Сборник лучших произведений английской классической литературы. Уровень 3

Chapter 13

The promise of a smooth career was coming true. Never before had I been granted such a pleasant existence^[22]. Mrs. Fairfax turned out to be what she appeared, a calm woman of average intelligence. My pupil was a lively child, spoilt but teachable and obedient. She made progress, and her efforts to please me inspired me, thus, we were both content in each other's society.

Yet now and then, when I was left alone and took a walk by myself in the grounds or climbed up to the attic to admire the view, I longed for the busy world, towns, regions full of life. I desired more of practical experience than I possessed and more people around me to talk to. Then my only relief was to walk along the corridor of the third storey, backwards and forwards, safe in the silence and solitude, and to open my inward ear to a tale that was never ended-a tale my imagination created, a tale full of incident, life, fire, feeling, that I desired and had not in my actual life.

When I was near the attic, I often heard Grace Poole's laugh-the same low, slow ha! ha! which was followed by her eccentric murmurs.

October, November and December passed away. One afternoon in January, Mrs. Fairfax asked for a holiday for Adèle, because she had a cold, and I agreed.

It was a fine, calm day, though very cold. I was tired of sitting still in the library through a whole long morning and, as Mrs. Fairfax had just written a letter, I volunteered to carry it to Hay and post it. The distance of two miles could become a pleasant winter afternoon walk.

I walked fast till I got warm. Then I walked slowly, and after a mile or so I stopped to rest. A sheet of ice lay across the track where a stream had run over it and frozen solid. From where I was, I could see Thornfield, with its dark battlements and woods. Looking the other way, I saw chimney smoke rising from the houses at the top of the hill. Behind them, the moon was rising. I stayed there in absolute peace, listening to the faint sound of the rivers in the valley.

Just as I was about to set off again, I heard the metallic clatter of horses' hooves approaching. I couldn't see anything, as the lane was narrow and winding, but someone was certainly coming. I stood back to let them pass.

When the noise was close, but there was still no one in sight, I was startled to see a huge dog sniffing right next to me. It was brown and white, with a long coat, and such a large, hairy head that it reminded me of a lion. I shrank back, but the dog ran past without even looking at me. Almost at once the rider galloped past too-a man on a tall, sturdy horse-and I continued my journey.

Then I heard a scraping sound, and the man cursing. I turned back to see that both horse and rider were on the ground: they had slipped on the ice I had been looking at^[23]. The dog sniffed around them, then came up to me, barking. I followed him back down the track.

“Are you injured, sir?” I asked. “Can I do anything?”

“You must just stand on one side,” he answered as he rose, first to his knees, and then to his feet. Then he helped the horse. Meanwhile, the dog was barking and leaping around, and was at last silenced with a 'Down, Pilot!'.

Luckily, the horse was unharmed. But the rider felt his foot and leg and limped.

“If you are hurt, and want help, sir, I can fetch someone either from Thornfield Hall or from Hay.”

“Thank you, but I have no broken bones, – only a sprain,” he said. As he stood up and tried his foot, he gave an involuntary 'Ugh!'

The sun had not set yet, and I could see him clearly. His figure was enveloped in a riding cloak, but I traced middle height and a considerable breadth of chest. He had a dark face, with stern features, he was past youth. I concluded he was about thirty-five. I felt no fear of him, probably just little shyness. He was not a handsome, heroic-looking young gentleman, he had not smiled and been good-humoured to me. If he had, I would have long been gone. But now when he waved to me to go, I announced, “I cannot think of leaving you, sir, at so late an hour 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,” he said. “If you have a home in this neighbourhood, where do you come from?'”

“From just below. And 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?” he pointed to Thornfield Hall.

“Yes, sir.”

“Whose house is it?”

“Mr. Rochester's.”

“Do you know Mr. Rochester?”

“No, I have never seen him.”

“Can you tell me where he is?”

“I cannot.”

“You are not a servant at the hall, of course. You are-“

He stopped, looked at my plain dress, puzzled to decide what I was. I helped him.

“I am the governess.”

“Ah, the governess!”

In two minutes he rose, and his face expressed pain when he tried to move.

“I will not ask you to fetch help, but you may help me a little yourself, if you are so kind.”

I went over to him, and he leaned on my shoulder. With much grimacing, we reached his horse, and he hauled himself into the saddle. “Thank you; now hurry with the letter to Hay, and return as fast as you can.'” He spurred the horse on, the dog followed, and they all disappeared.

I went on my way to Hay. The incident was over-there was no need to think about it. Yet as I walked into the village, as I posted the letters, as I tramped down the hill in the dark, I couldn't help thinking about the man. His face hung in the air before me, so stern and strong, unlike the face of anyone else I knew. When I was on my way back, I stopped and wondered for a moment if I might meet him again. I could see yellow light shining from the windows of Thornfield Hall, reminding me that I was late, and I hurried on.

When I got in, the hallway was dark, but there was a warm glow coming from the dining room, as the door was half-open. I heard voices inside, including Adèle's, as I walked past. I went into Mrs. Fairfax's little office. There was a fire burning in the grate, but Mrs. Fairfax was not there. Instead, I was amazed to see a large, hairy dog sitting on the hearth rug, exactly like the one I had seen a few hours before. It was so similar that I called out “Pilot!”, and the thing got up and came to me and snuffed me. I caressed him, and he wagged his great tail.

I rang the bell, for I wanted a candle, and I wanted, too, to ask Leah a few questions about the dog.

“What dog is this?”

“He came with master.”

“With whom?”

“With master-Mr. Rochester-he is just arrived.”

“Oh! and is Mrs. Fairfax with him?”

“Yes, and Miss Adèle. They are in the dining-room. But the master has had an accident. His horse fell and his ankle is sprained.”

“Did the horse fall on the road to Hay?”

“Yes, it slipped on some ice.”

“Ah! Bring me a candle, will you Leah?”

Leah brought it. When she returned, Mrs. Fairfax entered the room with her and repeated the news. The surgeon had arrived and was now with Mr. Rochester. Then she hurried out to give orders about tea, and I went upstairs to take off my things.

Chapter 14

Mr. Rochester, it seems, by the surgeon's orders, went to bed early that night. Did he rise soon next morning. Adèle and I had now to vacate the library. Mr. Rochester needed it as a reception-room for visitors.

Adèle was not easy to teach that day. The doorbell rang constantly all day as various visitors arrived. My pupil kept running to the top of the bannisters to see if she could get a glimpse of Mr. Rochester. She invented pretexts to go downstairs in order to visit the library, where she was not wanted. Even when I got a little angry and made her sit still, she continued to talk of her dear friend Mr. Rochester and the presents he must have brought for her. “And yesterday he asked me a lot about you, Mademoiselle,” she added in French: “He must have a present for you, too.”

At dark I allowed Adele to put away books and work, and to run downstairs. It had been silent there and I thought that Mr. Rochester was no longer busy.

Mrs. Fairfax came in. “Mr. Rochester would like you and your pupil to take tea with him in the drawing-room this evening,” she said: “he has been so busy all day that he could not ask to see you before.”

“When does he expect us?”

“Oh, at six o'clock. You had better change your frock now.”

“Is it necessary to change my frock?”

“Yes, you had better: I always dress for the evening when Mr. Rochester is here.”

She came with me to my room and helped me to put on my black silk dress.

“You want a brooch,” said Mrs. Fairfax. I had a little pearl ornament, which Miss Temple gave me as a parting keepsake. I put it on, and then we went downstairs.

Mr. Rochester was resting on a sofa, with his bad foot raised up on a cushion, while Adèle played with Pilot by the fire.

“Here is Miss Eyre, sir,” said Mrs. Fairfax, in her quiet way. He bowed, still not taking his eyes from the group of the dog and child. While Mrs. Fairfax fetched the tea, I sat down, feeling just as I had before-that his lack of courtesy made things easier for me. It meant that I felt no obligation to be polite.

“Did you bring Miss Eyre a present?” Adèle asked suddenly, running over to Mr. Rochester.

Mr. Rochester raised his eyebrows, and turned to me. “Did you expect a present, Miss Eyre? Are you fond of presents?” he asked searching my face with eyes that I saw were dark and piercing.

“I hardly know, sir. I have little experience of them. They are generally thought pleasant things.”

“But what do YOU think?”

“A present has many faces to it, has it not? and one should consider all, before pronouncing an opinion.”

“Miss Eyre, you are not so unsophisticated as Adèle. The moment she sees me, she demands presents.”

“I have less confidence in my deserts than Adèle has. If I had to make out a case I should be puzzled, since I am a stranger and have done nothing worth of acknowledgement.”

“That's not true at all,” he replied. “I can see what good work you have done with Adèle. She is not bright, she has no talents; yet in a short time she has made much progress.”

“Sir, you have now given me my present, as this praise is the best present you could ever give a teacher,” I said.

Mr. Rochester grunted, and took his cup of tea from Mrs. Fairfax.

“You have been here how long?”

“Three months, sir.”

“And you came from —?”

“From Lowood school, in – shire.”

“How long were you there?”

“Eight years.”

“Eight years! No wonder you have rather the look of another world. When I saw you last night, I thought of fairy tales. I decided you had bewitched my horse. I am not sure yet. Who are your parents?”

“I have none.”

“So when you standing there, you were waiting for your real family, the elves and the fairies.”

I shook my head. “The men in green all left England a hundred years ago,” said I, speaking as seriously as he had done.

Mrs. Fairfax had dropped her knitting, and, with raised eyebrows, tried to understand what sort of talk this was.

“Who recommended you to come here?”

“I advertised, and Mrs. Fairfax answered my advertisement.”

“Yes,” said the good lady, who now knew what we were talking about, “and I am daily thankful for the choice Providence let me make. Miss Eyre has been an invaluable companion to me, and a kind teacher to Adèle.”

“I will judge for myself. First of all, I have to thank her for this sprain.”

Mrs. Fairfax wanted to object, but Mr. Rochester did not let her do it. He interrogated me about Lowood and things I had been taught there. He asked me to go to the piano in the library and play a tune there. “You play rather better than some school-girls but not well,” was his judgement. “Adèle showed me some sketches this morning, which she said were yours. Has any master helped you?”

“No, indeed!”

“Ah! that pricks pride.” He wanted to see more works. I brought the portfolio from the library. He deliberately scrutinised each sketch and painting.

“Were you happy when you painted these pictures?”

“To paint them was to enjoy one of the few pleasures I have ever known.”

“You had not enough of the artist's skill and science to give it full being. Yet the drawings are, for a school-girl, peculiar.”

Then looking at his watch, he said abruptly, “It is nine o'clock: Miss Eyre, you should not let Adèle sit up so long. Take her to bed. I wish you all good-night, now.”

I took my portfolio. We curtseyed to him, received a frigid bow in return, and left the room.

“You said he was not strikingly peculiar,” I told Mrs. Fairfax after putting the girl to bed. “I think he is very changeful.”

“I am so accustomed to his manner, I never think of it,” she said. “He has had a few family troubles. He lost his elder brother nine years ago.”

“Was he so very fond of his brother?”

“Why, no-perhaps not. I believe there were some misunderstandings between them. He is not very forgiving: he broke with his family, and now for many years he has led an unsettled kind of life. I don't think he has ever stayed at Thornfield for a fortnight, since the death of his brother without a will left him master of the mansion. Indeed, no wonder he shuns the place.”

“Why should he shun it?”

“Perhaps he thinks it gloomy.”

The answer was evasive. It was evident that Mrs. Fairfax wished me to drop the subject.

Chapter 15

For the next few days I hardly saw Mr. Rochester. In the mornings he was busy with visitors and, since his sprain was better, he often went out riding. He generally did not come back till late at night. I occasionally bumped into him on the stairs or in the hall. Sometimes he would bow and smile; other times he seemed irritated, and barely glanced at me.

One day after a dinner party with some friends, he asked Mrs. Fairfax to bring Adèle and me to the drawing room. His things had at last arrived from Millcote, and he gave Adèle her box of presents. While she sat on the sofa ecstatically examining her treasure, Mr. Rochester asked me to come and seat in a chair near his own.

“I am really not fond of children. Don't draw that chair farther off, Miss Eyre; sit down exactly where I placed it-if you please, that is.”

He then proceeded to stare into the fire in silence. He had placed my chair so close to him, I could do nothing but sit and look at him. Mr. Rochester looked different to what I had seen him look before; not quite so stern- much less gloomy. There was a smile on his lips, and his eyes sparkled. He had great, dark eyes, not without a certain change in their depths sometimes, which, if it was not softness, reminded you, at least, of that feeling.

Suddenly he turned and caught me looking at him.

“You examine me, Miss Eyre,” he said. “Do you think I am handsome?”

I should have replied to this question by something polite and vague but instead I answered with 'No, sir'.

“Ah! There is something special about you! You are so quiet, grave, and simple, but when one asks you a question, or makes a remark to which you are obliged to reply, you are blunt and straight-forward.”

Yet he seemed to like this honesty in me; he was intrigued by it. He told me that I was unlike anyone else he had met, especially of so young an age, and that since I was so honest with him, he could not help but be honest with me.

“It would please me now to draw you out-to learn more of you-therefore speak.”

Instead of speaking, I smiled. “What about, sir?”

“Whatever you like.”

I said nothing.

“Stubborn?” he said, “and annoyed. Ah! I put my request in an absurd form. I am sorry. I did not mean to make you feel inferior to me, I just wanted you to talk to me a little and divert my thoughts.”

“I would love to help, but I cannot introduce a topic. How do I know what will interest you?”

“Do you agree I have a right to be a little masterful with you?”

“I don't think, sir, you have a right to command me.”

We talked more. Once he said something strange-that he had many regrets, but that he now intended to become a good person. I did not understand, though I wanted to. As if he felt that I was not indifferent to his sorrows, he promised:

“I'll explain all this some day. Good-night.”

Chapter 16

Mr. Rochester explained later everything. At least, he told me a little about his past. It was one afternoon when he met me and Adèle in the grounds. While the girl played with Pilot, he asked me to walk within sight of her.

He said that she was the daughter of a French opera-dancer, Celine Varens, whom he had loved passionately once. She called him her Apollo Belvidere and he thought he was her idol, though he was ugly. “I gave her a complete establishment of servants, a carriage, diamonds,” he continued. “I was blind with love. But one night, when I came unexpectedly, I found her out. The carriage stopped, as I had expected, at the hotel door. I recognised her at once and was about to call her by name when I saw another figure jump from the carriage after her.”

Some time later, Celine ran away to Italy with her new lover. But she left her daughter behind in Paris, claiming that Rochester should look after her.

“I am not her father,” Mr. Rochester explained. “And I don't know who is. But she had no one, and I could not leave her like that.”

“How strange that I am telling you all this,” he added, “and how odd that you listen so calmly-you are not shocked for a moment. But there is something about you-something that makes me want to confide in you.” I did not reply. “And so here she is, a little French flower, transplanted to an English country garden here at Thornfield,” he continued. “And because she is here, you are here too. Mrs. Fairfax found you to train her; but now you know that it is an illegitimate offspring of a French opera-girl, you will perhaps think differently of your post and pupil. Some day you will tell me that you have found another place and beg me to look out for a new governess.”

“No: Adèle is not to blame for her mother's faults or yours. Now that I know that she is, in a sense, parentless-abandoned by her mother and disowned by you, sir-I'll cling closer to her than before. How should I possibly prefer the spoilt pet of a wealthy family, who would hate her governess, to a lonely little orphan, who treats her as a friend?”

“Oh, that is the light in which you view it!”

He looked up at the house. “I like this house,” he said, thoughtfully. “I like its worn stone, and the old thorn trees. And yet, how I've struggled to stay away, how I've hated the thought of…” He fell silent, staring up at Thornfield's windows. As I watched, I saw a range of feelings pass across his face: first a kind of impatience, then disgust and hatred, followed by guilt and pain. Finally, he hardened his features into stony determination, and said, “It's time to go in.”

After a while Mr. Rochester, who had previously been nothing but an employer to me, became my friend. As time went on, he became less moody, and was always pleased to see me. He often wanted to talk, he trusted me and treated me as his equal, even though I was still a governess paid thirty pounds a year.

I had called him plain and even ugly, but his was the face I now most wanted to see. Thanks to him I forgot about my loneliness. Now I had all the intelligent conversation I had longed for, and I enjoyed it as much as I could. I laughed more, and my complexion looked brighter and healthier. I guess, I could say I was really happy then.

As all other people in the world Mr. Rochester had his faults. He could be rude and harsh, moody and sarcastic. But he was good at heart. And whatever sorrows and troubles tormented him, I wanted desperately to help him.

Late that night, I lay in bed wide awake thinking about Mr. Rochester. I thought about the way he had looked up at the house, seeming to suffer such agony. Eight weeks had passed since he arrived; but Mrs. Fairfax had told me he hardly ever came to Thornfield for more than a fortnight. Was he leaving soon? Spring was nearly here, and summer and autumn lay ahead. How lonely they would be for me if he went away! What was it, I wondered, that made it so hard for him to be here?

I blew out my candle, but just as I was drifting off, I heard something that made me start awake again-a low, murmuring noise, very close by. I sat up suddenly, alert and listening. After a while, I heard the clock in the hallway strike two. Just then, it seemed that someone, or something, walked past the door of my room.

“Who is there?” I asked. Then I remembered Pilot. Perhaps the kitchen door had been left open, and he had come upstairs to look for his master. This calmed me down, and I turned over again to sleep.

And there it was again! The dreadful low laugh I had heard so many times in the attic passageway! Now it seemed to be right outside my door, almost as if it came in through the keyhole. In a panic I got up, ran up to the door and drew the bolt across. Trembling, I repeated: “Who is there?”

There was a murmur followed by footsteps moving along the hall and up the attic stairs. “Was that Grace Poole? Is she possessed with a devil?” Had she started wandering the house by night? I decided to wake Mrs. Fairfax, to tell her about the laugh and steps.

Still shaking all over with fear^[24], I put on a dress and a shawl, and unbolted my door. There was a candle burning just outside. I was also amazed to find the air quite dim, as if filled with smoke. Then I was more aware of the strong smell of burning.

As I soon saw, the smoke was coming from Mr. Rochester's room. The door was ajar, and I ran in. I thought no more of Mrs. Fairfax. I thought no more of Grace Poole.

Through the smoke I saw flames on the curtains of the bed, and Mr. Rochester lying motionless, in deep sleep.

“Wake up!” I shook him, but he only murmured and turned- the smoke had dulled his senses. I rushed to his basin, where I found a water jug as well. Both were full of water and I lifted them up in turn, carried them over to the bed and drenched the curtains and blankets. I flew back to my own room, brought my own water jug and extinguished the fire.

The hiss of the dying fire and the splash of water woke Mr. Rochester at last.

“Is there a flood?” he cried.

“No, sir,' I answered, 'but there has been a fire. Get up. You are wet now. I will fetch you a candle.”

“Is that Jane Eyre?” he demanded. “What have you done with me, witch? Have you plotted to drown me?”

I fetched the candle from outside my door. When I returned, Mr. Rochester was wearing his dressing gown. He took the candle from me and inspected the blackened wet bed.

“What happened?” he asked. “Who did this?”

I told him everything-how I had heard the murmur and the strange laugh, which I knew from before, and footsteps going up to the attic, and how the candle had been left outside my room.

“Should I fetch Mrs. Fairfax?” I asked.

“No-no, don't fetch anyone,” he said. “Stay here in this chair, and wait for me. I am going upstairs for a minute, and I will be back soon. Don't move.”

I waited there in the darkness for what seemed like hours. Soon he came back, looking gloomy.

“I have sorted it all out,” he said. He stared at me. “I forget whether you said you saw anything when you opened your chamber door.”

“No, sir, only the candlestick on the ground.”

“But you heard an odd laugh? You have heard that laugh before, I think, or something like it?”

“Yes, sir: there is a woman who sews here, called Grace Poole, – she laughs in that way.”

“Grace Poole-you have guessed it. She's-well, she's a little eccentric. Meantime, I am glad that you are the only person, besides myself, acquainted with the precise details of tonight's incident. Say nothing about it. I will take care of it myself.”

“Good-night then, sir.”

He seemed surprised. “What!” he exclaimed, “are you quitting me already, and in that way?”

“You just said I should go back to my room, sir.”

“Yes, but not in that brief, dry fashion. Why, you have saved my life! Let us at least shake hands.”

He held out his hand. I gave him mine. He took it first in one, them in both his own.

“You have saved my life: I have a pleasure in owing you so immense a debt. I cannot say more.”

“Good-night again, sir. There is no debt, sir,” I said. “I am glad I happened to be awake, and was able to help^[25].”

But he would not let go of my hand.

“I knew…” he said, “I knew as soon as I saw you, that you would do me good in some way.” He stared at me intensely.

“I think I hear Mrs. Fairfax stirring, sir,” I said.

“Well, then you must go,” he said, releasing me.

Back in my bed, I could not sleep for a second. My brain turned over and over the strange and dramatic events of the night, until I was exhausted. Feelings of terror, when I thought of what might have happened, constantly changed places with joy, when I thought of the touch of his hand, and the look I had seen in his eyes. Too excited to rest, I rose as soon as day dawned.