not stay here, nor will I. I was wrong ever to bring you to Thornfield
Hall, knowing as I did how it was haunted. I charged them to conceal
from you, before I ever saw you, all knowledge of the curse of the
place; merely because I feared Adele never would have a governess to
stay if she knew with what inmate she was housed, and my plans would
not permit me to remove the maniac elsewhere- though I possess an
old house, Ferndean Manor, even more retired and hidden than this,
where I could have lodged her safely enough, had not a scruple about
the unhealthiness of the situation, in the heart of a wood, made my
conscience recoil from the arrangement. Probably those damp walls
would soon have eased me of her charge: but to each villain his own
vice; and mine is not a tendency to indirect assassination, even of
what I most hate.
'Concealing the mad-woman's neighbourhood from you, however, was
something like covering a child with a cloak and laying it down near a
upas-tree: that demon's vicinage is poisoned, and always was. But I'll
shut up Thornfield Hall: I'll nail up the front door and board the
lower windows: I'll give Mrs. Poole two hundred a year to live here
with my wife, as you term that fearful hag: Grace will do much for
money, and she shall have her son, the keeper at Grimsby Retreat, to
bear her company and be at hand to give her aid in the paroxysms, when
my wife is prompted by her familiar to burn people in their beds at
night, to stab them, to bite their flesh from their bones, and so on-'
'Sir,' I interrupted him, 'you are inexorable for that
unfortunate lady: you speak of her with hate- with vindictive
antipathy. It is cruel- she cannot help being mad.'
'Jane, my little darling (so I will call you, for so you are),
you don't know what you are talking about; you misjudge me again: it
is not because she is mad I hate her. If you were mad, do you think
I should hate you?'
'I do indeed, sir.'
'Then you are mistaken, and you know nothing about me, and
nothing about the sort of love of which I am capable. Every atom of
your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would
still be dear. Your mind is my treasure, and if it were broken, it
would be my treasure still: if you raved, my arms should confine
you, and not a strait waistcoat- your grasp, even in fury, would
have a charm for me: if you flew at me as wildly as that woman did
this morning, I should receive you in an embrace, at least as fond
as it would be restrictive. I should not shrink from you with
disgust as I did from her: in your quiet moments you should have no
watcher and no nurse but me; and I could hang over you with untiring
tenderness, though you gave me no smile in return; and never weary
of gazing into your eyes, though they had no longer a ray of
recognition for me.- But why do I follow that train of ideas? I was
talking of removing you from Thornfield. All, you know, is prepared
for prompt departure: to-morrow you shall go. I only ask you to endure
one more night under this roof, Jane; and then, farewell to its
miseries and terrors for ever! I have a place to repair to, which will
be a secure sanctuary from hateful reminiscences, from unwelcome
intrusion- even from falsehood and slander.'
'And take Adele with you, sir,' I interrupted; 'she will be a
companion for you.'
'What do you mean, Jane? I told you I would send Adele to school;
and what do I want with a child for a companion, and not my own
child,- a French dancer's bastard? Why do you importune me about
her! I say, why do you assign Adele to me for a companion?'
'You spoke of a retirement, sir; and retirement and solitude are
dull: too dull for you.'
'Solitude! solitude!' he reiterated with irritation. 'I see I
must come to an explanation. I don't know what sphynx-like
expression is forming in your countenance. You are to share my
solitude. Do you understand?'
I shook my head: it required a degree of courage, excited as he was
becoming, even to risk that mute sign of dissent. He had been
walking fast about the room, and he stopped, as if suddenly rooted
to one spot. He looked at me long and hard: I turned my eyes from him,
fixed them on the fire, and tried to assume and maintain a quiet,
collected aspect.
'Now for the hitch in Jane's character,' he said at last,
speaking more calmly than from his look I had expected him to speak.
'The reel of silk has run smoothly enough so far; but I always knew
there would come a knot and a puzzle: here it is. Now for vexation,
and exasperation, and endless trouble! By God! I long to exert a
fraction of Samson's strength, and break the entanglement like tow!'
He recommenced his walk, but soon again stopped, and this time just
before me.
'Jane! will you hear reason?' (he stooped and approached his lips
to my ear); 'because, if you won't, I'll try violence. His voice was
hoarse; his look that of a man who is just about to burst an
insufferable bond and plunge headlong into wild license. I saw that in
another moment, and with one impetus of frenzy more, I should be
able to do nothing with him. The present- the passing second of
time- was all I had in which to control and restrain him: a movement
of repulsion, flight, fear would have sealed my doom,- and his. But
I was not afraid: not in the least. I felt an inward power; a sense of
influence, which supported me. The crisis was perilous; but not
without its charm: such as the Indian, perhaps, feels when he slips
over the rapid in his canoe. I took hold of his clenched hand,
loosened the contorted fingers, and said to him, soothingly-
'Sit down; I'll talk to you as long as you like, and hear all you
have to say, whether reasonable or unreasonable.'
He sat down: but he did not get leave to speak directly. I had been
struggling with tears for some time: I had taken great pains to
repress them, because I knew he would not like to see me weep. Now,
however, I considered it well to let them flow as freely and as long
as they liked. If the flood annoyed him, so much the better. So I gave
way and cried heartily.
Soon I heard him earnestly entreating me to be composed. I said I
could not while he was in such a passion.
'But I am not angry, Jane: I only love you too well; and you had
steeled your little pale face with such a resolute, frozen look, I
could not endure it. Hush, now, and wipe your eyes.'
His softened voice announced that he was subdued; so I, in my turn,
became calm. Now he made an effort to rest his head on my shoulder,
but I would not permit it. Then he would draw me to him: no.
'Jane! Jane!' he said, in such an accent of bitter sadness it
thrilled along every nerve I had; 'you don't love me, then? It was
only my station, and the rank of my wife, that you valued? Now that
you think me disqualified to become your husband, you recoil from my
touch as if I were some toad or ape.'
These words cut me: yet what could I do or say? I ought probably to
have done or said nothing; but I was so tortured by a sense of remorse
at thus hurting his feelings, I could not control the wish to drop
balm where I had wounded.
'I do love you,' I said, 'more than ever: but I must not show or
indulge the feeling: and this is the last time I must express it.'
'The last time, Jane! What! do you think you can live with me,
and see me daily, and yet, if you still love me, be always cold and
distant?'
'No, sir; that I am certain I could not; and therefore I see
there is but one way: but you will be furious if I mention it.'
'Oh, mention it! If I storm, you have the art of weeping.'
'Mr. Rochester, I must leave you.'
'For how long, Jane? For a few minutes, while you smooth your hair-
which is somewhat dishevelled; and bathe your face- which looks
feverish?'
'I must leave Adele and Thornfield. I must part with you for my
whole life: I must begin a new existence among strange faces and
strange scenes.'
'Of course: I told you you should. I pass over the madness about
parting from me. You mean you must become a part of me. As to the
new existence, it is all right: you shall yet be my wife: I am not
married. You shall be Mrs. Rochester- both virtually and nominally.
I shall keep only to you so long as you and I live. You shall go to
a place I have in the south of France: a whitewashed villa on the
shores of the Mediterranean. There you shall live a happy, and
guarded, and most innocent life. Never fear that I wish to lure you
into error- to make you my mistress. Why did you shake your head?
Jane, you must be reasonable, or in truth I shall again become
frantic.'
His voice and hand quivered: his large nostrils dilated; his eye
blazed: still I dared to speak.
'Sir, your wife is living: that is a fact acknowledged this morning
by yourself. If I lived with you as you desire, I should then be
your mistress: to say otherwise is sophistical- is false.'
'Jane, I am not a gentle-tempered man- you forget that: I am not
long-enduring; I am not cool and dispassionate. Out of pity to me
and yourself, put your finger on my pulse, feel how it throbs, and-
beware!'
He bared his wrist, and offered it to me: the blood was forsaking
his cheek and lips, they were growing livid; I was distressed on all
hands. To agitate him thus deeply, by a resistance he so abhorred, was
cruel: to yield was out of the question. I did what human beings do
instinctively when they are driven to utter extremity- looked for
aid to one higher than man: the words 'God help me!' burst
involuntarily from my lips.
'I am a fool!' cried Mr. Rochester suddenly. 'I keep telling her
I am not married, and do not explain to her why. I forget she knows
nothing of the character of that woman, or of the circumstances
attending my infernal union with her. Oh, I am certain Jane will agree
with me in opinion, when she knows all that I know! Just put your hand
in mine, Janet- that I may have the evidence of touch as well as
sight, to prove you are near me- and I will in a few words show you
the real state of the case. Can you listen to me?'
'Yes, sir; for hours if you will.'
'I ask only minutes. Jane, did you ever hear or know that I was not
the eldest son of my house: that I had once a brother older than I?'
'I remember Mrs. Fairfax told me so once.'
'And did you ever hear that my father was an avaricious, grasping
man?'
'I have understood something to that effect.'
'Well, Jane, being so, it was his resolution to keep the property
together; he could not bear the idea of dividing his estate and
leaving me a fair portion: all, he resolved, should go to my
brother, Rowland. Yet as little could he endure that a son of his
should be a poor man. I must be provided for by a wealthy marriage. He
sought me a partner betimes. Mr. Mason, a West India planter and
merchant, was his old acquaintance. He was certain his possessions
were real and vast: he made inquiries. Mr. Mason, he found, had a
son and daughter; and he learned from him that he could and would give
the latter a fortune of thirty thousand pounds: that sufficed. When
I left college, I was sent out to Jamaica, to espouse a bride
already courted for me. My father said nothing about her money; but he
told me Miss Mason was the boast of Spanish Town for her beauty: and
this was no lie. I found her a fine woman, in the style of Blanche
Ingram: tall, dark, and majestic. Her family wished to secure me
because I was of a good race; and so did she. They showed her to me in
parties, splendidly dressed. I seldom saw her alone, and had very
little private conversation with her. She flattered me, and lavishly
displayed for my pleasure her charms and accomplishments. All the
men in her circle seemed to admire her and envy me. I was dazzled,
stimulated: my senses were excited; and being ignorant, raw, and
inexperienced, I thought I loved her. There is no folly so besotted
that the idiotic rivalries of society, the prurience, the rashness,
the blindness of youth, will not hurry a man to its commission. Her
relatives encouraged me; competitors piqued me; she allured me: a
marriage was achieved almost before I knew where I was. Oh, I have
no respect for myself when I think of that act!- an agony of inward
contempt masters me. I never loved, I never esteemed, I did not even
know her. I was not sure of the existence of one virtue in her nature:
I had marked neither modesty, nor benevolence, nor candour, nor
refinement in her mind or manners- and, I married her:- gross,
grovelling, mole-eyed blockhead that I was! With less sin I might
have- But let me remember to whom I am speaking.
'My bride's mother I had never seen: I understood she was dead. The
honeymoon over, I learned my mistake; she was only mad, and shut up in
a lunatic asylum. There was a younger brother, too- a complete dumb
idiot. The elder one, whom you have seen (and whom I cannot hate,
whilst I abhor all his kindred, because he has some grains of
affection in his feeble mind, shown in the continued interest he takes
in his wretched sister, and also in a dog-like attachment he once bore
me), will probably be in the same state one day. My father and my
brother Rowland knew all this; but they thought only of the thirty
thousand pounds, and joined in the plot against me.
'These were vile discoveries; but except for the treachery of
concealment, I should have made them no subject of reproach to my
