sentence ever broken by reply? Not, perhaps, once in a hundred
years. And the clergyman, who had not lifted his eyes from his book,
and had held his breath but for a moment, was proceeding: his hand was
already stretched towards Mr. Rochester, as his lips unclosed to
ask, 'Wilt thou have this woman for thy wedded wife?-' when a distinct
and near voice said-
'The marriage cannot go on: I declare the existence of an
impediment.'
The clergyman looked up at the speaker and stood mute; the clerk
did the same; Mr. Rochester moved slightly, as if an earthquake had
rolled under his feet: taking a firmer footing, and not turning his
head or eyes, he said, 'Proceed.'
Profound silence fell when he had uttered that word, with deep
but low intonation. Presently Mr. Wood said-
'I cannot proceed without some investigation into what has been
asserted, and evidence of its truth or falsehood.'
'The ceremony is quite broken off,' subjoined the voice behind
us. 'I am in a condition to prove my allegation: an insuperable
impediment to this marriage exists.'
Mr. Rochester heard, but heeded not: he stood stubborn and rigid,
making no movement but to possess himself of my hand. What a hot and
strong grasp he had! and how like quarried marble was his pale,
firm, massive front at this moment! How his eye shone, still watchful,
and yet wild beneath!
Mr. Wood seemed at a loss. 'What is the nature of the
impediment?' he asked. 'Perhaps it may be got over- explained away?'
'Hardly,' was the answer. 'I have called it insuperable, and I
speak advisedly.'
The speaker came forward and leaned on the rails. He continued,
uttering each word distinctly, calmly, steadily, but not loudly-
'It simply consists in the existence of a previous marriage. Mr.
Rochester has a wife now living.'
My nerves vibrated to those low-spoken words as they had never
vibrated to thunder- my blood felt their subtle violence as it had
never felt frost or fire; but I was collected, and in no danger of
swooning. I looked at Mr. Rochester: I made him look at me. His
whole face was colourless rock: his eye was both spark and flint. He
disavowed nothing: he seemed as if he would defy all things. Without
speaking, without smiling, without seeming to recognise in me a
human being, he only twined my waist with his arm and riveted me to
his side.
'Who are you?' he asked of the intruder.
'And you would thrust on me a wife?'
'I would remind you of your lady's existence, sir, which the law
recognises, if you do not.'
'Favour me with an account of her- with her name, her parentage,
her place of abode.'
'Certainly.' Mr. Briggs calmly took a paper from his pocket, and
read out in a sort of official, nasal voice:-
date of fifteen years back), Edward Fairfax Rochester, of Thornfield
England, was married to my sister, Bertha Antoinetta Mason, daughter
of Jonas Mason, merchant, and of Antoinetta his wife, a Creole, at-
church, Spanish Town, Jamaica. The record of the marriage will be
found in the register of that church- a copy of it is now in my
possession. Signed, Richard Mason."'
'That- if a genuine document- may prove I have been married, but it
does not prove that the woman mentioned therein as my wife is still
living.'
'She was living three months ago,' returned the lawyer.
'How do you know?'
'I have a witness to the fact, whose testimony even you, sir,
will scarcely controvert.'
'Produce him- or go to hell.'
'I will produce him first- he is on the spot. Mr. Mason, have the
goodness to step forward.'
Mr. Rochester, on hearing the name, set his teeth; he
experienced, too, a sort of strong convulsive quiver; near to him as I
was, I felt the spasmodic movement of fury or despair run through
his frame. The second stranger, who had hitherto lingered in the
background, now drew near; a pale face looked over the solicitor's
shoulder- yes, it was Mason himself. Mr. Rochester turned and glared
at him. His eye, as I have often said, was a black eye: it had now a
tawny, nay, a bloody light in its gloom; and his face flushed- olive
cheek and hueless forehead received a glow as from spreading,
ascending heart-fire: and he stirred, lifted his strong arm- he
could have struck Mason, dashed him on the church-floor, shocked by
ruthless blow the breath from his body- but Mason shrank away and
cried faintly, 'Good God!' Contempt fell cool on Mr. Rochester- his
passion died as if a blight had shrivelled it up: he only asked- 'What
have you to say?'
An inaudible reply escaped Mason's white lips.
'The devil is in it if you cannot answer distinctly. I again
demand, what have you to say?'
'Sir- sir,' interrupted the clergyman, 'do not forget you are in
a sacred place.' Then addressing Mason, he inquired gently, 'Are you
aware, sir, whether or not this gentleman's wife is still living?'
'Courage,' urged the lawyer,- 'speak out.'
'She is now living at Thornfield Hall,' said Mason, in more
articulate tones: 'I saw her there last April. I am her brother.'
'At Thornfield Hall!' ejaculated the clergyman. 'Impossible! I am
an old resident in this neighbourhood, sir, and I never heard of a
Mrs. Rochester at Thornfield Hall.'
I saw a grim smile contort Mr. Rochester's lips, and he muttered-
'No, by God! I took care that none should hear of it- or of her
under that name.' He mused- for ten minutes he held counsel with
himself: he formed his resolve, and announced it-
'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. 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 daresay 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! Her mother,
the Creole, was both a mad-woman 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 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 dreamt she was going to be entrapped into a feigned
union with a defrauded wretch, already bound to a bad, mad, and
embruted 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 staircase, passed up the gallery, proceeded to the
third storey: 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 burnt 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 saucepan. In the deep shade, at the farther end of
the room, a figure ran backwards and forwards. 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 favourable 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 recognised 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 sprang 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 amidst
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! 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 he
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 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- decline- and the
