牛津書蟲第6級6-01.Jane Eyre Chapter 28

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Chapter28

Twodaysarepassed.Itisasummerevening;thecoachmanhassetmedownataplacecalledWhitcross;hecouldtakemenofartherforthesumIhadgiven,andIwasnotpossessedofanothershillingintheworld.Thecoachisamileoffbythistime;Iamalone.AtthismomentIdiscoverthatIforgottotakemyparceloutofthepocketofthecoach,whereIhadplaceditforsafety;thereitremains,thereitmustremain;andnow,Iamabsolutelydestitute.

Whitcrossisnotown,norevenahamlet;itisbutastonepillarsetupwherefourroadsmeet:whitewashed,Isuppose,tobemoreobviousatadistanceandindarkness.Fourarmsspringfromitssummit:thenearesttowntowhichthesepointis,accordingtotheinscription,distanttenmiles;thefarthest,abovetwenty.Fromthewell-knownnamesofthesetownsIlearninwhatcountyIhavelighted;anorth-midlandshire,duskwithmoorland,ridgedwithmountain:thisIsee.Therearegreatmoorsbehindandoneachhandofme;therearewavesofmountainsfarbeyondthatdeepvalleyatmyfeet.Thepopulationheremustbethin,andIseenopassengersontheseroads:theystretchouteast,west,north,andsouth—white,broad,lonely;theyareallcutinthemoor,andtheheathergrowsdeepandwildtotheirveryverge.Yetachancetravellermightpassby;andIwishnoeyetoseemenow:strangerswouldwonderwhatIamdoing,lingeringhereatthesign-post,evidentlyobjectlessandlost.Imightbequestioned:Icouldgivenoanswerbutwhat

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wouldsoundincredibleandexcitesuspicion.Notatieholdsmetohumansocietyatthismoment—notacharmorhopecallsmewheremyfellow-creaturesare—nonethatsawmewouldhaveakindthoughtoragoodwishforme.Ihavenorelativebuttheuniversalmother,Nature:Iwillseekherbreastandaskrepose.

Istruckstraightintotheheath;IheldontoahollowIsawdeeplyfurrowingthebrownmoorside;Iwadedknee-deepinitsdarkgrowth;Iturnedwithitsturnings,andfindingamoss-blackenedgranitecraginahiddenangle,Isatdownunderit.Highbanksofmoorwereaboutme;thecragprotectedmyhead:theskywasoverthat.

SometimepassedbeforeIfelttranquilevenhere:Ihadavaguedreadthatwildcattlemightbenear,orthatsomesportsmanorpoachermightdiscoverme.Ifagustofwindsweptthewaste,Ilookedup,fearingitwastherushofabull;ifaploverwhistled,Iimagineditaman.Findingmyapprehensionsunfounded,however,andcalmedbythedeepsilencethatreignedaseveningdeclinedatnightfall,Itookconfidence.AsyetIhadnotthought;Ihadonlylistened,watched,dreaded;nowIregainedthefacultyofreflection.

WhatwasItodo?Wheretogo?Oh,intolerablequestions,whenIcoulddonothingandgonowhere!—whenalongwaymustyetbemeasuredbymyweary,tremblinglimbsbeforeIcouldreachhumanhabitation—whencoldcharitymustbeentreatedbeforeIcouldgetalodging:reluctantsympathyimportuned,almost

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certainrepulseincurred,beforemytalecouldbelistenedto,oroneofmywantsrelieved!

Itouchedtheheath,itwasdry,andyetwarmwiththebeatofthesummerday.Ilookedatthesky;itwaspure:akindlystartwinkledjustabovethechasmridge.Thedewfell,butwithpropitioussoftness;nobreezewhispered.Natureseemedtomebenignandgood;Ithoughtshelovedme,outcastasIwas;andI,whofrommancouldanticipateonlymistrust,rejection,insult,clungtoherwithfilialfondness.To-night,atleast,Iwouldbeherguest,asIwasherchild:mymotherwouldlodgemewithoutmoneyandwithoutprice.Ihadonemorselofbreadyet:theremnantofarollIhadboughtinatownwepassedthroughatnoonwithastraypenny—mylastcoin.Isawripebilberriesgleaminghereandthere,likejetbeadsintheheath:Igatheredahandfulandatethemwiththebread.Myhunger,sharpbefore,was,ifnotsatisfied,appeasedbythishermit’smeal.Isaidmyeveningprayersatitsconclusion,andthenchosemycouch.

Besidethecragtheheathwasverydeep:whenIlaydownmyfeetwereburiedinit;risinghighoneachside,itleftonlyanarrowspaceforthenight-airtoinvade.Ifoldedmyshawldouble,andspreaditovermeforacoverlet;alow,mossyswellwasmypillow.Thuslodged,Iwasnot,atleast—atthecommencementofthenight,cold.

Myrestmighthavebeenblissfulenough,onlyasadheartbrokeit.Itplainedofitsgapingwounds,its

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inwardbleeding,itsrivenchords.IttrembledforMr.Rochesterandhisdoom;itbemoanedhimwithbitterpity;itdemandedhimwithceaselesslonging;and,impotentasabirdwithbothwingsbroken,itstillquivereditsshatteredpinionsinvainattemptstoseekhim.

Wornoutwiththistortureofthought,Irosetomyknees.Nightwascome,andherplanetswererisen:asafe,stillnight:toosereneforthecompanionshipoffear.WeknowthatGodiseverywhere;butcertainlywefeelHispresencemostwhenHisworksareonthegrandestscalespreadbeforeus;anditisintheuncloudednight-sky,whereHisworldswheeltheirsilentcourse,thatwereadclearestHisinfinitude,Hisomnipotence,Hisomnipresence.IhadrisentomykneestoprayforMr.Rochester.Lookingup,I,withtear-dimmedeyes,sawthemightyMilky-way.Rememberingwhatitwas—whatcountlesssystemstheresweptspacelikeasofttraceoflight—IfeltthemightandstrengthofGod.SurewasIofHisefficiencytosavewhatHehadmade:convincedIgrewthatneitherearthshouldperish,noroneofthesoulsittreasured.Iturnedmyprayertothanksgiving:theSourceofLifewasalsotheSaviourofspirits.Mr.Rochesterwassafe;hewasGod’s,andbyGodwouldhebeguarded.Iagainnestledtothebreastofthehill;anderelonginsleepforgotsorrow.

Butnextday,Wantcametomepaleandbare.Longafterthelittlebirdshadlefttheirnests;longafterbeeshadcomeinthesweetprimeofdaytogathertheheath

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honeybeforethedewwasdried—whenthelongmorningshadowswerecurtailed,andthesunfilledearthandsky—Igotup,andIlookedroundme.

Whatastill,hot,perfectday!Whatagoldendesertthisspreadingmoor!Everywheresunshine.IwishedIcouldliveinitandonit.Isawalizardrunoverthecrag;Isawabeebusyamongthesweetbilberries.Iwouldfainatthemomenthavebecomebeeorlizard,thatImighthavefoundfittingnutriment,permanentshelterhere.ButIwasahumanbeing,andhadahumanbeing’swants:Imustnotlingerwheretherewasnothingtosupplythem.Irose;IlookedbackatthebedIhadleft.Hopelessofthefuture,Iwishedbutthis—thatmyMakerhadthatnightthoughtgoodtorequiremysoulofmewhileIslept;andthatthiswearyframe,absolvedbydeathfromfurtherconflictwithfate,hadnowbuttodecayquietly,andmingleinpeacewiththesoilofthiswilderness.Life,however,wasyetinmypossession,withallitsrequirements,andpains,andresponsibilities.Theburdenmustbecarried;thewantprovidedfor;thesufferingendured;theresponsibilityfulfilled.Isetout.

Whitcrossregained,Ifollowedaroadwhichledfromthesun,nowferventandhigh.BynoothercircumstancehadIwilltodecidemychoice.Iwalkedalongtime,andwhenIthoughtIhadnearlydoneenough,andmightconscientiouslyyieldtothefatiguethatalmostoverpoweredme—mightrelaxthisforcedaction,and,sittingdownonastoneIsawnear,submit

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resistlesslytotheapathythatcloggedheartandlimb—Iheardabellchime—achurchbell.

Iturnedinthedirectionofthesound,andthere,amongsttheromantichills,whosechangesandaspectIhadceasedtonoteanhourago,Isawahamletandaspire.Allthevalleyatmyrighthandwasfullofpasture-fields,andcornfields,andwood;andaglitteringstreamranzig-zagthroughthevariedshadesofgreen,themellowinggrain,thesombrewoodland,theclearandsunnylea.Recalledbytherumblingofwheelstotheroadbeforeme,Isawaheavily-ladenwaggonlabouringupthehill,andnotfarbeyondweretwocowsandtheirdrover.Humanlifeandhumanlabourwerenear.Imuststruggleon:strivetoliveandbendtotoilliketherest.

Abouttwoo’clockp.m.Ienteredthevillage.Atthebottomofitsonestreettherewasalittleshopwithsomecakesofbreadinthewindow.Icovetedacakeofbread.WiththatrefreshmentIcouldperhapsregainadegreeofenergy:withoutit,itwouldbedifficulttoproceed.ThewishtohavesomestrengthandsomevigourreturnedtomeassoonasIwasamongstmyfellow-beings.Ifeltitwouldbedegradingtofaintwithhungeronthecausewayofahamlet.HadInothingaboutmeIcouldofferinexchangeforoneoftheserolls?Iconsidered.Ihadasmallsilkhandkerchieftiedroundmythroat;Ihadmygloves.Icouldhardlytellhowmenandwomeninextremitiesofdestitutionproceeded.Ididnotknowwhethereitherofthese

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articleswouldbeaccepted:probablytheywouldnot;butImusttry.

Ienteredtheshop:awomanwasthere.Seeingarespectably-dressedperson,aladyasshesupposed,shecameforwardwithcivility.Howcouldsheserveme?I

wasseizedwithshame:mytonguewouldnotuttertherequestIhadprepared.Idarednotofferherthehalf-worngloves,thecreasedhandkerchief:besides,Ifeltitwouldbeabsurd.Ionlybeggedpermissiontositdownamoment,asIwastired.Disappointedintheexpectationofacustomer,shecoollyaccededtomyrequest.Shepointedtoaseat;Isankintoit.Ifeltsorelyurgedtoweep;butconscioushowunseasonablesuchamanifestationwouldbe,Irestrainedit.SoonIaskedher“iftherewereanydressmakerorplain-workwomaninthevillage?”“Yes;twoorthree.Quiteasmanyastherewasemploymentfor.”Ireflected.Iwasdriventothepointnow.IwasbroughtfacetofacewithNecessity.Istoodinthepositionofonewithoutaresource,withoutafriend,withoutacoin.Imustdosomething.What?Imustapplysomewhere.Where?“Didsheknowofanyplaceintheneighbourhoodwhereaservantwaswanted?”“Nay;shecouldn’tsay.”

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“Whatwasthechieftradeinthisplace?Whatdidmostofthepeopledo?”

“Somewerefarmlabourers;agooddealworkedatMr.Oliver’sneedle-factory,andatthefoundry.”

“DidMr.Oliveremploywomen?”

“Nay;itwasmen’swork.”

“Andwhatdothewomendo?”

“Iknawn’t,”wastheanswer.“Somedoesonething,andsomeanother.Poorfolkmungetonastheycan.”

Sheseemedtobetiredofmyquestions:and,indeed,whatclaimhadItoimportuneher?Aneighbourortwocamein;mychairwasevidentlywanted.Itookleave.

Ipassedupthestreet,lookingasIwentatallthehousestotherighthandandtotheleft;butIcoulddiscovernopretext,norseeaninducementtoenterany.Irambledroundthehamlet,goingsometimestoalittledistanceandreturningagain,foranhourormore.Muchexhausted,andsufferinggreatlynowforwantoffood,Iturnedasideintoalaneandsatdownunderthehedge.Eremanyminuteshadelapsed,Iwasagainonmyfeet,however,andagainsearchingsomething—aresource,oratleastaninformant.Aprettylittlehousestoodatthetopofthelane,withagardenbeforeit,exquisitelyneatandbrilliantlyblooming.Istoppedatit.WhatbusinesshadItoapproachthewhitedoorortouchtheglitteringknocker?Inwhatwaycoulditpossiblybetheinterestoftheinhabitantsofthat

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dwellingtoserveme?YetIdrewnearandknocked.Amild-looking,cleanly-attiredyoungwomanopenedthedoor.Insuchavoiceasmightbeexpectedfromahopelessheartandfaintingframe—avoicewretchedlylowandfaltering—Iaskedifaservantwaswantedhere?

“No,”saidshe;“wedonotkeepaservant.”

“CanyoutellmewhereIcouldgetemploymentofanykind?”Icontinued.“Iamastranger,withoutacquaintanceinthisplace.Iwantsomework:nomatterwhat.”

Butitwasnotherbusinesstothinkforme,ortoseekaplaceforme:besides,inhereyes,howdoubtfulmusthaveappearedmycharacter,position,tale.Sheshookherhead,she“wassorryshecouldgivemenoinformation,”andthewhitedoorclosed,quitegentlyandcivilly:butitshutmeout.Ifshehadhelditopenalittlelonger,IbelieveIshouldhavebeggedapieceofbread;forIwasnowbroughtlow.

Icouldnotbeartoreturntothesordidvillage,where,besides,noprospectofaidwasvisible.IshouldhavelongedrathertodeviatetoawoodIsawnotfaroff,whichappearedinitsthickshadetoofferinvitingshelter;butIwassosick,soweak,sognawedwithnature’scravings,instinctkeptmeroamingroundabodeswheretherewasachanceoffood.Solitudewouldbenosolitude—restnorest—whilethevulture,hunger,thussankbeakandtalonsinmyside.

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Idrewnearhouses;Ileftthem,andcamebackagain,andagainIwanderedaway:alwaysrepelledbytheconsciousnessofhavingnoclaimtoask—norighttoexpectinterestinmyisolatedlot.Meantime,theafternoonadvanced,whileIthuswanderedaboutlikealostandstarvingdog.Incrossingafield,Isawthechurchspirebeforeme:Ihastenedtowardsit.Nearthechurchyard,andinthemiddleofagarden,stoodawell-builtthoughsmallhouse,whichIhadnodoubtwastheparsonage.Irememberedthatstrangerswhoarriveataplacewheretheyhavenofriends,andwhowantemployment,sometimesapplytotheclergymanforintroductionandaid.Itistheclergyman’sfunctiontohelp—atleastwithadvice—thosewhowishedtohelpthemselves.Iseemedtohavesomethinglikearighttoseekcounselhere.Renewingthenmycourage,andgatheringmyfeebleremainsofstrength,Ipushedon.Ireachedthehouse,andknockedatthekitchen-door.Anoldwomanopened:Iaskedwasthistheparsonage?

“Yes.”

“Wastheclergymanin?”

“No.”

“Wouldhebeinsoon?”

“No,hewasgonefromhome.”

“Toadistance?”

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“Notsofar—happenthreemile.Hehadbeencalledawaybythesuddendeathofhisfather:hewasatMarshEndnow,andwouldverylikelystaythereafortnightlonger.”

“Wasthereanyladyofthehouse?”

“Nay,therewasnaughtbuther,andshewashousekeeper;”andofher,reader,IcouldnotbeartoaskthereliefforwantofwhichIwassinking;Icouldnotyetbeg;andagainIcrawledaway.

OncemoreItookoffmyhandkerchief—oncemoreIthoughtofthecakesofbreadinthelittleshop.Oh,forbutacrust!forbutonemouthfultoallaythepangoffamine!InstinctivelyIturnedmyfaceagaintothevillage;Ifoundtheshopagain,andIwentin;andthoughothersweretherebesidesthewomanIventuredtherequest—“Wouldshegivemearollforthishandkerchief?”

Shelookedatmewithevidentsuspicion:“Nay,sheneversoldstuffi’thatway.”

Almostdesperate,Iaskedforhalfacake;sheagainrefused.“HowcouldshetellwhereIhadgotthe

handkerchief?”shesaid.

“Wouldshetakemygloves?”

“No!whatcouldshedowiththem?”

Reader,itisnotpleasanttodwellonthesedetails.Somesaythereisenjoymentinlookingbacktopainful

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experiencepast;butatthisdayIcanscarcelybeartoreviewthetimestowhichIallude:themoraldegradation,blentwiththephysicalsuffering,formtoodistressingarecollectionevertobewillinglydwelton.Iblamednoneofthosewhorepulsedme.Ifeltitwaswhatwastobeexpected,andwhatcouldnotbehelped:anordinarybeggarisfrequentlyanobjectofsuspicion;awell-dressedbeggarinevitablyso.Tobesure,whatIbeggedwasemployment;butwhosebusinesswasittoprovidemewithemployment?Not,certainly,thatofpersonswhosawmethenforthefirsttime,andwhoknewnothingaboutmycharacter.Andastothewomanwhowouldnottakemyhandkerchiefinexchangeforherbread,why,shewasright,iftheofferappearedtohersinisterortheexchangeunprofitable.Letmecondensenow.Iamsickofthesubject.

AlittlebeforedarkIpassedafarm-house,attheopendoorofwhichthefarmerwassitting,eatinghissupperofbreadandcheese.Istoppedandsaid-

“Willyougivemeapieceofbread?forIamveryhungry.”Hecastonmeaglanceofsurprise;butwithoutanswering,hecutathickslicefromhisloaf,andgaveittome.IimaginehedidnotthinkIwasabeggar,butonlyaneccentricsortoflady,whohadtakenafancytohisbrownloaf.AssoonasIwasoutofsightofhishouse,Isatdownandateit.

Icouldnothopetogetalodgingunderaroof,andsoughtitinthewoodIhavebeforealludedto.Butmy

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nightwaswretched,myrestbroken:thegroundwasdamp,theaircold:besides,intruderspassednearmemorethanonce,andIhadagainandagaintochangemyquarters;nosenseofsafetyortranquillitybefriendedme.Towardsmorningitrained;thewholeofthefollowingdaywaswet.Donotaskme,reader,togiveaminuteaccountofthatday;asbefore,Isoughtwork;asbefore,Iwasrepulsed;asbefore,Istarved;butoncedidfoodpassmylips.AtthedoorofacottageIsawalittlegirlabouttothrowamessofcoldporridgeintoapigtrough.“Willyougivemethat?”Iasked.

Shestaredatme.“Mother!”sheexclaimed,“thereisawomanwantsmetogivehertheseporridge.”

“Welllass,”repliedavoicewithin,“giveitherifshe’sabeggar.T’pigdoesn’twantit.”

Thegirlemptiedthestiffenedmouldintomyhand,andIdevoureditravenously.

Asthewettwilightdeepened,Istoppedinasolitarybridle-path,whichIhadbeenpursuinganhourormore.

“Mystrengthisquitefailingme,”Isaidinasoliloquy.“IfeelIcannotgomuchfarther.ShallIbeanoutcastagainthisnight?Whiletheraindescendsso,mustIlaymyheadonthecold,drenchedground?IfearIcannotdootherwise:forwhowillreceiveme?Butitwillbeverydreadful,withthisfeelingofhunger,faintness,chill,andthissenseofdesolation—thistotalprostrationofhope.Inalllikelihood,though,Ishould

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diebeforemorning.AndwhycannotIreconcilemyselftotheprospectofdeath?WhydoIstruggletoretainavaluelesslife?BecauseIknow,orbelieve,Mr.Rochesterisliving:andthen,todieofwantandcoldisafatetowhichnaturecannotsubmitpassively.Oh,Providence!sustainmealittlelonger!Aid!—directme!”

Myglazedeyewanderedoverthedimandmistylandscape.IsawIhadstrayedfarfromthevillage:itwasquiteoutofsight.Theverycultivationsurroundingithaddisappeared.Ihad,bycross-waysandby-paths,oncemoredrawnnearthetractofmoorland;andnow,onlyafewfields,almostaswildandunproductiveastheheathfromwhichtheywerescarcelyreclaimed,laybetweenmeandtheduskyhill.

“Well,Iwouldratherdieyonderthaninastreetoronafrequentedroad,”Ireflected.“Andfarbetterthatcrowsandravens—ifanyravenstherebeintheseregions—shouldpickmyfleshfrommybones,thanthattheyshouldbeprisonedinaworkhousecoffinandmoulderinapauper’sgrave.”

Tothehill,then,Iturned.Ireachedit.ItremainednowonlytofindahollowwhereIcouldliedown,andfeelatleasthidden,ifnotsecure.Butallthesurfaceofthewastelookedlevel.Itshowednovariationbutoftint:green,whererushandmossovergrewthemarshes;black,wherethedrysoilboreonlyheath.Darkasitwasgetting,Icouldstillseethesechanges,thoughbutasmerealternationsoflightandshade;forcolourhadfadedwiththedaylight.

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Myeyestillrovedoverthesullenswellandalongthemoor-edge,vanishingamidstthewildestscenery,whenatonedimpoint,farinamongthemarshesandtheridges,alightsprangup.“Thatisanignisfatuus,”wasmyfirstthought;andIexpecteditwouldsoonvanish.Itburnton,however,quitesteadily,neitherrecedingnoradvancing.“Isit,then,abonfirejustkindled?”Iquestioned.Iwatchedtoseewhetheritwouldspread:butno;asitdidnotdiminish,soitdidnotenlarge.“Itmaybeacandleinahouse,”Ithenconjectured;“butifso,Icanneverreachit.Itismuchtoofaraway:andwereitwithinayardofme,whatwoulditavail?Ishouldbutknockatthedoortohaveitshutinmyface.”

AndIsankdownwhereIstood,andhidmyfaceagainsttheground.Ilaystillawhile:thenight-windsweptoverthehillandoverme,anddiedmoaninginthedistance;therainfellfast,wettingmeafreshtotheskin.CouldIbuthavestiffenedtothestillfrost—thefriendlynumbnessofdeath—itmighthavepeltedon;Ishouldnothavefeltit;butmyyetlivingfleshshudderedatitschillinginfluence.Iroseerelong.

Thelightwasyetthere,shiningdimbutconstantthroughtherain.Itriedtowalkagain:Idraggedmyexhaustedlimbsslowlytowardsit.Itledmeaslantoverthehill,throughawidebog,whichwouldhavebeenimpassableinwinter,andwassplashyandshakingevennow,intheheightofsummer.HereIfelltwice;butasoftenIroseandralliedmyfaculties.Thislightwasmyforlornhope:Imustgainit.

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Havingcrossedthemarsh,Isawatraceofwhiteoverthemoor.Iapproachedit;itwasaroadoratrack:itledstraightuptothelight,whichnowbeamedfromasortofknoll,amidstaclumpoftrees—firs,apparently,fromwhatIcoulddistinguishofthecharacteroftheirformsandfoliagethroughthegloom.MystarvanishedasIdrewnear:someobstaclehadintervenedbetweenmeandit.Iputoutmyhandtofeelthedarkmassbeforeme:Idiscriminatedtheroughstonesofalowwall—aboveit,somethinglikepalisades,andwithin,ahighandpricklyhedge.Igropedon.Againawhitishobjectgleamedbeforeme:itwasagate—awicket;itmovedonitshingesasItouchedit.Oneachsidestoodasablebush-hollyoryew.

Enteringthegateandpassingtheshrubs,thesilhouetteofahouserosetoview,black,low,andratherlong;buttheguidinglightshonenowhere.Allwasobscurity.Weretheinmatesretiredtorest?Ifeareditmustbeso.Inseekingthedoor,Iturnedanangle:thereshotoutthefriendlygleamagain,fromthelozengedpanesofaverysmalllatticedwindow,withinafootoftheground,madestillsmallerbythegrowthofivyorsomeothercreepingplant,whoseleavesclusteredthickovertheportionofthehousewallinwhichitwasset.Theaperturewassoscreenedandnarrow,thatcurtainorshutterhadbeendeemedunnecessary;andwhenIstoopeddownandputasidethesprayoffoliageshootingoverit,Icouldseeallwithin.Icouldseeclearlyaroomwithasandedfloor,cleanscoured;adresserofwalnut,withpewterplatesrangedinrows,

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reflectingtherednessandradianceofaglowingpeat-fire.Icouldseeaclock,awhitedealtable,somechairs.Thecandle,whoserayhadbeenmybeacon,burntonthetable;andbyitslightanelderlywoman,somewhatrough-looking,butscrupulouslyclean,likeallabouther,wasknittingastocking.

Inoticedtheseobjectscursorilyonly—inthemtherewasnothingextraordinary.Agroupofmoreinterestappearednearthehearth,sittingstillamidsttherosypeaceandwarmthsuffusingit.Twoyoung,gracefulwomen—ladiesineverypoint—sat,oneinalowrocking-chair,theotheronalowerstool;bothworedeepmourningofcrapeandbombazeen,whichsombregarbsingularlyset