,oneofmyscholars,andsundryviewsfromnature,takenintheValeofMortonandonthesurroundingmoors.Shewasfirsttransfixedwithsurprise,andtherifiedwithdelight.
“HadIdohesepictures?DidIknowFrendGerman?Whatalove—whatamiracleIwas!IdrewbetterthanhermasterinthefirstschoolinS-.WouldIsketchaportraitofher,toshoa?”
“Withpleasure,”Ireplied;ahrillofartist—delightattheideaofcopyingfromsoperfedradiantamodel.Shehadthenonadark-bluesilkdress;herarmsandherneckwerebare;heronlyorwasherchestnuttresses,whichwavedoverhershoulderswithallthewildgraaturalcurls.Itookasheetoffinecard-board,anddrewacarefuloutline.Ipromisedmyselfthepleasureofcit;and,asitwasgettinglatethen,Itoldhershemusteandsitanotherday.
Shemadesuchareportofmetoherfather,thatMr.Oliverhimselfapaniedherevening—atall,massive-featured,middle-aged,andgrey-headedman,atwhosesidehislovelydaughterlookedlikeabrightflowernearahoaryturret.Heappearedataciturn,andperhapsaproudpersohewasverykindtome.ThesketchofRosamond’sportraitpleasedhimhighly:hesaidImustmakeafinishedpictureofit.Heinsisted,too,onmyidaytospendtheeveningatValeHall.
Iwent.Ifounditalarge,handsomeresidence,showingabundantevidencesofwealthintheproprietor.RosamondwasfullofgleeandpleasureallthetimeIstayed.Herfatherwasaffable;andwheeredintoversationwithmeaftertea,heexpressedinstrongtermshisapprobationofwhatIhaddoneinMortonschool,andsaidheonlyfeared,fromwhathesawandheard,Iwastoogoodforthepladwouldsoonquititforonemoresuitable.
“Indeed,”criedRosamond,“sheiscleverenoughtobeagovernessinahighfamily,papa.”
IthoughtIwouldfarratherbewhereIamthaninanyhighfamilyintheland.Mr.OliverspokeofMr.Rivers—oftheRiversfamily—withgreatrespect.Hesaiditwasaveryoldhatneighbourhood;thattheaorsofthehousewerewealthy;thatallMortonhadoncebelohem;thatevennowhesideredtherepresentativeofthathousemight,ifheliked,makeanalliahthebest.Heateditapitythatsofialentedayoungmanshouldhaveformedthedesignofgoingoutasamissionary;itwasquitethrowingavaluablelifeaway.Itappeared,then,thatherfatherwouldthrownoobstathewayofRosamond’sunionwithSt.John.Mr.Oliverevidentlyregardedtheyoungclergyman’sgoodbirth,oldname,andsacredprofessionassuffitpensationforthewantoffortune.
Itwasthe5thofNovember,andaholiday.Mylittleservant,afterhelpiomyhouse,wasgone,wellsatisfiedwiththefeeofapennyforheraid.Allaboutmeotlessandbright—scouredfloor,polishedgrate,andwell-rubbedchairs.Ihadalsomademyself,andhadnowtheafternoonbeforemetospendasIwould.
ThetranslationofafewpagesofGermanoccupiedanhour;thenIgotmypaletteandpencils,aothemoresoothing,becauseeasieroccupation,ofpletingRosamondOliver’sminiature.Theheadwasfinishedalready:therewasbutthebackgroundtotintandthedraperytoshadeoff;atouchofcarmioo,toaddtotheripelips—asoftcurlhereaothetresses—adeepertiheshadowofthelashuheazuredeyelid.Iwasabsorbedintheexecutionoftheseails,when,afteronerapidtap,mydoorunclosed,admittingSt.JohnRivers.
“Iametoseehoendingyourholiday,”hesaid.“Not,Ihope,inthought?No,thatiswell:whileyoudrawyouwillnotfeellonely.Yousee,Imistrustyoustill,thoughyouhaveborneupwonderfullysofar.Ihavebroughtyouabookforeveningsolace,”andhelaidoableanewpublication—apoem:ohosegenuineprodussooftenvouchsafedtothefortunatepublicofthosedays—thegoldenageofmoderure.Alas!thereadersofoureraarelessfavoured.Butce!Iwillnotpauseeithertoaccuseorrepine.Iknowpoetryisnotdead,neniuslost;norhasMammongainedpowerovereither,tobindorslay:theywillbothasserttheirexisteheirpreseheirlibertyandstrengthagainoneday.Powerfulangels,safeinheaven!theysmilewhensordidsoulstriumph,andfeebleonesweepovertheirdestru.Poetrydestroyed?Geniusbanished?No!Mediocrity,no:doenvypromptyoutothethought.No;theynotonlylive,butreignandredeem:andwithouttheirdivineinfluencespreadeverywhere,youwouldbeihehellofyourownmeanness.
WhileIwaseagerlyglangatthebrightpagesof“Marmion”(for“Marmion”itwas),St.Johnstoopedtoexaminemydrawing.Histallfigurespraagainwithastart:hesaidnothing.Ilookedupathim:heshunnedmyeye.Iknewhisthoughtswell,andcouldreadhisheartplainly;atthemomecalmerandcoolerthanhe:Ihadthentemporarilytheadvantageofhim,andIceivedaninationtodohimsomegood,ifIcould.
“Withallhisfirmnessandself-trol,”thoughtI,“hetaskshimselftoofar:lockseveryfeelingandpangwithin—expresses,fesses,impartsnothing.IamsureitwouldbehimtotalkalittleaboutthissweetRosamond,whomhethinksheoughtnottomarry:Iwillmakehimtalk.”
Isaidfirst,“Takeachair,Mr.Rivers.”Butheanswered,ashealwaysdid,thathecouldnotstay.“Verywell,”Iresponded,mentally,“standifyoulike;butyoushallnotgojustyet,Iamdetermined:solitudeisatleastasbadforyouasitisforme.I’lltryifIotdiscoverthesecretspringofyourfidendfindaureinthatmarblebreastthroughwhichIshedonedropofthebalmofsympathy.”
“Isthisportraitlike?”Iaskedbluntly.
“Like!Likewhom?Ididnotobserveitclosely.”
“Youdid,Mr.Rivers.”
Healmoststartedatmysuddenandstrangeabruptness:helookedatmeastonished.“Oh,thatisnothi,”Imutteredwithin.“Idoobebaffledbyalittlestiffnessonyourpart;I’mpreparedtogotosiderablelengths.”Itinued,“Youobserveditcloselyanddistinctly;butIhavenoobjetoyourlookingatitagain,”andIroseandplaceditinhishand.
“Awell-executedpicture,”hesaid;“verysoft,clearc;verygracefulandcorrectdrawing.”
“Yes,yes;Iknowallthat.Butwhatoftheresemblance?Whoisitlike?”
Masteringsomehesitation,heanswered,“MissOliver,Ipresume.”
“Ofcourse.Andnow,sir,torewardyoufortheaccurateguess,Iwillpromisetopaintyouacarefulandfaithfulduplicateofthisverypicture,providedyouadmitthatthegiftwouldbeacceptabletoyou.Idon’twishtothrowawaymytimeandtroubleonanyouwoulddeemworthless.”
Hetiogazeatthepicture:thelongerhelooked,thefirmerheheldit,themoreheseemedtocovetit.“Itislike!”hemurmured;“theeyeiswellmahecht,expression,areperfect.Itsmiles!”
“Woulditfort,orwoulditwoundyoutohaveasimilarpainting?Tellmethat.WhenyouareatMadagascar,orattheCape,orinIndia,woulditbeasolationtohavethatmementoinyourpossession?orwouldthesightofitbringrecollescalculatedtoeeanddistress?”
Henowfurtivelyraisedhiseyes:heglame,irresolute,disturbed:heagainsurveyedthepicture.
“ThatIshouldliketohaveitiscertaiheritwouldbejudiciousorwiseisanotherquestion.”
SinceIhadascertaihatRosamondreallypreferredhim,andthatherfatherwasnotlikelytoopposethematch,I—lessexaltedinmyviewsthanSt.John—hadbeenstronglydisposedinmyowoadvocatetheirunion.Itseemedtomethat,shouldhebeethepossessorofMr.Oliver’slargefortune,hemightdoasmuchgoodwithitasifhewentandlaidhisgeniusouttowither,andhisstrengthtowaste,uropicalsun.WiththispersuasionInowanswered—
“AsfarasIsee,itwouldbewiserandmorejudiciousifyouweretotaketoyourselftheinalatonce.”
Bythistimehehadsatdown:hehadlaidthepictureoablebeforehim,andwithhisbrowsupportedonbothhands,hungfondlyoverit.Idisedhewasherangrynorshockedatmyaudacity.Isaweventhattobethusfranklyaddressedonasubjecthehaddeemedunapproachable—tohearitthusfreelyhandled—wasbeginningtobefeltbyhimasanewpleasure—anunhoped-forrelief.Reservedpeopleoftenreallyhefrankdiscussionoftheirsesandgriefsmorethantheexpahester-seemingstoicishumanafterall;andto“burst”withboldnessandgood-willinto“thesilentsea”oftheirsoulsisoftentoferohefirstofobligations.
“Shelikesyou,Iamsure,”saidI,asIstoodbehindhischair,“aherrespeoreover,sheisasweetgirl—ratherthoughtless;butyouwouldhavesuffitthoughtforbothyourselfandher.Yououghttomarryher.”
“Doesshelikeme?”heasked.
“Certainly;betterthanshelikesanyoneelse.Shetalksofyoutinually:thereisnosubjectsheenjoyssomuchortouchesuponsooften.”
“Itisverypleasanttohearthis,”hesaid—“very:goonforanotherquarterofanhour.”Auallytookouthiswatdlaiditupoabletomeasurethetime.
“Butwhereistheuseofgoingon,”Iasked,“whenyouareprobablypreparingsomeironblowoftradi,afreshtofetteryourheart?”
“Don’timaginesuchhardthings.Fancymeyieldingaing,asIamdoing:humanloverisinglikeafreshlyopenedfountaininmymindandoverflowingwithsweetinundationallthefieldIhavesocarefullyandwithsuchlabourprepared—soassiduouslysownwiththeseedsofgoodiions,ofself-denyingplans.Andnowitisdelugedwithaarousflood—theyounggermssed—deliciouspoisonkeringthem:nowIseemyselfstretchedonanottomaninthedrawing-roomatValeHallatmybrideRosamondOliver’sfeet:sheistalkingtomewithhersweetvoice—gazingdowhthoseeyesyourskilfulhandhascopiedsowell—smilingatmewiththesecorallips.Sheismine—Iamhers—thispresentlifeandpassingworldsuffie.Hush!saynothing—myheartisfullofdelight—mysensesareentranced—letthetimeImarkedpassinpeace.”
Ihumouredhim:thewatchtickedon:hebreathedfastandlow:Istoodsilent.Amidstthishushthequartetsped;hereplacedthewatch,laidthepicturedown,rose,andstoodonthehearth.
“Now,”saidhe,“thatlittlespacewasgiventodeliriumanddelusioedmytemplesonthebreastoftemptation,andputmyneckvoluntarilyunderheryokeofflowers.Itastedhercup.Thepillowwasburning:thereisanaspinthegarland:thewinehasabittertaste:herpromisesarehollow—heroffersfalse:Iseeandknowallthis.”
Igazedathiminwonder.
“Itisstrange,”pursuedhe,“thatwhileIloveRosamondOliversowildly—withalltheiy,indeed,ofafirstpassion,theobjectofwhichisexquisitelybeautiful,graceful,fasating—Iexperiehesametimeacalm,unedscioushatshewouldnotmakemeagoodwife;thatsheisnotthepartnersuitedtome;thatIshoulddiscoverthiswithinayearaftermarriage;andthattotwelvemonths’rapturewouldsucceedalifetimeret.ThisIknow.”
“Strangeindeed!”Icouldnothelpejaculating.
“Whilesomethinginme,”hewenton,“isacutelysensibletohercharms,somethingelseisasdeeplyimpressedwithherdefects:theyaresuchthatshecouldsympathiseinnothingIaspiredto—co-operateinnothingIuook.Rosamondasufferer,alabourer,afemaleapostle?Rosamondamissionary’swife?No!”
“Butyoubeamissionary.Youmightrelinquishthatscheme.”
“Relinquish!What!myvoygreatwork?Myfoundationlaidohforamansioninheaven?Myhopesofbeingnumberedinthebandwhohavemergedallambitionsinthegloriousoneofbetteringtheirrace—ofcarryingknowledgeintotherealmsofignorance—ofsubstitutingpeaceforwar—freedomforbondage—religionforsuperstition—thehopeofheavenforthefearofhell?MustIrelinquishthat?Itisdearerthanthebloodinmyveins.ItiswhatIhavetolookforwardto,andtolivefor.”
Afterasiderablepause,Isaid—“AndMissOliver?Areherdisappoiandsorrowofnoioyou?”
“MissOliveriseversurroundedbysuitorsandflatterers:ihanamonth,myimagewillbeeffacedfromherheart.Shewillfetme;andwillmarry,probably,someonewhowillmakeherfarhappierthanIshoulddo.”
“Youspeakcoollyenough;butyousufferintheflict.Youarewastingaway.”
“No.IfIgetalittlethin,itiswithayaboutmyprospects,yetuled—mydeparture,tinuallyprocrastinated.Onlythism,Ireceivedintelligethesuccessor,whosearrivalIhavebeensolongexpeg,otbereadytoreplacemeforthreemonthstoeyet;andperhapsthethreemonthsmayextendtosix.”
“YoutrembleandbeeflushedwheneverMissOlivereheschoolroom.”
Againthesurprisedexpressioncrossedhisface.Hehadnotimagihatawomanwoulddaretospeaksotoaman.Forme,Ifeltathomeinthissortofdiscourse.Icouldneverrestinunicationwithstrong,discreet,andrefinedminds,whethermaleorfemale,tillIhadpassedtheoutworksofventionalreserve,andcrossedthethresholdoffidendlacebytheirheart’sveryhearthstone.
“Youareinal,”saidhe,“andnottimid.Thereissomethingbraveinyourspirit,aseinginyoureye;butallowmetoassureyouthatyoupartiallymisinterpretmyemotions.Youthinkthemmoreprofoundandpotentthantheyare.YougivemealargerallowanpathythanIhaveajustclaimto.WhenIcolour,andwhenIshadebeforeMissOliver,Idonotpitymyself.Istheweakness.Iknowitisignoble:amerefeveroftheflesh:not,Ideclare,thevulsionofthesoul.Thatisjustasfixedasarock,firmsetihsofarestlesssea.KobewhatIam—acoldhardman.”
Ismiledincredulously.
“Youhavetakenmyfideorm,”hetinued,“andnowitismuchatyourservice.Iamsimply,inmyinalstate—strippedofthatblood-bleachedrobewithwhichChristianitycovershumandeformity—acold,hard,ambitiousman.Naturalaffeonly,ofalltheses,haspermapoweroverme.Reason,andnotfeeling,ismyguide;myambitionisunlimited:mydesiretorisehigher,todomorethanothers,insatiable.Ihonourendurance,perseverandustry,talent;becausethesearethemeansbywhiachievegreatendsandmounttoloftyeminence.Iwatchyourcareerwithi,becauseIsideryouaspeofadiligent,orderly,eian:notbecauseIdeeplypassioyouhavegohrough,orwhatyoustillsuffer.”
“Youwoulddescribeyourselfasamerepaganphilosopher,”Isaid.
“No.Thereisthisdiffereweenmeaicphilosophers:Ibelieve;andIbelievetheGospel.Youmissedyourepithet.Iamnotapagan,butaChristianphilosopher—afollowerofthesectofJesus.AsHisdiscipleIadoptHispure,Hismerciful,Hisbenignantdoes.Iadvocatethem:Iamsworntospreadthem.Woninyouthtion,shehascultivatedmyinalqualitiesthus:-Fromtheminutegerm,naturalaffe,shehasdevelopedtheovershadowingtree,philanthropy.Fromthewildstringyrootofhumanuprightness,shehasrearedadueseheDiviice.Oftheambitiontowinpowerandrenownformywretchedself,shehasformedtheambitiontospreadmyMaster’skingdom;toachievevictoriesforthestandardofthecross.Somuchhasreligiondoneforme;turningtheinalmaterialstothebestat;pruningandtrainingnature.Butshecouldnoteradiature:norwillitbeeradicated‘tillthismortalshallputonimmortality.’”
Havingsaidthis,hetookhishat,whichlayoablebesidemypalette.Oncemorehelookedattheportrait.
“SheISlovely,”hemurmured.“SheiswellheRoseoftheWorld,indeed!”
“AndmayInotpaintonelikeitforyou?”
“Cuibono?No.”
HedrewoverthepicturethesheetofthinpaperonwhichIwasacedtorestmyhandinpainting,topreventthecardboardfrombeingsullied.Whathesuddenlysawonthisblankpaper,itossibleformetotell;butsomethinghadcaughthiseye.Hetookitupwithasnatch;helookedattheedge;thenshotaglame,inexpressiblypeculiar,andquiteinprehensible:aglaseemedtotakeandmakenoteofeverypointinmyshape,faddress;forittraversedall,quick,keenaslightning.Hislipsparted,asiftospeak:buthecheckedtheience,whateveritwas.
“Whatisthematter?”Iasked.
“Nothingintheworld,”wasthereply;and,replagthepaper,Isawhimdexterouslytearanarrowslipfromthemargin.Itdisappearedinhisglove;and,withoynodand“good-afternoon,”hevanished.
“Well!”Iexclaimed,usinganexpressionofthedistrict,“thatcapstheglobe,however!”
I,inmyturn,scrutihepaper;butsawnothingonitsaveafewdingystainsofpaintwhereIhadtriedthetintinmypencil.Ipohemysteryamiwo;butfindingitinsolvable,andbeiainitcouldnotbeofmuent,Idismissed,andsootit.松语文学www.16sy.coM免费小说阅读
IfeltIbecameafavouriteintheneighbourhood.WheneverIwentout,Iheardonallsidescordialsalutations,andwasweledwithfriendlysmiles.Toliveamidstgeneralregard,thoughitbebuttheregardpeople,islike“sittinginsunshine,calma;”sereneinwardfeelingsbudandbloomuheray.Atthisperiodofmylife,myheartfaroftenerswelledwiththankfulhansankwithdeje:a,reader,totellyouall,inthemidstofthiscalm,thisusefulexisteeradaypassedinhonourableexertionamongstmyscholars,aneveniindrawingorreadingtentedlyalone—Iusedtorushintedreamsatnight:dreamsmany-coloured,agitated,fulloftheideal,thestirring,thestormy—dreamswhere,amidstunusualses,chargedwithadvehagitatingriskandromantice,IstillagainandagaiMr.Rochester,alwaysatsomeexgcrisis;ahesenseofbeinginhisarms,hearinghisvoice,meetinghiseye,toughishandandcheek,lovinghim,beinglovedbyhim—thehopeofpassingalifetimeathisside,wouldberenewed,withallitsfirstfordfire.ThenIawoke.ThenIrecalledwhereIwas,andhowsituated.ThenIroseuponmycurtainlessbed,tremblingandquivering;ahestill,darknightwithevulsionofdespair,aheburstofpassion.Bynineo’clockthemIunctuallyopeningtheschool;tranquil,settled,preparedforthesteadydutiesoftheday.
RosamondOliverkeptherwordiningtovisitme.Hercallattheschoolwasgenerallymadeinthecourseofhermride.Shewouldteruptothedooronherpony,followedbyamountedliveryservant.Anythingmoreexquisitethanherappearanherpurplehabit,withherAmazon’scapofblackvelvetplacedgracefullyabovethelongcurlsthatkissedhercheekandfloatedtohershoulders,scarcelybeimagined:anditwasthusshewouldeherusticbuilding,andglidethroughthedazzledranksofthevillagechildren.ShegenerallycameatthehourwhenMr.Riverswasengagedingivinghisdailycatechisinglesson.Keenly,Ifear,didtheeyeofthevisitresspiercetheyoungpastor’sheart.Asortofinstinctseemedtowarnhimofherentrance,evenwhenhedid;andwhenhewaslookingquiteawayfromthedoor,ifsheappearedatit,hischeekwouldglow,andhismarble-seemiures,thoughtheyrefusedtorelax,gedindescribably,andintheirveryquiescebecameexpressiveofarepressedfervour,strohanwmuscleglancecouldindicate.
Ofcourse,sheknewherpower:indeed,hedidnot,becausehecouldnot,cealitfromher.InspiteofhisChristianstoicism,wheupandaddressedhim,andsmiledgaily,encingly,evenfondlyinhisface,hishandwouldtrembleandhiseyeburn.Heseemedtosay,withhissadandresolutelook,ifhedidnotsayitwithhislips,“Iloveyou,andIknowyoupreferme.Itisnotdespairofsuccessthatkeepsmedumb.IfIofferedmyheart,Ibelieveyouwouldacceptit.Butthatheartisalreadylaidonasacredaltar:thefireisarrangedroundit.Itwillsoonbenomorethanasacrified.”
Andthenshewouldpoutlikeadisappointedchild;apensivecloudwouldsoftenherradiantvivacity;shewouldwithdrawherhandhastilyfromhis,andturnintrapetulanhisaspect,atoncesoheroidsomartyr-like.St.John,nodoubt,wouldhavegiventheworldtofollow,recall,retainher,whehuslefthim;buthewouldnotgiveoneceofheaven,norrelinquish,fortheelysiumofherlove,onehopeofthetrue,eternalParadise.Besides,hecouldnotbindallthathehadinhisnature—therover,theaspirant,thepoet,thepriest—inthelimitsofasinglepassion.Hecouldnot—hewouldnot—renouncehiswildfieldofmissionwarfarefortheparloursandthepeaceofValeHall.IlearntsomuselfinaninroadIonce,despitehisreserve,hadthedaringtomakeonhisfidence.
MissOliveralreadyhonouredmewithfrequentvisitstomycottage.Ihadlearntherwholecharacter,whichwaswithoutmysteryuise:shewascoquettishbutless;exag,butnotworthlesslyselfish.Shehadbeenindulgedfromherbirth,butwasnotabsolutelyspoilt.Shewashasty,butgood-humoured;vain(shecould,wheneveryglaheglassshowedhersuchaflushofloveliness),butnotaffected;liberal-handed;ioftheprideofwealth;ingenuous;suffitlyintelligent;gay,lively,andunthinking:shewasverycharming,inshort,eventoacoolobserverofherownsexlikeme;butshewasnotprofoundlyiingorthhlyimpressive.Averydifferentsortofmindwashersfromthat,forinstahesistersofSt.John.Still,IlikedheralmostasIlikedmypupilAdèle;exceptthat,forachildwhomwehavewatchedoverandtaught,acloseraffeisengehanwegiveanequallyattractiveadultacquaintance.
Shehadtakenanamiablecaprie.ShesaidIwaslikeMr.Rivers,only,certainly,sheallowed,“notohsohandsome,thoughIwasalittlesoulenough,buthewasanangel.”Iwas,however,good,clever,posed,andfirm,likehim.Iwasalususnaturae,sheaffirmed,asavillagesistress:shewassuremyprevioushistory,ifknown,wouldmakeadelightfulromance.
Oneevening,while,withherusualchild-likeactivity,andthoughtlessyetnotoffensiveinquisitiveness,shewasrummagingthecupboardaable-drawerofmylittlekit,shediscoveredfirsttwoFrenchbooks,avolumeofSchiller,aGermangrammaranddiary,andthenmydrawing-materialsandsomesketches,includingapencil-headofaprettylittlecherub-likegirl,oneofmyscholars,andsundryviewsfromnature,takenintheValeofMortonandonthesurroundingmoors.Shewasfirsttransfixedwithsurprise,andtherifiedwithdelight.
“HadIdohesepictures?DidIknowFrendGerman?Whatalove—whatamiracleIwas!IdrewbetterthanhermasterinthefirstschoolinS-.WouldIsketchaportraitofher,toshoa?”
“Withpleasure,”Ireplied;ahrillofartist—delightattheideaofcopyingfromsoperfedradiantamodel.Shehadthenonadark-bluesilkdress;herarmsandherneckwerebare;heronlyorwasherchestnuttresses,whichwavedoverhershoulderswithallthewildgraaturalcurls.Itookasheetoffinecard-board,anddrewacarefuloutline.Ipromisedmyselfthepleasureofcit;and,asitwasgettinglatethen,Itoldhershemusteandsitanotherday.
Shemadesuchareportofmetoherfather,thatMr.Oliverhimselfapaniedherevening—atall,massive-featured,middle-aged,andgrey-headedman,atwhosesidehislovelydaughterlookedlikeabrightflowernearahoaryturret.Heappearedataciturn,andperhapsaproudpersohewasverykindtome.ThesketchofRosamond’sportraitpleasedhimhighly:hesaidImustmakeafinishedpictureofit.Heinsisted,too,onmyidaytospendtheeveningatValeHall.
Iwent.Ifounditalarge,handsomeresidence,showingabundantevidencesofwealthintheproprietor.RosamondwasfullofgleeandpleasureallthetimeIstayed.Herfatherwasaffable;andwheeredintoversationwithmeaftertea,heexpressedinstrongtermshisapprobationofwhatIhaddoneinMortonschool,andsaidheonlyfeared,fromwhathesawandheard,Iwastoogoodforthepladwouldsoonquititforonemoresuitable.
“Indeed,”criedRosamond,“sheiscleverenoughtobeagovernessinahighfamily,papa.”
IthoughtIwouldfarratherbewhereIamthaninanyhighfamilyintheland.Mr.OliverspokeofMr.Rivers—oftheRiversfamily—withgreatrespect.Hesaiditwasaveryoldhatneighbourhood;thattheaorsofthehousewerewealthy;thatallMortonhadoncebelohem;thatevennowhesideredtherepresentativeofthathousemight,ifheliked,makeanalliahthebest.Heateditapitythatsofialentedayoungmanshouldhaveformedthedesignofgoingoutasamissionary;itwasquitethrowingavaluablelifeaway.Itappeared,then,thatherfatherwouldthrownoobstathewayofRosamond’sunionwithSt.John.Mr.Oliverevidentlyregardedtheyoungclergyman’sgoodbirth,oldname,andsacredprofessionassuffitpensationforthewantoffortune.
Itwasthe5thofNovember,andaholiday.Mylittleservant,afterhelpiomyhouse,wasgone,wellsatisfiedwiththefeeofapennyforheraid.Allaboutmeotlessandbright—scouredfloor,polishedgrate,andwell-rubbedchairs.Ihadalsomademyself,andhadnowtheafternoonbeforemetospendasIwould.
ThetranslationofafewpagesofGermanoccupiedanhour;thenIgotmypaletteandpencils,aothemoresoothing,becauseeasieroccupation,ofpletingRosamondOliver’sminiature.Theheadwasfinishedalready:therewasbutthebackgroundtotintandthedraperytoshadeoff;atouchofcarmioo,toaddtotheripelips—asoftcurlhereaothetresses—adeepertiheshadowofthelashuheazuredeyelid.Iwasabsorbedintheexecutionoftheseails,when,afteronerapidtap,mydoorunclosed,admittingSt.JohnRivers.
“Iametoseehoendingyourholiday,”hesaid.“Not,Ihope,inthought?No,thatiswell:whileyoudrawyouwillnotfeellonely.Yousee,Imistrustyoustill,thoughyouhaveborneupwonderfullysofar.Ihavebroughtyouabookforeveningsolace,”andhelaidoableanewpublication—apoem:ohosegenuineprodussooftenvouchsafedtothefortunatepublicofthosedays—thegoldenageofmoderure.Alas!thereadersofoureraarelessfavoured.Butce!Iwillnotpauseeithertoaccuseorrepine.Iknowpoetryisnotdead,neniuslost;norhasMammongainedpowerovereither,tobindorslay:theywillbothasserttheirexisteheirpreseheirlibertyandstrengthagainoneday.Powerfulangels,safeinheaven!theysmilewhensordidsoulstriumph,andfeebleonesweepovertheirdestru.Poetrydestroyed?Geniusbanished?No!Mediocrity,no:doenvypromptyoutothethought.No;theynotonlylive,butreignandredeem:andwithouttheirdivineinfluencespreadeverywhere,youwouldbeihehellofyourownmeanness.
WhileIwaseagerlyglangatthebrightpagesof“Marmion”(for“Marmion”itwas),St.Johnstoopedtoexaminemydrawing.Histallfigurespraagainwithastart:hesaidnothing.Ilookedupathim:heshunnedmyeye.Iknewhisthoughtswell,andcouldreadhisheartplainly;atthemomecalmerandcoolerthanhe:Ihadthentemporarilytheadvantageofhim,andIceivedaninationtodohimsomegood,ifIcould.
“Withallhisfirmnessandself-trol,”thoughtI,“hetaskshimselftoofar:lockseveryfeelingandpangwithin—expresses,fesses,impartsnothing.IamsureitwouldbehimtotalkalittleaboutthissweetRosamond,whomhethinksheoughtnottomarry:Iwillmakehimtalk.”
Isaidfirst,“Takeachair,Mr.Rivers.”Butheanswered,ashealwaysdid,thathecouldnotstay.“Verywell,”Iresponded,mentally,“standifyoulike;butyoushallnotgojustyet,Iamdetermined:solitudeisatleastasbadforyouasitisforme.I’lltryifIotdiscoverthesecretspringofyourfidendfindaureinthatmarblebreastthroughwhichIshedonedropofthebalmofsympathy.”
“Isthisportraitlike?”Iaskedbluntly.
“Like!Likewhom?Ididnotobserveitclosely.”
“Youdid,Mr.Rivers.”
Healmoststartedatmysuddenandstrangeabruptness:helookedatmeastonished.“Oh,thatisnothi,”Imutteredwithin.“Idoobebaffledbyalittlestiffnessonyourpart;I’mpreparedtogotosiderablelengths.”Itinued,“Youobserveditcloselyanddistinctly;butIhavenoobjetoyourlookingatitagain,”andIroseandplaceditinhishand.
“Awell-executedpicture,”hesaid;“verysoft,clearc;verygracefulandcorrectdrawing.”
“Yes,yes;Iknowallthat.Butwhatoftheresemblance?Whoisitlike?”
Masteringsomehesitation,heanswered,“MissOliver,Ipresume.”
“Ofcourse.Andnow,sir,torewardyoufortheaccurateguess,Iwillpromisetopaintyouacarefulandfaithfulduplicateofthisverypicture,providedyouadmitthatthegiftwouldbeacceptabletoyou.Idon’twishtothrowawaymytimeandtroubleonanyouwoulddeemworthless.”
Hetiogazeatthepicture:thelongerhelooked,thefirmerheheldit,themoreheseemedtocovetit.“Itislike!”hemurmured;“theeyeiswellmahecht,expression,areperfect.Itsmiles!”
“Woulditfort,orwoulditwoundyoutohaveasimilarpainting?Tellmethat.WhenyouareatMadagascar,orattheCape,orinIndia,woulditbeasolationtohavethatmementoinyourpossession?orwouldthesightofitbringrecollescalculatedtoeeanddistress?”
Henowfurtivelyraisedhiseyes:heglame,irresolute,disturbed:heagainsurveyedthepicture.
“ThatIshouldliketohaveitiscertaiheritwouldbejudiciousorwiseisanotherquestion.”
SinceIhadascertaihatRosamondreallypreferredhim,andthatherfatherwasnotlikelytoopposethematch,I—lessexaltedinmyviewsthanSt.John—hadbeenstronglydisposedinmyowoadvocatetheirunion.Itseemedtomethat,shouldhebeethepossessorofMr.Oliver’slargefortune,hemightdoasmuchgoodwithitasifhewentandlaidhisgeniusouttowither,andhisstrengthtowaste,uropicalsun.WiththispersuasionInowanswered—
“AsfarasIsee,itwouldbewiserandmorejudiciousifyouweretotaketoyourselftheinalatonce.”
Bythistimehehadsatdown:hehadlaidthepictureoablebeforehim,andwithhisbrowsupportedonbothhands,hungfondlyoverit.Idisedhewasherangrynorshockedatmyaudacity.Isaweventhattobethusfranklyaddressedonasubjecthehaddeemedunapproachable—tohearitthusfreelyhandled—wasbeginningtobefeltbyhimasanewpleasure—anunhoped-forrelief.Reservedpeopleoftenreallyhefrankdiscussionoftheirsesandgriefsmorethantheexpahester-seemingstoicishumanafterall;andto“burst”withboldnessandgood-willinto“thesilentsea”oftheirsoulsisoftentoferohefirstofobligations.
“Shelikesyou,Iamsure,”saidI,asIstoodbehindhischair,“aherrespeoreover,sheisasweetgirl—ratherthoughtless;butyouwouldhavesuffitthoughtforbothyourselfandher.Yououghttomarryher.”
“Doesshelikeme?”heasked.
“Certainly;betterthanshelikesanyoneelse.Shetalksofyoutinually:thereisnosubjectsheenjoyssomuchortouchesuponsooften.”
“Itisverypleasanttohearthis,”hesaid—“very:goonforanotherquarterofanhour.”Auallytookouthiswatdlaiditupoabletomeasurethetime.
“Butwhereistheuseofgoingon,”Iasked,“whenyouareprobablypreparingsomeironblowoftradi,afreshtofetteryourheart?”
“Don’timaginesuchhardthings.Fancymeyieldingaing,asIamdoing:humanloverisinglikeafreshlyopenedfountaininmymindandoverflowingwithsweetinundationallthefieldIhavesocarefullyandwithsuchlabourprepared—soassiduouslysownwiththeseedsofgoodiions,ofself-denyingplans.Andnowitisdelugedwithaarousflood—theyounggermssed—deliciouspoisonkeringthem:nowIseemyselfstretchedonanottomaninthedrawing-roomatValeHallatmybrideRosamondOliver’sfeet:sheistalkingtomewithhersweetvoice—gazingdowhthoseeyesyourskilfulhandhascopiedsowell—smilingatmewiththesecorallips.Sheismine—Iamhers—thispresentlifeandpassingworldsuffie.Hush!saynothing—myheartisfullofdelight—mysensesareentranced—letthetimeImarkedpassinpeace.”
Ihumouredhim:thewatchtickedon:hebreathedfastandlow:Istoodsilent.Amidstthishushthequartetsped;hereplacedthewatch,laidthepicturedown,rose,andstoodonthehearth.
“Now,”saidhe,“thatlittlespacewasgiventodeliriumanddelusioedmytemplesonthebreastoftemptation,andputmyneckvoluntarilyunderheryokeofflowers.Itastedhercup.Thepillowwasburning:thereisanaspinthegarland:thewinehasabittertaste:herpromisesarehollow—heroffersfalse:Iseeandknowallthis.”
Igazedathiminwonder.
“Itisstrange,”pursuedhe,“thatwhileIloveRosamondOliversowildly—withalltheiy,indeed,ofafirstpassion,theobjectofwhichisexquisitelybeautiful,graceful,fasating—Iexperiehesametimeacalm,unedscioushatshewouldnotmakemeagoodwife;thatsheisnotthepartnersuitedtome;thatIshoulddiscoverthiswithinayearaftermarriage;andthattotwelvemonths’rapturewouldsucceedalifetimeret.ThisIknow.”
“Strangeindeed!”Icouldnothelpejaculating.
“Whilesomethinginme,”hewenton,“isacutelysensibletohercharms,somethingelseisasdeeplyimpressedwithherdefects:theyaresuchthatshecouldsympathiseinnothingIaspiredto—co-operateinnothingIuook.Rosamondasufferer,alabourer,afemaleapostle?Rosamondamissionary’swife?No!”
“Butyoubeamissionary.Youmightrelinquishthatscheme.”
“Relinquish!What!myvoygreatwork?Myfoundationlaidohforamansioninheaven?Myhopesofbeingnumberedinthebandwhohavemergedallambitionsinthegloriousoneofbetteringtheirrace—ofcarryingknowledgeintotherealmsofignorance—ofsubstitutingpeaceforwar—freedomforbondage—religionforsuperstition—thehopeofheavenforthefearofhell?MustIrelinquishthat?Itisdearerthanthebloodinmyveins.ItiswhatIhavetolookforwardto,andtolivefor.”
Afterasiderablepause,Isaid—“AndMissOliver?Areherdisappoiandsorrowofnoioyou?”
“MissOliveriseversurroundedbysuitorsandflatterers:ihanamonth,myimagewillbeeffacedfromherheart.Shewillfetme;andwillmarry,probably,someonewhowillmakeherfarhappierthanIshoulddo.”
“Youspeakcoollyenough;butyousufferintheflict.Youarewastingaway.”
“No.IfIgetalittlethin,itiswithayaboutmyprospects,yetuled—mydeparture,tinuallyprocrastinated.Onlythism,Ireceivedintelligethesuccessor,whosearrivalIhavebeensolongexpeg,otbereadytoreplacemeforthreemonthstoeyet;andperhapsthethreemonthsmayextendtosix.”
“YoutrembleandbeeflushedwheneverMissOlivereheschoolroom.”
Againthesurprisedexpressioncrossedhisface.Hehadnotimagihatawomanwoulddaretospeaksotoaman.Forme,Ifeltathomeinthissortofdiscourse.Icouldneverrestinunicationwithstrong,discreet,andrefinedminds,whethermaleorfemale,tillIhadpassedtheoutworksofventionalreserve,andcrossedthethresholdoffidendlacebytheirheart’sveryhearthstone.
“Youareinal,”saidhe,“andnottimid.Thereissomethingbraveinyourspirit,aseinginyoureye;butallowmetoassureyouthatyoupartiallymisinterpretmyemotions.Youthinkthemmoreprofoundandpotentthantheyare.YougivemealargerallowanpathythanIhaveajustclaimto.WhenIcolour,andwhenIshadebeforeMissOliver,Idonotpitymyself.Istheweakness.Iknowitisignoble:amerefeveroftheflesh:not,Ideclare,thevulsionofthesoul.Thatisjustasfixedasarock,firmsetihsofarestlesssea.KobewhatIam—acoldhardman.”
Ismiledincredulously.
“Youhavetakenmyfideorm,”hetinued,“andnowitismuchatyourservice.Iamsimply,inmyinalstate—strippedofthatblood-bleachedrobewithwhichChristianitycovershumandeformity—acold,hard,ambitiousman.Naturalaffeonly,ofalltheses,haspermapoweroverme.Reason,andnotfeeling,ismyguide;myambitionisunlimited:mydesiretorisehigher,todomorethanothers,insatiable.Ihonourendurance,perseverandustry,talent;becausethesearethemeansbywhiachievegreatendsandmounttoloftyeminence.Iwatchyourcareerwithi,becauseIsideryouaspeofadiligent,orderly,eian:notbecauseIdeeplypassioyouhavegohrough,orwhatyoustillsuffer.”
“Youwoulddescribeyourselfasamerepaganphilosopher,”Isaid.
“No.Thereisthisdiffereweenmeaicphilosophers:Ibelieve;andIbelievetheGospel.Youmissedyourepithet.Iamnotapagan,butaChristianphilosopher—afollowerofthesectofJesus.AsHisdiscipleIadoptHispure,Hismerciful,Hisbenignantdoes.Iadvocatethem:Iamsworntospreadthem.Woninyouthtion,shehascultivatedmyinalqualitiesthus:-Fromtheminutegerm,naturalaffe,shehasdevelopedtheovershadowingtree,philanthropy.Fromthewildstringyrootofhumanuprightness,shehasrearedadueseheDiviice.Oftheambitiontowinpowerandrenownformywretchedself,shehasformedtheambitiontospreadmyMaster’skingdom;toachievevictoriesforthestandardofthecross.Somuchhasreligiondoneforme;turningtheinalmaterialstothebestat;pruningandtrainingnature.Butshecouldnoteradiature:norwillitbeeradicated‘tillthismortalshallputonimmortality.’”
Havingsaidthis,hetookhishat,whichlayoablebesidemypalette.Oncemorehelookedattheportrait.
“SheISlovely,”hemurmured.“SheiswellheRoseoftheWorld,indeed!”
“AndmayInotpaintonelikeitforyou?”
“Cuibono?No.”
HedrewoverthepicturethesheetofthinpaperonwhichIwasacedtorestmyhandinpainting,topreventthecardboardfrombeingsullied.Whathesuddenlysawonthisblankpaper,itossibleformetotell;butsomethinghadcaughthiseye.Hetookitupwithasnatch;helookedattheedge;thenshotaglame,inexpressiblypeculiar,andquiteinprehensible:aglaseemedtotakeandmakenoteofeverypointinmyshape,faddress;forittraversedall,quick,keenaslightning.Hislipsparted,asiftospeak:buthecheckedtheience,whateveritwas.
“Whatisthematter?”Iasked.
“Nothingintheworld,”wasthereply;and,replagthepaper,Isawhimdexterouslytearanarrowslipfromthemargin.Itdisappearedinhisglove;and,withoynodand“good-afternoon,”hevanished.
“Well!”Iexclaimed,usinganexpressionofthedistrict,“thatcapstheglobe,however!”
I,inmyturn,scrutihepaper;butsawnothingonitsaveafewdingystainsofpaintwhereIhadtriedthetintinmypencil.Ipohemysteryamiwo;butfindingitinsolvable,andbeiainitcouldnotbeofmuent,Idismissed,andsootit.松语文学www.16sy.coM免费小说阅读
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