The
promise of a smooth career, which
my first calm introduction to
Thornfield Hall seemed to pledge,
was not belied on a longer acquaintance
with the place and its inmates.
Mrs. Fairfax turned out to be
what she appeared, a placid-tempered,
kind-natured woman, of competent
education and average intelligence.
My pupil was a lively child,
who had been spoilt and indulged,
and therefore was sometimes wayward;
but as she was committed entirely
to my care, and no injudicious
interference from any quarter
ever thwarted my plans for her
improvement, she soon forgot
her little freaks, and became
obedient and teachable. She had
no great talents, no marked traits
of character, no peculiar development
of feeling or taste which raised
her one inch above the ordinary
level of childhood; but neither
had she any deficiency or vice
which sunk her below it. She
made reasonable progress, entertained
for me a vivacious, though perhaps
not very profound, affection;
and by her simplicity, gay prattle,
and efforts to please, inspired
me, in return, with a degree
of attachment sufficient to make
us both content in each other's
society.
This, par parenthese, will
be thought cool language by persons
who entertain solemn doctrines
about the angelic nature of children,
and the duty of those charged
with their education to conceive
for them an idolatrous devotion:
but I am not writing to flatter
parental egotism, to echo cant,
or prop up humbug; I am merely
telling the truth. I felt a conscientious
solicitude for Adele's welfare
and progress, and a quiet liking
for her little self: just as
I cherished towards Mrs. Fairfax
a thankfulness for her kindness,
and a pleasure in her society
proportionate to the tranquil
regard she had for me, and the
moderation of her mind and character.
Anybody may blame me who likes,
when I add further, that, now
and then, when I took a walk
by myself in the grounds; when
I went down to the gates and
looked through them along the
road; or when, while Adele played
with her nurse, and Mrs. Fairfax
made jellies in the storeroom,
I climbed the three staircases,
raised the trap-door of the attic,
and having reached the leads,
looked out afar over sequestered
field and hill, and along dim
sky-line--that then I longed
for a power of vision which might
overpass that limit; which might
reach the busy world, towns,
regions full of life I had heard
of but never seen--that then
I desired more of practical experience
than I possessed; more of intercourse
with my kind, of acquaintance
with variety of character, than
was here within my reach. I valued
what was good in Mrs. Fairfax,
and what was good in Adele; but
I believed in the existence of
other and more vivid kinds of
goodness, and what I believed
in I wished to behold.
Who blames me? Many, no doubt;
and I shall be called discontented.
I could not help it: the restlessness
was in my nature; it agitated
me to pain sometimes. Then my
sole relief was to walk along
the corridor of the third storey,
backwards and forwards, safe
in the silence and solitude of
the spot, and allow my mind's
eye to dwell on whatever bright
visions rose before it--and,
certainly, they were many and
glowing; to let my heart be heaved
by the exultant movement, which,
while it swelled it in trouble,
expanded it with life; and, best
of all, to open my inward ear
to a tale that was never ended--a
tale my imagination created,
and narrated continuously; quickened
with all of incident, life, fire,
feeling, that I desired and had
not in my actual existence.
It is in vain to say human
beings ought to be satisfied
with tranquillity: they must
have action; and they will make
it if they cannot find it. Millions
are condemned to a stiller doom
than mine, and millions are in
silent revolt against their lot.
Nobody knows how many rebellions
besides political rebellions
ferment in the masses of life
which people earth. Women are
supposed to be very calm generally:
but women feel just as men feel;
they need exercise for their
faculties, and a field for their
efforts, as much as their brothers
do; they suffer from too rigid
a restraint, too absolute a stagnation,
precisely as men would suffer;
and it is narrow-minded in their
more privileged fellow-creatures
to say that they ought to confine
themselves to making puddings
and knitting stockings, to playing
on the piano and embroidering
bags. It is thoughtless to condemn
them, or laugh at them, if they
seek to do more or learn more
than custom has pronounced necessary
for their sex.
When thus alone, I not unfrequently
heard Grace Poole's laugh: the
same peal, the same low, slow
ha! ha! which, when first heard,
had thrilled me: I heard, too,
her eccentric murmurs; stranger
than her laugh. There were days
when she was quite silent; but
there were others when I could
not account for the sounds she
made. Sometimes I saw her: she
would come out of her room with
a basin, or a plate, or a tray
in her hand, go down to the kitchen
and shortly return, generally
(oh, romantic reader, forgive
me for telling the plain truth!)
bearing a pot of porter. Her
appearance always acted as a
damper to the curiosity raised
by her oral oddities: hard-featured
and staid, she had no point to
which interest could attach.
I made some attempts to draw
her into conversation, but she
seemed a person of few words:
a monosyllabic reply usually
cut short every effort of that
sort.
The other members of the household,
viz., John and his wife, Leah
the housemaid, and Sophie the
French nurse, were decent people;
but in no respect remarkable;
with Sophie I used to talk French,
and sometimes I asked her questions
about her native country; but
she was not of a descriptive
or narrative turn, and generally
gave such vapid and confused
answers as were calculated rather
to check than encourage inquiry.
October,
November, December
passed away. One afternoon in
January, Mrs. Fairfax had begged
a holiday for Adele, because
she had a cold; and, as Adele
seconded the request with an
ardour that reminded me how precious
occasional holidays had been
to me in my own childhood, I
accorded it, deeming that I did
well in showing pliability on
the point. It was a fine, calm
day, though very cold; I was
tired of sitting still in the
library through a whole long
morning: Mrs. Fairfax had just
written a letter which was waiting
to be posted, so I put on my
bonnet and cloak and volunteered
to carry it to Hay; the distance,
two miles, would be a pleasant
winter afternoon walk. Having
seen Adele comfortably seated
in her little chair by Mrs. Fairfax's
parlour fireside, and given her
her best wax doll (which I usually
kept enveloped in silver paper
in a drawer) to play with, and
a story-book for change of amusement;
and having replied to her "Revenez
bientot, ma bonne amie, ma chere
Mdlle. Jeannette," with a kiss
I set out.
The ground was hard, the air
was still, my road was lonely;
I walked fast till I got warm,
and then I walked slowly to enjoy
and analyse the species of pleasure
brooding for me in the hour and
situation. It was three o'clock;
the church bell tolled as I passed
under the belfry: the charm of
the hour lay in its approaching
dimness, in the low-gliding and
pale-beaming sun. I was a mile
from Thornfield, in a lane noted
for wild roses in summer, for
nuts and blackberries in autumn,
and even now possessing a few
coral treasures in hips and haws,
but whose best winter delight
lay in its utter solitude and
leafless repose. If a breath
of air stirred, it made no sound
here; for there was not a holly,
not an evergreen to rustle, and
the stripped hawthorn and hazel
bushes were as still as the white,
worn stones which causewayed
the middle of the path. Far and
wide, on each side, there were
only fields, where no cattle
now browsed; and the little brown
birds, which stirred occasionally
in the hedge, looked like single
russet leaves that had forgotten
to drop.
This lane inclined up-hill
all the way to Hay; having reached
the middle, I sat down on a stile
which led thence into a field.
Gathering my mantle about me,
and sheltering my hands in my
muff, I did not feel the cold,
though it froze keenly; as was
attested by a sheet of ice covering
the causeway, where a little
brooklet, now congealed, had
overflowed after a rapid thaw
some days since. From my seat
I could look down on Thornfield:
the grey and battlemented hall
was the principal object in the
vale below me; its woods and
dark rookery rose against the
west. I lingered till the sun
went down amongst the trees,
and sank crimson and clear behind
them. I then turned eastward.
On the hill-top above me sat
the rising moon; pale yet as
a cloud, but brightening momentarily,
she looked over Hay, which, half
lost in trees, sent up a blue
smoke from its few chimneys:
it was yet a mile distant, but
in the absolute hush I could
hear plainly its thin murmurs
of life. My ear, too, felt the
flow of currents; in what dales
and depths I could not tell:
but there were many hills beyond
Hay, and doubtless many becks
threading their passes. That
evening calm betrayed alike the
tinkle of the nearest streams,
the sough of the most remote.
A rude noise broke on these
fine ripplings and whisperings,
at once so far away and so clear:
a positive tramp, tramp, a metallic
clatter, which effaced the soft
wave-wanderings; as, in a picture,
the solid mass of a crag, or
the rough boles of a great oak,
drawn in dark and strong on the
foreground, efface the aerial
distance of azure hill, sunny
horizon, and blended clouds where
tint melts into tint.
The
din was on
the causeway:
a horse was coming; the windings
of the lane yet hid it, but it
approached. I was just leaving
the stile; yet, as the path was
narrow, I sat still to let it
go by. In those days I was young,
and all sorts of fancies bright
and dark tenanted my mind: the
memories of nursery stories were
there amongst other rubbish;
and when they recurred, maturing
youth added to them a vigour
and vividness beyond what childhood
could give. As this horse approached,
and as I watched for it to appear
through the dusk, I remembered
certain of Bessie's tales, wherein
figured a North-of-England spirit
called a "Gytrash," which, in
the form of horse, mule, or large
dog, haunted solitary ways, and
sometimes came upon belated travellers,
as this horse was now coming
upon me.
It
was very near,
but not yet
in sight; when, in addition to
the tramp, tramp, I heard a rush
under the hedge, and close down
by the hazel stems glided a great
dog, whose black and white colour
made him a distinct object against
the trees. It was exactly one
form of Bessie's Gytrash--a lion-like
creature with long hair and a
huge head: it passed me, however,
quietly enough; not staying to
look up, with strange pretercanine
eyes, in my face, as I half expected
it would. The horse followed,--a
tall steed, and on its back a
rider. The man, the human being,
broke the spell at once. Nothing
ever rode the Gytrash: it was
always alone; and goblins, to
my notions, though they might
tenant the dumb carcasses of
beasts, could scarce covet shelter
in the commonplace human form.
No Gytrash was this,--only a
traveller taking the short cut
to Millcote. He passed, and I
went on; a few steps, and I turned:
a sliding sound and an exclamation
of "What the deuce is to do now?" and
a clattering tumble, arrested
my attention. Man and horse were
down; they had slipped on the
sheet of ice which glazed the
causeway. The dog came bounding
back, and seeing his master in
a predicament, and hearing the
horse groan, barked till the
evening hills echoed the sound,
which was deep in proportion
to his magnitude. He snuffed
round the prostrate group, and
then he ran up to me; it was
all he could do,--there was no
other help at hand to summon.
I obeyed him, and walked down
to the traveller, by this time
struggling himself free of his
steed. His efforts were so vigorous,
I thought he could not be much
hurt; but I asked him the question
-
"Are
you injured,
sir?"
I think he was swearing, but
am not certain; however, he was
pronouncing some formula which
prevented him from replying to
me directly.
"Can I do anything?" I
asked again.
"You must just stand on one
side," he answered as he rose,
first to his knees, and then
to his feet. I did; whereupon
began a heaving, stamping, clattering
process, accompanied by a barking
and baying which removed me effectually
some yards' distance; but I would
not be driven quite away till
I saw the event. This was finally
fortunate; the horse was re-established,
and the dog was silenced with
a "Down, Pilot!" The traveller
now, stooping, felt his foot
and leg, as if trying whether
they were sound; apparently something
ailed them, for he halted to
the stile whence I had just risen,
and sat down.
I was in the mood for being
useful, or at least officious,
I think, for I now drew near
him again.
"If
you are hurt,
and want help,
sir, I can
fetch some
one
either from Thornfield Hall or
from Hay."
"Thank you: I shall do: I have
no broken bones,--only a sprain;" and
again he stood up and tried his
foot, but the result extorted
an involuntary "Ugh!"
Something of daylight still
lingered, and the moon was waxing
bright: I could see him plainly.
His figure was enveloped in a
riding cloak, fur collared and
steel clasped; its details were
not apparent, but I traced the
general points of middle height
and considerable breadth of chest.
He had a dark face, with stern
features and a heavy brow; his
eyes and gathered eyebrows looked
ireful and thwarted just now;
he was past youth, but had not
reached middle-age; perhaps he
might be thirty-five. I felt
no fear of him, and but little
shyness. Had he been a handsome,
heroic-looking young gentleman,
I should not have dared to stand
thus questioning him against
his will, and offering my services
unasked. I had hardly ever seen
a handsome youth; never in my
life spoken to one. I had a theoretical
reverence and homage for beauty,
elegance, gallantry, fascination;
but had I met those qualities
incarnate in masculine shape,
I should have known instinctively
that they neither had nor could
have sympathy with anything in
me, and should have shunned them
as one would fire, lightning,
or anything else that is bright
but antipathetic.
If even this stranger had smiled
and been good-humoured to me
when I addressed him; if he had
put off my offer of assistance
gaily and with thanks, I should
have gone on my way and not felt
any vocation to renew inquiries:
but the frown, the roughness
of the traveller, set me at my
ease: I retained my station when
he waved to me to go, and announced
-
"I
cannot think
of leaving
you, sir, at
so late an
hour,
in this solitary lane, till I
see you are fit to mount your
horse."
He looked at me when I said
this; he had hardly turned his
eyes in my direction before.
"I should think you ought to
be at home yourself," said he, "if
you have a home in this neighbourhood:
where do you come from?"
"From
just below;
and I am not
at all afraid
of being out
late when it is moonlight: I
will run over to Hay for you
with pleasure, if you wish it:
indeed, I am going there to post
a letter."
"You live just below--do you
mean at that house with the battlements?" pointing
to Thornfield Hall, on which
the moon cast a hoary gleam,
bringing it out distinct and
pale from the woods that, by
contrast with the western sky,
now seemed one mass of shadow.
"Yes,
sir."
"Whose
house is it?"
"Mr.
Rochester's."
"Do
you know Mr.
Rochester?"
"No,
I have never
seen him."
"He
is not resident,
then?"
"No."
"Can
you tell me
where he is?"
"I
cannot."
"You are not a servant at the
hall, of course. You are--" He
stopped, ran his eye over my
dress, which, as usual, was quite
simple: a black merino cloak,
a black beaver bonnet; neither
of them half fine enough for
a lady's-maid. He seemed puzzled
to decide what I was; I helped
him.
"I
am the governess."
"Ah, the governess!" he repeated; "deuce
take me, if I had not forgotten!
The governess!" and again my
raiment underwent scrutiny. In
two minutes he rose from the
stile: his face expressed pain
when he tried to move.
"I cannot commission you to
fetch help," he said; "but you
may help me a little yourself,
if you will be so kind."
"Yes,
sir."
"You
have not an
umbrella that
I can use as a stick?"
"No."
"Try
to get hold
of my horse's
bridle and lead him to me: you
are not afraid?"
I should have been afraid to
touch a horse when alone, but
when told to do it, I was disposed
to obey. I put down my muff on
the stile, and went up to the
tall steed; I endeavoured to
catch the bridle, but it was
a spirited thing, and would not
let me come near its head; I
made effort on effort, though
in vain: meantime, I was mortally
afraid of its trampling fore-feet.
The traveller waited and watched
for some time, and at last he
laughed.
"I see," he said, "the
mountain will
never be brought
to Mahomet,
so all you can do is to aid Mahomet
to go to the mountain; I must
beg of you to come here."
I
came. "Excuse me," he continued: "necessity
compels me to make you useful." He
laid a heavy hand on my shoulder,
and leaning on me with some stress,
limped to his horse. Having once
caught the bridle, he mastered
it directly and sprang to his
saddle; grimacing grimly as he
made the effort, for it wrenched
his sprain.
"Now," said he, releasing his
under lip from a hard bite, "just
hand me my whip; it lies there
under the hedge."
I sought it and found it.
"Thank
you; now make
haste with
the letter
to Hay, and
return
as fast as you can."
A touch of a spurred heel made
his horse first start and rear,
and then bound away; the dog
rushed in his traces; all three
vanished,
"Like heath
that, in the wilderness, The
wild wind whirls away."
I took up my muff and walked
on. The incident had occurred
and was gone for me: it WAS an
incident of no moment, no romance,
no interest in a sense; yet it
marked with change one single
hour of a monotonous life. My
help had been needed and claimed;
I had given it: I was pleased
to have done something; trivial,
transitory though the deed was,
it was yet an active thing, and
I was weary of an existence all
passive. The new face, too, was
like a new picture introduced
to the gallery of memory; and
it was dissimilar to all the
others hanging there: firstly,
because it was masculine; and,
secondly, because it was dark,
strong, and stern. I had it still
before me when I entered Hay,
and slipped the letter into the
post- office; I saw it as I walked
fast down-hill all the way home.
When I came to the stile, I stopped
a minute, looked round and listened,
with an idea that a horse's hoofs
might ring on the causeway again,
and that a rider in a cloak,
and a Gytrash-like Newfoundland
dog, might be again apparent:
I saw only the hedge and a pollard
willow before me, rising up still
and straight to meet the moonbeams;
I heard only the faintest waft
of wind roaming fitful among
the trees round Thornfield, a
mile distant; and when I glanced
down in the direction of the
murmur, my eye, traversing the
hall-front, caught a light kindling
in a window: it reminded me that
I was late, and I hurried on.
I did not like
re-entering Thornfield. To
pass its threshold
was to return to stagnation;
to cross the silent hall, to
ascend the darksome staircase,
to seek my own lonely little
room, and then to meet tranquil
Mrs. Fairfax, and spend the long
winter evening with her, and
her only, was to quell wholly
the faint excitement wakened
by my walk,--to slip again over
my faculties the viewless fetters
of an uniform and too still existence;
of an existence whose very privileges
of security and ease I was becoming
incapable of appreciating. What
good it would have done me at
that time to have been tossed
in the storms of an uncertain
struggling life, and to have
been taught by rough and bitter
experience to long for the calm
amidst which I now repined! Yes,
just as much good as it would
do a man tired of sitting still
in a "too easy chair" to take
a long walk: and just as natural
was the wish to stir, under my
circumstances, as it would be
under his.
I lingered at the gates; I
lingered on the lawn; I paced
backwards and forwards on the
pavement; the shutters of the
glass door were closed; I could
not see into the interior; and
both my eyes and spirit seemed
drawn from the gloomy house--from
the grey-hollow filled with rayless
cells, as it appeared to me--to
that sky expanded before me,--a
blue sea absolved from taint
of cloud; the moon ascending
it in solemn march; her orb seeming
to look up as she left the hill-tops,
from behind which she had come,
far and farther below her, and
aspired to the zenith, midnight
dark in its fathomless depth
and measureless distance; and
for those trembling stars that
followed her course; they made
my heart tremble, my veins glow
when I viewed them. Little things
recall us to earth; the clock
struck in the hall; that sufficed;
I turned from moon and stars,
opened a side-door, and went
in.
The hall was not dark, nor
yet was it lit, only by the high-hung
bronze lamp; a warm glow suffused
both it and the lower steps of
the oak staircase. This ruddy
shine issued from the great dining-room,
whose two-leaved door stood open,
and showed a genial fire in the
grate, glancing on marble hearth
and brass fire-irons, and revealing
purple draperies and polished
furniture, in the most pleasant
radiance. It revealed, too, a
group near the mantelpiece: I
had scarcely caught it, and scarcely
become aware of a cheerful mingling
of voices, amongst which I seemed
to distinguish the tones of Adele,
when the door closed.
I hastened
to Mrs. Fairfax's room; there
was a fire there
too, but no candle, and no Mrs.
Fairfax. Instead, all alone,
sitting upright on the rug, and
gazing with gravity at the blaze,
I beheld a great black and white
long-haired dog, just like the
Gytrash of the lane. It was so
like it that I went forward and
said--"Pilot" and the thing got
up and came to me and snuffed
me. I caressed him, and he wagged
his great tail; but he looked
an eerie creature to be alone
with, and I could not tell whence
he had come. I rang the bell,
for I wanted a candle; and I
wanted, too, to get an account
of this visitant. Leah entered.
"What dog is
this?"
"He came with
master."
"With whom?"
"With master--Mr.
Rochester--he is just arrived."
"Indeed! and
is Mrs. Fairfax with him?"
"Yes, and Miss
Adele; they are in the dining-room,
and John
is gone for a surgeon; for master
has had an accident; his horse
fell and his ankle is sprained."
"Did the horse
fall in Hay Lane?"
"Yes, coming
down-hill; it slipped on some
ice."
"Ah! Bring
me a candle will you Leah?"
Leah brought it; she entered,
followed by Mrs. Fairfax, who
repeated the news; adding that
Mr. Carter the surgeon was come,
and was now with Mr. Rochester:
then she hurried out to give
orders about tea, and I went
upstairs to take off my things.
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