Who blames me? Many, no doubt; and I shall be calleddiscontented. I could not help it: the restlessness was in mynature; it agitated me to pain sometimes. Then my sole relief was towalk along the corridor of the third storey, backwards and forwards,safe in the silence and solitude of the spot, and allow my mind'seye to dwell on whatever bright visions rose before it- and,certainly, they were many and glowing; to let my heart be heaved bythe exultant movement, which, while it swelled it in trouble, expandedit with life; and, best of all, to open my inward ear to a tale thatwas never ended- a tale my imagination created, and narratedcontinuously; 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 withtranquillity: they must have action; and they will make it if theycannot find it. Millions are condemned to a stiller doom than mine,and millions are in silent revolt against their lot. Nobody knowshow many rebellions besides political rebellions ferment in the massesof life which people earth. Women are supposed to be very calmgenerally: but women feel just as men feel; they need exercise fortheir faculties, and a field for their efforts, as much as theirbrothers do; they suffer from too rigid a restraint, too absolute astagnation, precisely as men would suffer; and it is narrow-mindedin their more privileged fellow-creatures to say that they ought toconfine themselves to making puddings and knitting stockings, toplaying on the piano and embroidering bags. It is thoughtless tocondemn them, or laugh at them, if they seek to do more or learnmore 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, hadthrilled me: I heard, too, her eccentric murmurs; stranger than herlaugh. There were days when she was quite silent; but there wereothers when I could not account for the sounds she made. Sometimes Isaw her: she would come out of her room with a basin, or a plate, or atray in her hand, go down to the kitchen and shortly return, generally(oh, romantic reader, forgive me for telling the plain truth!) bearinga pot of porter. Her appearance always acted as a damper to thecuriosity raised by her oral oddities: hard-featured and staid, shehad no point to which interest could attach. I made some attempts todraw her into conversation, but she seemed a person of few words: amonosyllabic reply usually cut short every effort of that sort.
The other members of the household, viz., John and his wife, Leahthe housemaid, and Sophie the French nurse, were decent people; but inno respect remarkable; with Sophie I used to talk French, andsometimes I asked her questions about her native country; but shewas not of a descriptive or narrative turn, and generally gave suchvapid and confused answers as were calculated rather to check thanencourage inquiry.
October, November, December passed away. One afternoon inJanuary, Mrs. Fairfax had begged a holiday for Adele, because shehad a cold; and, as Adele seconded the request with an ardour thatreminded me how precious occasional holidays had been to me in myown childhood, I accorded it, deeming that I did well in showingpliability on the point. It was a fine, calm day, though very cold;I was tired of sitting still in the library through a whole longmorning: Mrs. Fairfax had just written a letter which was waiting tobe posted, so I put on my bonnet and cloak and volunteered to carry itto Hay; the distance, two miles, would be a pleasant winterafternoon walk. Having seen Adele comfortably seated in her littlechair by Mrs. Fairfax's parlour fireside, and given her her best waxdoll (which I usually kept enveloped in silver paper in a drawer) toplay with, and a story-book for a change of amusement; and havingreplied 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; Iwalked fast till I got warm, and then I walked slowly to enjoy andanalyse the species of pleasure brooding for me in the hour andsituation. It was three o'clock; the church bell tolled as I passedunder the belfry: the charm of the hour lay in its approachingdimness, in the low-gliding and pale-beaming sun. I was a mile fromThornfield, in a lane noted for wild roses in summer, for nuts andblackberries in autumn, and even now possessing a few coraltreasures in hips and haws, but whose best winter delight lay in itsutter solitude and leafless repose. If a breath of air stirred, itmade no sound here; for there was not a holly, not an evergreen torustle, and the stripped hawthorn and hazel bushes were as still asthe white, worn stones which causewayed the middle of the path. Farand wide, on each side, there were only fields, where no cattle nowbrowsed; and the little brown birds, which stirred occasionally in thehedge, looked like single russet leaves that had forgotten to drop.
This lane inclined up-hill all the way to Hay; having reached themiddle, I sat down on a stile which led thence into a field. Gatheringmy mantle about me, and sheltering my hands in my muff, I did not feelthe cold, though it froze keenly; as was attested by a sheet of icecovering the causeway, where a little brooklet, now congealed, hadoverflowed after a rapid thaw some days since. From my seat I couldlook down on Thornfield: the grey and battlemented hall was theprincipal object in the vale below me; its woods and dark rookery roseagainst the, west. I lingered till the sun went down amongst thetrees, and sank crimson and clear behind them. I then turned eastward.
On the hill-top above me sat the rising moon; pale yet as acloud, but brightening momentarily, she looked over Hay, which, halflost in trees, sent up a blue smoke from its few chimneys: it wasyet a mile distant, but in the absolute hush I could hear plainlyits thin murmurs of life. My ear, too, felt the flow of currents; inwhat dales and depths I could not tell: but there were many hillsbeyond Hay, and doubtless many becks threading their passes. Thatevening calm betrayed alike the tinkle of the nearest streams, thesough of the most remote.
A rude noise broke on these fine ripplings and whisperings, at onceso far away and so clear: a positive tramp, tramp, a metallic clatter,which effaced the soft wave-wanderings; as, in a picture, the solidmass of a crag, or the rough boles of a great oak, drawn in dark andstrong 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 ofthe lane yet hid it, but it approached. I was just leaving thestile; yet, as the path was narrow, I sat still to let it go by. Inthose days I was young, and all sorts of fancies bright and darktenanted my mind: the memories of nursery stories were there amongstother rubbish; and when they recurred, maturing youth added to thema vigour and vividness beyond what childhood could give. As this horseapproached, and as I watched for it to appear through the dusk, Iremembered certain of Bessie's tales, wherein figured aNorth-of-England spirit called a 'Gytrash,' which, in the form ofhorse, mule, or large dog, haunted solitary ways, and sometimes cameupon belated travellers, as this horse was now coming upon me.
It was very near, but not yet in sight; when, in addition to thetramp, tramp, I heard a rush under the hedge, and close down by thehazel stems glided a great dog, whose black and white colour madehim a distinct object against the trees. It was exactly one form ofBessie's Gytrash- a lion-like creature with long hair and a huge head:it passed me, however, quietly enough; not staying to look up, withstrange 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 theGytrash: it was always alone; and goblins, to my notions, thoughthey might tenant the dumb carcasses of beasts, could scarce covetshelter in the commonplace human form. No Gytrash was this,- only atraveller taking the short cut to Millcote. He passed, and I wenton; 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 myattention. Man and horse were down; they had slipped on the sheet ofice which glazed the causeway. The dog came bounding back, andseeing his master in a predicament, and hearing the horse groan,barked till the evening hills echoed the sound, which was deep inproportion to his magnitude. He snuffed round the prostrate group, andthen he ran up to me; it was all he could do,- there was no other helpat hand to summon. I obeyed him, and walked down to the traveller,by this time struggling himself free of his steed. His efforts were sovigorous, I thought he could not be much hurt; but I asked him thequestion-
'Are you injured, sir?'
I think he was swearing, but am not certain; however, he waspronouncing some formula which prevented him from replying to medirectly.
'Can I do anything?' I asked again.
'You must just stand on one side,' he answered as he rose, first tohis knees, and then to his feet. I did; whereupon began a heaving,stamping, clattering process, accompanied by a barking and bayingwhich removed me effectually some yards' distance; but I would notbe 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 iftrying whether they were sound; apparently something ailed them, forhe 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 eitherfrom 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 aninvoluntary 'Ugh!'
Something of daylight still lingered, and the moon was waxingbright: I could see him plainly. His figure was enveloped in ariding cloak, fur collared and steel clasped; its details were notapparent, but I traced the general points of middle height andconsiderable breadth of chest. He had a dark face, with stern featuresand a heavy brow; his eyes and gathered eyebrows looked ireful andthwarted just now; he was past youth, but had not reachedmiddle-age; perhaps he might be thirty-five. I felt no fear of him,and but little shyness. Had he been a handsome, heroic-looking younggentleman, I should not have dared to stand thus questioning himagainst his will, and offering my services unasked. I had hardlyever seen a handsome youth; never in my life spoken to one. I had atheoretical reverence and homage for beauty, elegance, gallantry,fascination; but had I met those qualities incarnate in masculineshape, I should have known instinctively that they neither had norcould have sympathy with anything in me, and should have shunnedthem as one would fire, lightning, or anything else that is bright butantipathetic.
If even this stranger had smiled and been good-humoured to mewhen I addressed him; if he had put off my offer of assistance gailyand with thanks, I should have gone on my way and not felt anyvocation to renew inquiries: but the frown, the roughness of thetraveller, set me at my ease: I retained my station when he waved tome to go, and announced-
'I cannot think of leaving you, sir, at so late an hour, in thissolitary lane, till I see you are fit to mount your horse.'
He looked at me when I said this; he had hardly turned his eyesin my direction before.
'I should think you ought to be at home yourself,' said he, 'if youhave a home in this neighbourhood: where do you come from?'
'From just below; and I am not at all afraid of being out late whenit is moonlight: I will run over to Hay for you with pleasure, ifyou wish it: indeed, I am going there to post a letter.'
'You live just below- do you mean at that house with thebattlements?' pointing to Thornfield Hall, on which the moon cast ahoary 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-' Hestopped, ran his eye over my dress, which, as usual, was quite simple:a black merino cloak, a black beaver bonnet; neither of them half fineenough for a lady's-maid. He seemed puzzled to decide what I was; Ihelped him.
'I am the governess.'
'Ah, the governess!' he repeated; 'deuce take me, if I had notforgotten! The governess!' and again my raiment underwent scrutiny. Intwo minutes he rose from the stile: his face expressed pain when hetried to move.
'I cannot commission you to fetch help,' he said; 'but you may helpme 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 arenot afraid?'
I should have been afraid to touch a horse when alone, but whentold to do it, I was disposed to obey. I put down my muff on thestile, and went up to the tall steed; I endeavoured to catch thebridle, but it was a spirited thing, and would not let me come nearits head; I made effort on effort, though in vain: meantime, I wasmortally afraid of its trampling forefeet. The traveller waited andwatched 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 mustbeg of you to come here.'
I came. 'Excuse me,' he continued: 'necessity compels me to makeyou useful.' He laid a heavy hand on my shoulder, and leaning on mewith some stress, limped to his horse. Having once caught thebridle, he mastered it directly and sprang to his saddle; grimacinggrimly as he made the effort, for it wrenched his sprain.
'Now,' said he, releasing his under lip from a hard bite, 'justhand 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 asfast as you can.'
