Books: Jane Eyre

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The clock struck eleven. I looked at Adele, whose head leant
against my shoulder; her eyes were waxing heavy, so I took her up
in my arms and carried her off to bed. It was near one before the
gentlemen and ladies sought their chambers.

The next day was as fine as its predecessor: it was devoted by
the party to an excursion to some site in the neighbourhood. They
set out early in the forenoon, some on horseback, the rest in
carriages; I witnessed both the departure and the return. Miss
Ingram, as before, was the only lady equestrian; and, as before,
Mr. Rochester galloped at her side; the two rode a little apart from
the rest. I pointed out this circumstance to Mrs. Fairfax,
who was standing at the window with me -

"You said it was not likely they should think of being married,"
said I, "but you see Mr. Rochester evidently prefers her to any of
the other ladies."

"Yes, I daresay: no doubt he admires her."

"And she him," I added; "look how she leans her head towards him
as if she were conversing confidentially; I wish I could see her
face; I have never had a glimpse of it yet."

"You will see her this evening," answered Mrs. Fairfax. "I happened
to remark to Mr. Rochester how much Adele wished to be introduced
to the ladies, and he said: 'Oh! let her come into the drawing-room
after dinner; and request Miss Eyre to accompany her.'"

"Yes; he said that from mere politeness: I need not go, I am sure,"
I answered.

"Well, I observed to him that as you were unused to company, I did
not think you would like appearing before so gay a party -- all
strangers; and he replied, in his quick way -- 'Nonsense! If she
objects, tell her it is my particular wish; and if she resists,
say I shall come and fetch her in case of contumacy.'"

"I will not give him that trouble," I answered. "I will go, if
no better may be; but I don't like it. Shall you be there, Mrs.
Fairfax?"

"No; I pleaded off, and he admitted my plea. I'll tell you how to
manage so as to avoid the embarrassment of making a formal entrance,
which is the most disagreeable part of the business. You must go
into the drawing-room while it is empty, before the ladies leave
the dinner-table; choose your seat in any quiet nook you like; you
need not stay long after the gentlemen come in, unless you please:
just let Mr. Rochester see you are there and then slip away --
nobody will notice you."

"Will these people remain long, do you think?"

"Perhaps two or three weeks, certainly not more. After the
Easter recess, Sir George Lynn, who was lately elected member for
Millcote, will have to go up to town and take his seat; I daresay
Mr. Rochester will accompany him: it surprises me that he has
already made so protracted a stay at Thornfield."

It was with some trepidation that I perceived the hour approach
when I was to repair with my charge to the drawing-room. Adele
had been in a state of ecstasy all day, after hearing she was to be
presented to the ladies in the evening; and it was not till Sophie
commenced the operation of dressing her that she sobered down. Then
the importance of the process quickly steadied her, and by the time
she had her curls arranged in well-smoothed, drooping clusters, her
pink satin frock put on, her long sash tied, and her lace mittens
adjusted, she looked as grave as any judge. No need to warn her not
to disarrange her attire: when she was dressed, she sat demurely
down in her little chair, taking care previously to lift up the
satin skirt for fear she should crease it, and assured me she would
not stir thence till I was ready. This I quickly was: my best
dress (the silver-grey one, purchased for Miss Temple's wedding,
and never worn since) was soon put on; my hair was soon smoothed;
my sole ornament, the pearl brooch, soon assumed. We descended.

Fortunately there was another entrance to the drawing-room than
that through the saloon where they were all seated at dinner. We
found the apartment vacant; a large fire burning silently on the
marble hearth, and wax candles shining in bright solitude, amid the
exquisite flowers with which the tables were adorned. The crimson
curtain hung before the arch: slight as was the separation
this drapery formed from the party in the adjoining saloon, they
spoke in so low a key that nothing of their conversation could be
distinguished beyond a soothing murmur.

Adele, who appeared to be still under the influence of a most
solemnising impression, sat down, without a word, on the footstool I
pointed out to her. I retired to a window-seat, and taking a book
from a table near, endeavoured to read. Adele brought her stool
to my feet; ere long she touched my knee.

"What is it, Adele?"

"Est-ce que je ne puis pas prendrie une seule de ces fleurs
magnifiques, mademoiselle? Seulement pour completer ma toilette."

"You think too much of your 'toilette,' Adele: but you may have
a flower." And I took a rose from a vase and fastened it in her
sash. She sighed a sigh of ineffable satisfaction, as if her cup
of happiness were now full. I turned my face away to conceal a
smile I could not suppress: there was something ludicrous as well
as painful in the little Parisienne's earnest and innate devotion
to matters of dress.

A soft sound of rising now became audible; the curtain was swept
back from the arch; through it appeared the dining-room, with its
lit lustre pouring down light on the silver and glass of a magnificent
dessert-service covering a long table; a band of ladies stood in
the opening; they entered, and the curtain fell behind them.

There were but eight; yet, somehow, as they flocked in, they gave
the impression of a much larger number. Some of them were very
tall; many were dressed in white; and all had a sweeping amplitude
of array that seemed to magnify their persons as a mist magnifies
the moon. I rose and curtseyed to them: one or two bent their
heads in return, the others only stared at me.

They dispersed about the room, reminding me, by the lightness and
buoyancy of their movements, of a flock of white plumy birds. Some
of them threw themselves in half-reclining positions on the sofas
and ottomans: some bent over the tables and examined the flowers
and books: the rest gathered in a group round the fire: all
talked in a low but clear tone which seemed habitual to them. I
knew their names afterwards, and may as well mention them now.

First, there was Mrs. Eshton and two of her daughters. She had
evidently been a handsome woman, and was well preserved still.
Of her daughters, the eldest, Amy, was rather little: naive,
and child-like in face and manner, and piquant in form; her white
muslin dress and blue sash became her well. The second, Louisa,
was taller and more elegant in figure; with a very pretty face,
of that order the French term minois chiffone: both sisters were
fair as lilies.

Lady Lynn was a large and stout personage of about forty, very erect,
very haughty-looking, richly dressed in a satin robe of changeful
sheen: her dark hair shone glossily under the shade of an azure
plume, and within the circlet of a band of gems.

Mrs. Colonel Dent was less showy; but, I thought, more lady-like.
She had a slight figure, a pale, gentle face, and fair hair. Her
black satin dress, her scarf of rich foreign lace, and her pearl
ornaments, pleased me better than the rainbow radiance of the titled
dame.

But the three most distinguished -- partly, perhaps, because the
tallest figures of the band -- were the Dowager Lady Ingram and her
daughters, Blanche and Mary. They were all three of the loftiest
stature of women. The Dowager might be between forty and fifty:
her shape was still fine; her hair (by candle-light at least) still
black; her teeth, too, were still apparently perfect. Most people
would have termed her a splendid woman of her age: and so she was,
no doubt, physically speaking; but then there was an expression of
almost insupportable haughtiness in her bearing and countenance.
She had Roman features and a double chin, disappearing into a throat
like a pillar: these features appeared to me not only inflated and
darkened, but even furrowed with pride; and the chin was sustained
by the same principle, in a position of almost preternatural
erectness. She had, likewise, a fierce and a hard eye: it reminded
me of Mrs. Reed's; she mouthed her words in speaking; her voice
was deep, its inflections very pompous, very dogmatical, -- very
intolerable, in short. A crimson velvet robe, and a shawl turban
of some gold-wrought Indian fabric, invested her (I suppose she
thought) with a truly imperial dignity.

Blanche and Mary were of equal stature, -- straight and tall as
poplars. Mary was too slim for her height, but Blanche was moulded
like a Dian. I regarded her, of course, with special interest.
First, I wished to see whether her appearance accorded with
Mrs. Fairfax's description; secondly, whether it at all resembled
the fancy miniature I had painted of her; and thirdly -- it will
out! -- whether it were such as I should fancy likely to suit Mr.
Rochester's taste.

As far as person went, she answered point for point, both to my
picture and Mrs. Fairfax's description. The noble bust, the sloping
shoulders, the graceful neck, the dark eyes and black ringlets
were all there; -- but her face? Her face was like her mother's;
a youthful unfurrowed likeness: the same low brow, the same high
features, the same pride. It was not, however, so saturnine a
pride! she laughed continually; her laugh was satirical, and so
was the habitual expression of her arched and haughty lip.

Genius is said to be self-conscious. I cannot tell whether Miss
Ingram was a genius, but she was self-conscious -- remarkably self-
conscious indeed. She entered into a discourse on botany with the
gentle Mrs. Dent. It seemed Mrs. Dent had not studied that science:
though, as she said, she liked flowers, "especially wild ones;"
Miss Ingram had, and she ran over its vocabulary with an air. I
presently perceived she was (what is vernacularly termed) TRAILING
Mrs. Dent; that is, playing on her ignorance -- her TRAIL might be
clever, but it was decidedly not good-natured. She played: her
execution was brilliant; she sang: her voice was fine; she talked
French apart to her mamma; and she talked it well, with fluency
and with a good accent.

Mary had a milder and more open countenance than Blanche; softer
features too, and a skin some shades fairer (Miss Ingram was dark
as a Spaniard) -- but Mary was deficient in life: her face lacked
expression, her eye lustre; she had nothing to say, and having once
taken her seat, remained fixed like a statue in its niche. The
sisters were both attired in spotless white.

And did I now think Miss Ingram such a choice as Mr. Rochester
would be likely to make? I could not tell -- I did not know his
taste in female beauty. If he liked the majestic, she was the
very type of majesty: then she was accomplished, sprightly. Most
gentlemen would admire her, I thought; and that he DID admire her,
I already seemed to have obtained proof: to remove the last shade
of doubt, it remained but to see them together.

You are not to suppose, reader, that Adele has all this time been
sitting motionless on the stool at my feet: no; when the ladies
entered, she rose, advanced to meet them, made a stately
reverence, and said with gravity -

"Bon jour, mesdames."

And Miss Ingram had looked down at her with a mocking air, and
exclaimed, "Oh, what a little puppet!"

Lady Lynn had remarked, "It is Mr. Rochester's ward, I suppose --
the little French girl he was speaking of."

Mrs. Dent had kindly taken her hand, and given her a kiss.

Amy and Louisa Eshton had cried out simultaneously -- "What a love
of a child!"

And then they had called her to a sofa, where she now sat, ensconced
between them, chattering alternately in French and broken English;
absorbing not only the young ladies' attention, but that of Mrs.
Eshton and Lady Lynn, and getting spoilt to her heart's content.

At last coffee is brought in, and the gentlemen are summoned. I
sit in the shade -- if any shade there be in this brilliantly-lit
apartment; the window-curtain half hides me. Again the arch yawns;
they come. The collective appearance of the gentlemen, like that
of the ladies, is very imposing: they are all costumed in black;
most of them are tall, some young. Henry and Frederick Lynn are
very dashing sparks indeed; and Colonel Dent is a fine soldierly
man. Mr. Eshton, the magistrate of the district, is gentleman-like:
his hair is quite white, his eyebrows and whiskers still dark,
which gives him something of the appearance of a "pere noble de
theatre." Lord Ingram, like his sisters, is very tall; like them,
also, he is handsome; but he shares Mary's apathetic and listless
look: he seems to have more length of limb than vivacity of blood
or vigour of brain.

And where is Mr. Rochester?

He comes in last: I am not looking at the arch, yet I see him
enter. I try to concentrate my attention on those netting-needles,
on the meshes of the purse I am forming -- I wish to think only
of the work I have in my hands, to see only the silver beads and
silk threads that lie in my lap; whereas, I distinctly behold his
figure, and I inevitably recall the moment when I last saw it; just
after I had rendered him, what he deemed, an essential service, and
he, holding my hand, and looking down on my face, surveyed me with
eyes that revealed a heart full and eager to overflow; in whose
emotions I had a part. How near had I approached him at that moment!
What had occurred since, calculated to change his and my relative
positions? Yet now, how distant, how far estranged we were! So
far estranged, that I did not expect him to come and speak to me.
I did not wonder, when, without looking at me, he took a seat at
the other side of the room, and began conversing with some of the
ladies.

No sooner did I see that his attention was riveted on them, and
that I might gaze without being observed, than my eyes were drawn
involuntarily to his face; I could not keep their lids under control:
they would rise, and the irids would fix on him. I looked, and had
an acute pleasure in looking, -- a precious yet poignant pleasure;
pure gold, with a steely point of agony: a pleasure like what the
thirst-perishing man might feel who knows the well to which he has
crept is poisoned, yet stoops and drinks divine draughts nevertheless.

Most true is it that "beauty is in the eye of the gazer." My
master's colourless, olive face, square, massive brow, broad and
jetty eyebrows, deep eyes, strong features, firm, grim mouth, -- all
energy, decision, will, -- were not beautiful, according to rule;
but they were more than beautiful to me; they were full of an interest,
an influence that quite mastered me, -- that took my feelings from
my own power and fettered them in his. I had not intended to love
him; the reader knows I had wrought hard to extirpate from my soul
the germs of love there detected; and now, at the first renewed view
of him, they spontaneously arrived, green and strong! He made me
love him without looking at me.

I compared him with his guests. What was the gallant grace of the
Lynns, the languid elegance of Lord Ingram, -- even the military
distinction of Colonel Dent, contrasted with his look of native
pith and genuine power? I had no sympathy in their appearance,
their expression: yet I could imagine that most observers would
call them attractive, handsome, imposing; while they would pronounce
Mr. Rochester at once harsh-featured and melancholy-looking. I
saw them smile, laugh -- it was nothing; the light of the candles
had as much soul in it as their smile; the tinkle of the bell as
much significance as their laugh. I saw Mr. Rochester smile:- his
stern features softened; his eye grew both brilliant and gentle,
its ray both searching and sweet. He was talking, at the moment,
to Louisa and Amy Eshton. I wondered to see them receive with
calm that look which seemed to me so penetrating: I expected their
eyes to fall, their colour to rise under it; yet I was glad when I
found they were in no sense moved. "He is not to them what he is
to me," I thought: "he is not of their kind. I believe he is of
mine; -- I am sure he is -- I feel akin to him -- I understand the
language of his countenance and movements: though rank and wealth
sever us widely, I have something in my brain and heart, in my
blood and nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him. Did I say,
a few days since, that I had nothing to do with him but to receive
my salary at his hands? Did I forbid myself to think of him in any
other light than as a paymaster? Blasphemy against nature! Every
good, true, vigorous feeling I have gathers impulsively round him.
I know I must conceal my sentiments: I must smother hope; I must
remember that he cannot care much for me. For when I say that I
am of his kind, I do not mean that I have his force to influence,
and his spell to attract; I mean only that I have certain tastes
and feelings in common with him. I must, then, repeat continually
that we are for ever sundered:- and yet, while I breathe and think,
I must love him."

Coffee is handed. The ladies, since the gentlemen entered, have
become lively as larks; conversation waxes brisk and merry. Colonel
Dent and Mr. Eshton argue on politics; their wives listen. The two
proud dowagers, Lady Lynn and Lady Ingram, confabulate together.
Sir George -- whom, by-the-bye, I have forgotten to describe, -- a
very big, and very fresh-looking country gentleman, stands before
their sofa, coffee-cup in hand, and occasionally puts in a word.
Mr. Frederick Lynn has taken a seat beside Mary Ingram, and is
showing her the engravings of a splendid volume: she looks, smiles
now and then, but apparently says little. The tall and phlegmatic
Lord Ingram leans with folded arms on the chair-back of the little
and lively Amy Eshton; she glances up at him, and chatters like
a wren: she likes him better than she does Mr. Rochester. Henry
Lynn has taken possession of an ottoman at the feet of Louisa:
Adele shares it with him: he is trying to talk French with her,
and Louisa laughs at his blunders. With whom will Blanche Ingram
pair? She is standing alone at the table, bending gracefully over
an album. She seems waiting to be sought; but she will not wait
too long: she herself selects a mate.

Mr. Rochester, having quitted the Eshtons, stands on the hearth
as solitary as she stands by the table: she confronts him, taking
her station on the opposite side of the mantelpiece.

"Mr. Rochester, I thought you were not fond of children?"

"Nor am I."

"Then, what induced you to take charge of such a little doll as
that?" (pointing to Adele). "Where did you pick her up?"

"I did not pick her up; she was left on my hands."

"You should have sent her to school."

"I could not afford it: schools are so dear."

"Why, I suppose you have a governess for her: I saw a person with
her just now -- is she gone? Oh, no! there she is still, behind
the window-curtain. You pay her, of course; I should think it
quite as expensive, -- more so; for you have them both to keep in
addition."

I feared -- or should I say, hoped? -- the allusion to me would
make Mr. Rochester glance my way; and I involuntarily shrank farther
into the shade: but he never turned his eyes.

"I have not considered the subject," said he indifferently, looking
straight before him.

"No, you men never do consider economy and common sense. You should
hear mama on the chapter of governesses: Mary and I have had, I
should think, a dozen at least in our day; half of them detestable
and the rest ridiculous, and all incubi -- were they not, mama?"

"Did you speak, my own?"

The young lady thus claimed as the dowager's special property,
reiterated her question with an explanation.

"My dearest, don't mention governesses; the word makes me nervous.
I have suffered a martyrdom from their incompetency and caprice.
I thank Heaven I have now done with them!"

Mrs. Dent here bent over to the pious lady and whispered something
in her ear; I suppose, from the answer elicited, it was a reminder
that one of the anathematised race was present.

"Tant pis!" said her Ladyship, "I hope it may do her good!" Then,
in a lower tone, but still loud enough for me to hear, "I noticed
her; I am a judge of physiognomy, and in hers I see all the faults
of her class."

"What are they, madam?" inquired Mr. Rochester aloud.

"I will tell you in your private ear," replied she, wagging her
turban three times with portentous significancy.

"But my curiosity will be past its appetite; it craves food now."

"Ask Blanche; she is nearer you than I."

"Oh, don't refer him to me, mama! I have just one word to say of
the whole tribe; they are a nuisance. Not that I ever suffered much
from them; I took care to turn the tables. What tricks Theodore
and I used to play on our Miss Wilsons, and Mrs. Greys, and Madame
Jouberts! Mary was always too sleepy to join in a plot with
spirit. The best fun was with Madame Joubert: Miss Wilson was
a poor sickly thing, lachrymose and low-spirited, not worth the
trouble of vanquishing, in short; and Mrs. Grey was coarse and
insensible; no blow took effect on her. But poor Madame Joubert!
I see her yet in her raging passions, when we had driven her to
extremities -- spilt our tea, crumbled our bread and butter, tossed
our books up to the ceiling, and played a charivari with the ruler
and desk, the fender and fire-irons. Theodore, do you remember
those merry days?"

"Yaas, to be sure I do," drawled Lord Ingram; "and the poor old
stick used to cry out 'Oh you villains childs!' -- and then we
sermonised her on the presumption of attempting to teach such clever
blades as we were, when she was herself so ignorant."

"We did; and, Tedo, you know, I helped you in prosecuting (or
persecuting) your tutor, whey-faced Mr. Vining -- the parson in the
pip, as we used to call him. He and Miss Wilson took the liberty
of falling in love with each other -- at least Tedo and I thought
so; we surprised sundry tender glances and sighs which we interpreted
as tokens of 'la belle passion,' and I promise you the public soon
had the benefit of our discovery; we employed it as a sort of lever
to hoist our dead-weights from the house. Dear mama, there, as
soon as she got an inkling of the business, found out that it was
of an immoral tendency. Did you not, my lady-mother?"

"Certainly, my best. And I was quite right: depend on that:
there are a thousand reasons why liaisons between governesses and
tutors should never be tolerated a moment in any well-regulated
house; firstly -- "

"Oh, gracious, mama! Spare us the enumeration! Au reste, we
all know them: danger of bad example to innocence of childhood;
distractions and consequent neglect of duty on the part of the attached
-- mutual alliance and reliance; confidence thence resulting --
insolence accompanying -- mutiny and general blow-up. Am I right,
Baroness Ingram, of Ingram Park?"

"My lily-flower, you are right now, as always."

"Then no more need be said: change the subject."

Amy Eshton, not hearing or not heeding this dictum, joined in with
her soft, infantine tone: "Louisa and I used to quiz our governess
too; but she was such a good creature, she would bear anything:
nothing put her out. She was never cross with us; was she, Louisa?"

"No, never: we might do what we pleased; ransack her desk and
her workbox, and turn her drawers inside out; and she was so good-
natured, she would give us anything we asked for."

"I suppose, now," said Miss Ingram, curling her lip sarcastically,
"we shall have an abstract of the memoirs of all the governesses
extant: in order to avert such a visitation, I again move
the introduction of a new topic. Mr. Rochester, do you second my
motion?"

"Madam, I support you on this point, as on every other."

"Then on me be the onus of bringing it forward. Signior Eduardo,
are you in voice to-night?"

"Donna Bianca, if you command it, I will be."

"Then, signior, I lay on you my sovereign behest to furbish up your
lungs and other vocal organs, as they will be wanted on my royal
service."

"Who would not be the Rizzio of so divine a Mary?"

"A fig for Rizzio!" cried she, tossing her head with all its
curls, as she moved to the piano. "It is my opinion the fiddler
David must have been an insipid sort of fellow; I like black Bothwell
better: to my mind a man is nothing without a spice of the devil
in him; and history may say what it will of James Hepburn, but I
have a notion, he was just the sort of wild, fierce, bandit hero
whom I could have consented to gift with my hand."

"Gentlemen, you hear! Now which of you most resembles Bothwell?"
cried Mr. Rochester.

"I should say the preference lies with you," responded Colonel
Dent.

"On my honour, I am much obliged to you," was the reply.