'I have none.'
'Nor ever had, I suppose: do you remember them?'
'No.'
'I thought not. And so you were waiting for your people when yousat on that stile?'
'For whom, sir?'
'For the men in green: it was a proper moonlight evening forthem. Did I break through one of your rings, that you spread thatdamned ice on the causeway?'
I shook my head. 'The men in green all forsook England a hundredyears ago,' said I, speaking as seriously as he had done. 'And noteven in Hay Lane, or the fields about it, could you find a trace ofthem. I don't think either summer or harvest, or winter moon, willever shine on their revels more.'
Mrs. Fairfax had dropped her knitting, and, with raised eyebrows,seemed wondering what sort of talk this was.
'Well,' resumed Mr. Rochester, 'if you disown parents, you musthave some sort of kinsfolk: uncles and aunts?'
'No; none that I ever saw.'
'And your home?'
'I have none.'
'Where do your brothers and sisters live?'
'I have no brothers or sisters.'
'Who recommended you to come here?'
'I advertised, and Mrs. Fairfax answered my advertisement.'
'Yes,' said the good lady, who now knew what ground we were upon,'and I am daily thankful for the choice Providence led me to make.Miss Eyre has been an invaluable companion to me, and a kind andcareful teacher to Adele.'
'Don't trouble yourself to give her a character,' returned Mr.Rochester: 'eulogiums will not bias me; I shall judge for myself.She began by felling my horse.'
'Sir?' said Mrs. Fairfax.
'I have to thank her for this sprain.'
The widow looked bewildered.
'Miss Eyre, have you ever lived in a town?'
'No, sir.'
'Have you seen much society?'
'None but the pupils and teachers of Lowood, and now the inmates ofThornfield.'
'Have you read much?'
'Only such books as came in my way; and they have not been numerousor very learned.'
'You have lived the life of a nun: no doubt you are well drilled inreligious forms;- Brocklehurst, who I understand directs Lowood, isa parson, is he not?'
'Yes, sir.'
'And you girls probably worshipped him, as a convent full ofreligieuses would worship their director.'
'Oh, no.'
'You are very cool! No! What! a novice not worship her priest! Thatsounds blasphemous.'
'I disliked Mr. Brocklehurst; and I was not alone in the feeling.He is a harsh man; at once pompous and meddling; he cut off ourhair; and for economy's sake bought us bad needles and thread, withwhich we could hardly sew.'
'That was very false economy,' remarked Mrs. Fairfax, who now againcaught the drift of the dialogue.
'And was that the head and front of his offending?' demanded Mr.Rochester.
'He starved us when he had the sole superintendence of theprovision department, before the committee was appointed; and he boredus with long lectures once a week, and with evening readings frombooks of his own inditing, about sudden deaths and judgments, whichmade us afraid to go to bed.'
'What age were you when you went to Lowood?'
'About ten.'
'And you stayed there eight years: you are now, then, eighteen?'
I assented.
'Arithmetic, you see, is useful; without its aid, I should hardlyhave been able to guess your age. It is a point difficult to fix wherethe features and countenance are so much at variance as in yourcase. And now what did you learn at Lowood? Can you play?'
'A little.'
'Of course: that is the established answer. Go into the library-I mean, if you please.- (Excuse my tone of command; I am used tosay, "Do this," and it is done: I cannot alter my customary habits forone new inmate.)- Go, then, into the library; take a candle withyou; leave the door open; sit down to the piano, and play a tune.'
I departed, obeying his directions.
'Enough!' he called out in a few minutes. 'You play a little, Isee; like any other English school-girl; perhaps rather better thansome, but not well.'
I closed the piano and returned. Mr. Rochester continued-
'Adele showed me some sketches this morning, which she said wereyours. I don't know whether they were entirely of your doing; probablya master aided you?'
'No, indeed!' I interjected.
'Ah! that pricks pride. Well, fetch me your portfolio, if you canvouch for its contents being original; but don't pass your word unlessyou are certain: I can recognise patchwork.'
'Then I will say nothing, and you shall judge for yourself, sir.'
I brought the portfolio from the library.
'Approach the table,' said he; and I wheeled it to his couch. Adeleand Mrs. Fairfax drew near to see the pictures.
'No crowding,' said Mr. Rochester: 'take the drawings from myhand as I finish with them; but don't push your faces up to mine.'
He deliberately scrutinised each sketch and painting. Three he laidaside; the others, when he had examined them, he swept from him.
'Take them off to the other table, Mrs. Fairfax,' said he, 'andlook at them with Adele;- you' (glancing at me) 'resume your seat, andanswer my questions. I perceive those pictures were done by onehand: was that hand yours?'
'Yes.'
'And when did you find time to do them? They have taken muchtime, and some thought.'
'I did them in the last two vacations I spent at Lowood, when I hadno other occupation.'
'Where did you get your copies?'
'Out of my head.'
'That head I see now on your shoulders?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Has it other furniture of the same kind within?'
'I should think it may have: I should hope- better.'
He spread the pictures before him, and again surveyed themalternately.
While he is so occupied, I will tell you, reader, what they are:and first, I must premise that they are nothing wonderful. Thesubjects had, indeed, risen vividly on my mind. As I saw them with thespiritual eye, before I attempted to embody them, they werestriking; but my hand would not second my fancy, and in each case ithad wrought out but a pale portrait of the thing I had conceived.
These pictures were in water-colours. The first representedclouds low and livid, rolling over a swollen sea: all the distance wasin eclipse; so, too, was the foreground; or rather, the nearestbillows, for there was no land. One gleam of light lifted intorelief a half-submerged mast, on which sat a cormorant, dark andlarge, with wings flecked with foam; its beak held a gold bracelet setwith gems, that I had touched with as brilliant tints as my palettecould yield, and as glittering distinctness as my pencil could impart.Sinking below the bird and mast, a drowned corpse glanced throughthe green water; a fair arm was the only limb clearly visible,whence the bracelet had been washed or torn.
The second picture contained for foreground only the dim peak ofa hill, with grass and some leaves slanting as if by a breeze.Beyond and above spread an expanse of sky, dark blue as at twilight:rising into the sky was a woman's shape to the bust, portrayed intints as dusk and soft as I could combine. The dim forehead wascrowned with a star; the lineaments below were seen as through thesuffusion of vapour; the eyes shone dark and wild; the hair streamedshadowy, like a beamless cloud torn by storm or by electric travail.On the neck lay a pale reflection like moonlight; the same faintlustre touched the train of thin clouds from which rose and bowed thisvision of the Evening Star.
The third showed the pinnacle of an iceberg piercing a polar wintersky: a muster of northern lights reared their dim lances, closeserried, along the horizon. Throwing these into distance, rose, in theforeground, a head,- a colossal head, inclined towards the iceberg,and resting against it. Two thin hands, joined under the forehead, andsupporting it, drew up before the lower features a sable veil; abrow quite bloodless, white as bone, and an eye hollow and fixed,blank of meaning but for the glassiness of despair, alone werevisible. Above the temples, amidst wreathed turban folds of blackdrapery, vague in its character and consistency as cloud, gleamed aring of white flame, gemmed with sparkles of a more lurid tinge.This pale crescent was 'the likeness of a kingly crown'; what itdiademed was 'the shape which shape had none.'
'Were you happy when you painted these pictures?' asked Mr.Rochester presently.
'I was absorbed, sir: yes, and I was happy. To paint them, inshort, was to enjoy one of the keenest pleasures I have ever known.'
'That is not saying much. Your pleasures, by your own account, havebeen few; but I daresay you did exist in a kind of artist'sdreamland while you blent and arranged these strange tints. Did yousit at them long each day?'
'I had nothing else to do, because it was the vacation, and I satat them from morning till noon, and from noon till night: the lengthof the midsummer days favoured my inclination to apply.'
'And you felt self-satisfied with the result of your ardentlabours?'
'Far from it. I was tormented by the contrast between my idea andmy handiwork: in each case I had imagined something which I wasquite powerless to realise.'
'Not quite: you have secured the shadow of your thought; but nomore, probably. You had not enough of the artist's skill and scienceto give it full being: yet the drawings are, for a school-girl,peculiar. As to the thoughts, they are elfish. These eyes in theEvening Star you must have seen in a dream. How could you make themlook so clear, and yet not at all brilliant? for the planet abovequells their rays. And what meaning is that in their solemn depth? Andwho taught you to paint wind? There is a high gale in that sky, and onthis hill-top. Where did you see Latmos? For that is Latmos. There!put the drawings away!'
I had scarce tied the strings of the portfolio, when, looking athis watch, he said abruptly-
'It is nine o'clock: what are you about, Miss Eyre, to let Adelesit up so long? Take her to bed!'
Adele went to kiss him before quitting the room: he endured thecaress, but scarcely seemed to relish it more than Pilot would havedone, nor so much.
'I wish you all good-night, now,' said he, making a movement of thehand towards the door, in token that he was tired of our company,and wished to dismiss us. Mrs. Fairfax folded up her knitting: Itook my portfolio: we curtseyed to him, received a frigid bow inreturn, and so withdrew.
'You said Mr. Rochester was not strikingly peculiar, Mrs. Fairfax,'I observed, when I rejoined her in her room, after putting Adele tobed.
'Well, is he?'
'I think so: he is very changeful and abrupt.'
'True: no doubt he may appear so to a stranger, but I am soaccustomed to his manner, I never think of it; and then, if he haspeculiarities of temper, allowance should be made.'
'Why?'
'Partly because it is his nature- and we can none of us help ournature; and partly because he has painful thoughts, no doubt, toharass him, and make his spirits unequal.'
'What about?'
'Family troubles, for one thing.'
'But he has no family.'
'Not now, but he has had- or, at least, relatives. He lost hiselder brother a few years since.'
'His elder brother?'
'Yes. The present Mr. Rochester has not been very long inpossession of the property; only about nine years.'
'Nine years is a tolerable time. Was he so very fond of his brotheras to be still inconsolable for his loss?'
'Why, no- perhaps not. I believe there were somemisunderstandings between them. Mr. Rowland Rochester was not quitejust to Mr. Edward; and perhaps he prejudiced his father againsthim. The old gentleman was fond of money, and anxious to keep thefamily estate together. He did not like to diminish the property bydivision, and yet he was anxious that Mr. Edward should have wealth,too, to keep up the consequence of the name; and, soon after he was ofage, some steps were taken that were not quite fair, and made agreat deal of mischief. Old Mr. Rochester and Mr. Rowland combinedto bring Mr. Edward into what he considered a painful position, forthe sake of making his fortune: what the precise nature of thatposition was I never clearly knew, but his spirit could not brook whathe had to suffer in it. He is not very forgiving: he broke with hisfamily, and now for many years he has led an unsettled kind of life. Idon't think he has ever been resident at Thornfield for a fortnighttogether, since the death of his brother without a will left himmaster of the estate; and, indeed, no wonder he shuns the old place.'
'Why should he shun it?'
'Perhaps he thinks it gloomy.'
The answer was evasive. I should have liked something clearer;but Mrs. Fairfax either could not, or would not, give me more explicitinformation of the origin and nature of Mr. Rochester's trials. Sheaverred they were a mystery to herself, and that what she knew waschiefly from conjecture. It was evident, indeed, that she wished me todrop the subject, which I did accordingly.
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