"Enough--all shall bolt out at once, like the bullet from the barrel. Wood, close your book and take off your surplice; John Green (to the clerk), leave the church; there will be no wedding to-day." The man obeyed.
Mr. Rochester continued, hardily and recklessly: "Bigamy is an ugly word! I meant, however, to be a bigamist; but fate has out manoeuvred me, or Providence has checked me--perhaps the last. I am little better than a devil at this moment; and, as my pastor there would tell me, deserve, no doubt, the sternest judgments of God, even to the quenchless fire and deathless worm.71 Gentlemen, my plan is broken up! what this lawyer and his client say is true; I have been married; and the woman to whom I was married lives! You say you never heard of a Mrs. Rochester at the house up yonder, Wood; but I dare say you have many a time inclined your ear to gossip about the mysterious lunatic kept there under watch and ward. Some have whispered to you that she is my bastard half-sister; some, my cast-off mistress; I now inform you that she is my wife, whom I married fifteen years ago--Bertha Mason by name; sister of this resolute personage, who is now, with his quivering limbs and white cheeks, showing you what a stout heart men may bear. Cheer up, Dick! never fear me! I'd almost as soon strike a woman as you. Bertha Mason is mad; and she came of a mad family--idiots and maniacs through three generations!72 Her mother, the Creole, was both a madwoman and a drunkard! as I found out after I had wed the daughter; for they were silent on family secrets before. Bertha, like a dutiful child, copied her parent in both points. I had a charming partner--pure, wise, modest! You can fancy that I was a happy man! I went through rich scenes! Oh! my experience has been heavenly, if you only knew it! But I owe you no further explanation. Briggs, Wood, Mason--I invite you all to come up to the house and visit Mrs. Poole's patient, and my wife! You shall see what sort of a being I was cheated into espousing, and judge whether or not I had a right to break the compact, and seek sympathy with something at least human. This girl," he continued, looking at me, "knew no more than you, Wood, of the disgusting secret. She thought all was fair and legal; and never dreamed she was going to be entrapped into a feigned union with a defrauded wretch, already bound to a bad, mad, and em bruted partner! Come, all of you, follow!"
Still holding me fast, he left the church; the three gentlemen came after. At the front door of the hall we found the carriage.
"Take it back to the coach-house, John," said Mr. Rochester, coolly; "it will not be wanted to-day."
At our entrance, Mrs. Fairfax, Adele, Sophie, Leah, advanced to meet and greet us.
"To the right-about--every soul!" cried the master. "Away with your congratulations! Who wants them? Not I! They are fifteen years too late!"
He passed on and ascended the stairs, still holding my hand, and still beckoning the gentlemen to follow him, which they did. We mounted the first stair-case, passed up the gallery, proceeded to the third story. The low black door, opened by Mr. Rochester's master-key, admitted us to the tapestried room, with its great bed, and its pictorial cabinet.
"You know this place, Mason," said our guide. "She bit and stabbed you here."
He lifted the hangings from the wall, uncovering the second door. This, too, he opened. In a room without a window, there burned a fire, guarded by a high and strong fender, and a lamp suspended from the ceiling by a chain. Grace Poole bent over the fire, apparently cooking something in a sauce-pan. In the deep shade, at the further end of the room, a figure ran backward and forward. What it was, whether beast or human being, one could not, at first sight, tell. It grovelled, seemingly, on all fours; it snatched and growled like some strange wild animal; but it was covered with clothing, and a quantity of dark, grizzled hair, wild as a mane, hid its head and face.
"Good-morrow, Mrs. Poole," said Mr. Rochester. "How are you? and how is your charge to-day?"
"We're tolerable, sir, I thank you," replied Grace, lifting the boiling mess carefully on to the hob; "rather snappish, but not 'rageous."
A fierce cry seemed to give the lie to her favorable report; the clothed hyena rose up, and stood tall on its hind feet.
"Ah, sir, she sees you!" exclaimed Grace; "you'd better not stay."
"Only a few moments, Grace; you must allow me a few moments."
"Take care, then, sir! for God's sake, take care!"
The maniac bellowed; she parted her shaggy locks from her visage, and gazed wildly at her visitors. I recognized well that purple face--those bloated features. Mrs. Poole advanced.
"Keep out of the way," said Mr. Rochester, thrusting her aside; "she has no knife now, I suppose? and I'm on my guard."
"One never knows what she has, sir; she is so cunning. It is not in mortal discretion to fathom her craft."
"We had better leave her," whispered Mason.
"Go to the devil!" was his brother-in-law's recommendation.
"Ware!" cried Grace. The three gentlemen retreated simultaneously. Mr. Rochester flung me behind him; the lunatic sprung and grappled his throat viciously, and laid her teeth to his cheek. They struggled. She was a big woman, in stature almost equalling her husband, and corpulent besides. She showed virile force in the contest--more than once she almost throttled him, athletic as he was. He could have settled her with a well-planted blow; but he would not strike; he would only wrestle. At last he mastered her arms. Grace Poole gave him a cord, and he pinioned them behind her. With more rope, which was at hand, he bound her to a chair. The operation was performed amid the fiercest yells and the most convulsive plunges. Mr. Rochester then turned to the spectators; he looked at them with a smile both acrid and desolate.
"That is my wife," said he. "Such is the sole conjugal embrace I am ever to know. Such are the endearments which are to solace my leisure hours! And this is what I wished to have (laying his hand on my shoulder); this young girl, who stands so grave and quiet at the mouth of hell, looking collectedly at the gambols of a demon. I wanted her just as a change after that fierce ragout. Wood and Briggs, look at the difference! Compare these clear eyes with the red balls yonder--this face with that mask--this form with that bulk; then judge me, priest of the Gospel and man of the law, and remember with what judgment ye judge ye shall be judged!73 Off with you now. I must shut up my prize."
We all withdrew. Mr. Rochester stayed a moment behind us, to give some further order to Grace Poole. The solicitor addressed me as we descended the stair.
"You, madam," said he, "are cleared from all blame; your uncle will be glad to hear it--if, indeed, he should be still living--when Mr. Mason returns to Madeira."
"My uncle! What of him? Do you know him?"
"Mr. Mason does; Mr. Eyre has been the Funchal correspondent gp of his house for some years. When your uncle received your letter intimating the contemplated union between yourself and Mr. Rochester, Mr. Mason, who was staying at Madeira to recruit his health, on his way back to Jamaica, happened to be with him. Mr. Eyre mentioned the intelligence; for he knew that my client here was acquainted with a gentleman of the name of Rochester. Mr. Mason, astonished and distressed, as you may suppose, revealed the real state of matters. Your uncle, I am sorry to say, is now on a sick-bed, from which, considering the nature of his disease--declinegq--and the stage it has reached, it is unlikely he will ever rise. He could not then hasten to England himself, to extricate you from the snare into which you had fallen, but he implored Mr. Mason to lose no time in taking steps to prevent the false marriage. He referred him to me for assistance. I used all despatch, and am thankful I was not too late; as you doubtless must be also. Were I not morally certain that your uncle will be dead ere you reach Madeira, I would advise you to accompany Mr. Mason back; but as it is, I think you had better remain in England till you can hear further, either from or of Mr. Eyre. Have we anything else to stay for?" he inquired of Mr. Mason.
"No, no--let us be gone," was the anxious reply; and without waiting to take leave of Mr. Rochester, they made their exit at the hall door. The clergyman stayed to exchange a few sentences, either of admonition or reproof, with hi
s haughty parishioner; this duty done, he, too, departed.
I heard him go as I stood at the half-open door of my own room, to which I had now withdrawn. The house cleared, I shut myself in, fastened the bolt, that none might intrude, and proceeded--not to weep, not to mourn; I was yet too calm for that--but mechanically to take off the wedding-dress, and replace it by the stuff gown I had worn yesterday, as I thought, for the last time. I then sat down; I felt weak and tired. I leaned my arms on a table, and my head dropped on them. And now I thought; till now I had only heard, seen, moved--followed up and down where I was led or dragged--watched event rush on event, disclosure open beyond disclosure; but now I thought.
The morning had been a quiet morning enough--all except the brief scene with the lunatic; the transaction in the church had not been noisy; there was no explosion of passion, no loud altercation, no dispute, no defiance or challenge, no tears, no sobs; a few words had been spoken, a calmly-pronounced objection to the marriage made; some stern, short questions put by Mr. Rochester; answers, explanations given, evidence adduced; an open admission of the truth had been uttered by my master; then the living proof had been seen; the intruders were gone, and all was over.
I was in my own room as usual--just myself, without obvious change; nothing had smitten me, or scathed me, or maimed me. And yet, where was the Jane Eyre of yesterday? where was her life? where were her prospects?
Jane Eyre, who had been an ardent expectant woman--almost a bride--was a cold, solitary girl again; her life was pale; her prospects were desolate. A Christmas frost had come at midsummer; a white December storm had whirled over June; ice glazed the ripe apples, drifts crushed the blowing roses; on hay-field and corn-field lay a frozen shroud; lanes which last night blushed full of flowers, today were pathless with untrodden snow; and the woods which twelve hours since waved leafy and fragrant as groves between the tropics, now spread, waste, wild, and white as pine-forests in wintry Norway. My hopes were all dead--struck with a subtile doom, such as, in one night, fell on all the first-born in the land of Egypt.74 I looked on my cherished wishes, yesterday so blooming and glowing; they lay stark, chill, livid corpses, that could never revive. I looked at my love; that feeling which was my master's--which he had created; it shivered in my heart, like a suffering child in a cold cradle; sickness and anguish had seized it; it could not seek Mr. Rochester's arms--it could not derive warmth from his breast. Oh, never more could it turn to him; for faith was blighted--confidence destroyed! Mr. Rochester was not to me what he had been; for he was not what I had thought him. I would not ascribe vice to him; I would not say he had betrayed me; but the attribute of stainless truth was gone from his idea; and from his presence I must go; that I perceived well. When--how--whither, I could not yet discern; but he himself, I doubted not, would hurry me from Thornfield. Real affection, it seemed, he could not have for me; it had been only fitful passion: that was baulked; he would want me no more. I should fear even to cross his path now; my view must be hateful to him. Oh, how blind had been my eyes! How weak my conduct!
My eyes were covered and closed; eddying darkness seemed to swim round me, and reflection came in as black and confused a flow. Self-abandoned, relaxed and effortless, I seemed to have laid me down in the dried-up bed of a great river; I heard a flood loosened in remote mountains, I felt the torrent come; to rise I had no will, to flee I had no strength. I lay faint, longing to be dead. One idea only still throbbed lifelike within me--a remembrance of God; it begot an unuttered prayer; these words went wandering up and down in my rayless mind, as something that should be whispered; but no energy was found to express them:
"Be not far from me, for trouble is near; there is none to help."75
It was near; and as I had lifted no petition to Heaven to avert it--as I had neither joined my hands, nor bent my knees, nor moved my lips--it came; in full, heavy swing, the torrent poured over me. The whole consciousness of my life lorn,gr my love lost, my hope quenched, my faith death-struck, swayed full and mighty above me in one sullen mass. That bitter hour cannot be described; in truth, "the waters came into my soul; I sunk into deep mire; I felt no standing; I came into deep waters; the floods overflowed me."76
Chapter XXVII
Some time in the afternoon I raised my head, and looking round and seeing the westering sun gilding the sign of its decline on the wall, I asked, "What am I to do?"
But the answer my mind gave--"Leave Thornfield at once"--was so prompt, so dread, that I stopped my ears; I said, I could not bear such words now. "That I am not Edward Rochester's bride is the least part of my woe," I alleged; "that I have wakened out of most glorious dreams, and found them all void and vain, is a horror I could bear and master; but that I must leave him decidedly, instantly, entirely, is intolerable. I cannot do it."
But, then, a force within me averred that I could do it, and foretold that I should do it. I wrestled with my own resolution; I wanted to be weak that I might avoid the awful passage of further suffering I saw laid out for me; and conscience, turned tyrant, held passion by the throat, told her, tauntingly, she had yet but dipped her dainty foot in the slough,gs and swore that with that arm of iron he would thrust her down to unsounded depths of agony.
"Let me be torn away, then!" I cried. "Let another help me!"
"No; you shall tear yourself away; none shall help you: you shall yourself pluck out your right eye; yourself cut off your right hand: your heart shall be the victim; and you the priest, to transfix it."77
I rose up suddenly, terror-stricken at the solitude which so ruthless a judge haunted--at the silence which so awful a voice filled. My head swam as I stood erect; I perceived that I was sickening from excitement and inanition; neither meat nor drink had passed my lips that day, for I had taken no breakfast. And, with a strange pang, I now reflected, that, long as I had been shut up here, no message had been sent to ask how I was, or to invite me to come down; not even little Adele had tapped at the door, not even Mrs. Fairfax had sought me. "Friends always forget those whom fortune forsakes," I murmured, as I undrew the bolt and passed out. I stumbled over an obstacle; my head was still dizzy, my sight was dim and my limbs were feeble. I could not soon recover myself; I fell, but not to the ground; an outstretched arm caught me; I looked up--I was supported by Mr. Rochester, who sat in a chair across my chamber threshold.
"You come out at last," he said. "Well, I have been waiting for you long, and listening; yet not one movement have I heard, nor one sob; five minutes' more of that deathlike hush, and I should have forced the lock like a burglar. So, you shun me?--you shut yourself up and grieve alone? I would rather you had come and upbraided me with vehemence. You are passionate; I expected a scene of some kind. I was prepared for the hot rain of tears; only I wanted them to be shed on my breast; now a senseless floor has received them, or your drenched handkerchief. But I err; you have not wept at all! I see a white cheek and a faded eye, but no trace of tears. I suppose, then, your heart has been weeping blood?
"Well, Jane; not a word of reproach? Nothing bitter--nothing poignant? Nothing to cut a feeling or sting a passion? You sit quietly where I have placed you, and regard me with a weary, passive look.
"Jane, I never meant to wound you thus. If the man who had but one little ewe lamb that was dear to him as a daughter, that ate of his bread and drank of his cup, and lay in his bosom78 had by some mistake slaughtered it at the shambles, he would not have rued his bloody blunder more than I now rue mine. Will you ever forgive me?"
Reader!--I forgave him at the moment, and on the spot. There was such deep remorse in his eye, such true pity in his tone, such manly energy in his manner; and, besides, there was such unchanged love in his whole look and mien, I forgave him all; yet not in words, not outwardly; only at my heart's core.
"You know I am a scoundrel, Jane?" ere long he inquired wistfully--wondering, I suppose, at my continued silence and tameness; the result rather of weakness than of will.
"Yes, sir."
"Then tell me s
o roundly and sharply--don't spare me."
"I cannot; I am tired and sick. I want some water." He heaved a sort of shuddering sigh, and, taking me in his arms, carried me down stairs. At first I did not know to what room he had borne me; all was cloudy to my glazed sight; presently I felt the reviving warmth of a fire; for, summer as it was, I had become icy cold in my chamber. He put wine to my lips; I tasted it and revived; then I ate something he offered me, and was soon myself. I was in the library--sitting in his chair--he was quite near. "If I could go out of life now, without too sharp a pang, it would be well for me," I thought; "then I should not have to make the effort of cracking my heart-strings in rending them from Mr. Rochester's. I must leave him, it appears. I do not want to leave him--I cannot leave him."
"How are you now, Jane?"
"Much better, sir; I shall be well soon."
"Taste the wine again, Jane."
I obeyed him; then he put the glass on the table, stood before me, and looked at me attentively. Suddenly he turned away, with an inarticulate exclamation, full of passionate emotion of some kind; he walked fast through the room and came back; he stooped toward me as if to kiss me; but I remembered caresses were now forbidden. I turned my face away, and put his aside.
"What!--How is this?" he exclaimed, hastily. "Oh, I know! you won't kiss the husband of Bertha Mason? You consider my arms filled, and my embraces appropriated?"
"At any rate, there is neither room nor claim for me, sir."
"Why, Jane? I will spare you the trouble of much talking; I will answer for you--because I have a wife already, you would reply. I guess rightly?"
"Yes."
"If you think so, you must have a strange opinion of me; you must regard me as a plotting profligate--a base and low rake, who has been simulating disinterested love in order to draw you into a snare deliberately laid, and strip you of honor, and rob you of self-respect. What do you say to that? I see you can say nothing; in the first place, you are faint, still, and have enough to do to draw your breath; in the second place, you cannot yet accustom yourself to abuse and revile me; and, besides, the flood-gates of tears are opened, and they would rush out if you spoke much; and you have no desire to expostulate, to upbraid, to make a scene; you are thinking how to act--talking, you consider, is of no use. I know you--I am on my guard."