迪文小说

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第47部分(第1页)

rdon for offences by me unmitted。 I looked into a certain corner near; half…expecting to see the slim outline of a once dreaded switch which used to lurk there; waiting to leap out imp…like and lace my quivering palm or shrinking neck。 I approached the bed; I opened the curtains and leant over the high…piled pillows。

Well did I remember Mrs。 Reed’s face; and I eagerly sought the familiar image。 It is a happy thing that time quells the longings of vengeance and hushes the promptings of rage and aversion。 I had left this woman in bitterness and hate; and I came back to her now with no other emotion than a sort of ruth for her great sufferings; and a strong yearning to forget and forgive all injuries—to be reconciled and clasp hands in amity。

The well…known face was there: stern; relentless as ever—there was that peculiar eye which nothing could melt; and the somewhat raised; imperious; despotic eyebrow。 How often had it lowered on me menace and hate! and how the recollection of childhood’s terrors and sorrows revived as I traced its harsh line now! And yet I stooped down and kissed her: she looked at me。

“Is this Jane Eyre?” she said。

“Yes; Aunt Reed。 How are you; dear aunt?”

I had once vowed that I would never call her aunt again: I thought it no sin to forget and break that vow now。 My fingers had fastened on her hand which lay outside the sheet: had she pressed mine kindly; I should at that moment have experienced true pleasure。 But unimpressionable natures are not so soon softened; nor are natural antipathies so readily eradicated。 Mrs。 Reed took her hand away; and; turning her face rather from me; she remarked that the night was warm。 Again she regarded me so icily; I felt at once that her opinion of me—her feeling towards me—was unchanged and unchangeable。 I knew by her stony eye—opaque to tenderness; indissoluble to tears—that she was resolved to consider me bad to the last; because to believe me good would give her no generous pleasure: only a sense of mortification。

I felt pain; and then I felt ire; and then I felt a determination to subdue her—to be her mistress in spite both of her nature and her will。 My tears had risen; just as in childhood: I ordered them back to their source。 I brought a chair to the bed…head: I sat down and leaned over the pillow。

“You sent for me;” I said; “and I am here; and it is my intention to stay till I see how you get on。”

“Oh; of course! You have seen my daughters?”

“Yes。”

“Well; you may tell them I wish you to stay till I can talk some things over with you I have on my mind: to…night it is too late; and I have a difficulty in recalling them。 But there was something I wished to say—let me see—”

The wandering look and changed utterance told what wreck had taken place in her once vigorous frame。 Turning restlessly; she drew the bedclothes round her; my elbow; resting on a corner of the quilt; fixed it down: she was at once irritated。

“Sit up!” said she; “don’t annoy me with holding the clothes fast。 Are you Jane Eyre?”

“I am Jane Eyre。”

“I have had more trouble with that child than any one would believe。 Such a burden to be left on my hands—and so much annoyance as she caused me; daily and hourly; with her inprehensible disposition; and her sudden starts of temper; and her continual; unnatural watchings of one’s movements! I declare she talked to me once like something mad; or like a fiend—no child ever spoke or looked as she did; I was glad to get her away from the house。 What did they do with her at Lowood? The fever broke out there; and many of the pupils died。 She; however; did not die: but I said she did—I wish she had died!”

“A strange wish; Mrs。 Reed; why do you hate her so?”

“I had a dislike to her mother always; for she was my husband’s only sister; and a great favourite with him: he opposed the family’s disowning her when she made her low marriage; and when news came of her death; he wept like a simpleton。 He would send for the baby; though I entreated him rather to put it out to nurse and pay for its maintenance。 I hated it the first time I set my eyes on it—a sickly; whining; pining thing! It would wail in its cradle all night long—not screaming heartily like any other child; but whimpering and moaning。 Reed pitied it; and he used to nurse it and notice it as if it had been his own: more; indeed; than he ever noticed his own at that age。 He would try to make my children friendly to the little beggar: the darlings could not bear it; and he was angry with them when they showed their dislike。 In his last illness; he had it brought continually to his bedside; and but an hour before he died; he bound me by vow to keep the creature。 I would as soon have been charged with a pauper brat out of a workhouse: but he was weak; naturally weak。 John does not at all resemble his father; and I am glad of it: John is like me and like my brothers—he is quite a Gibson。 Oh; I wish he would cease tormenting me with letters for money? I have no more money to give him: we are getting poor。 I must send away half the servants and shut up part of the house; or let it off。 I can never submit to do that—yet how are we to get on? Two…thirds of my ine goes in paying the interest of mortgages。 John gambles dreadfully; and always loses—poor boy! He is beset by sharpers: John is sunk and degraded—his look is frightful—I feel ashamed for him when I see him。”

She was getting much excited。 “I think I had better leave her now;” said I to Bessie; who stood on the other side of the bed。

“Perhaps you had; Miss: but she often talks in this way towards night—in the morning she is calmer。”

I rose。 “Stop!” exclaimed Mrs。 Reed; “there is another thing I wished to say。 He threatens me—he continually threatens me with his own death; or mine: and I dream sometimes that I see him laid out with a great wound in his throat; or with a swollen and blackened face。 I am e to a strange pass: I have heavy troubles。 What is to be done? How is the money to be had?”

Bessie now endeavoured to persuade her to take a sedative draught: she succeeded with difficulty。 Soon after; Mrs。 Reed grew more posed; and sank into a dozing state。 I then left her。

More than ten days elapsed before I had again any conversation with her。 She continued either delirious or lethargic; and the doctor forbade everything which could painfully excite her。 Meantime; I got on as well as I could with Georgiana and Eliza。 They were very cold; indeed; at first。 Eliza would sit half the day sewing; reading; or writing; and scarcely utter a word either to me or her sister。 Georgiana would chatter nonsense to her canary bird by the hour; and take no notice of me。 But I was determined not to seem at a loss for occupation or amusement: I had brought my drawing materials with me; and they served me for both。

Provided with a case of pencils; and some sheets of paper; I used to take a seat apart from them; near the window; and busy myself in sketching fancy vigtes; representing any scene that happened momentarily to shape itself in the ever…shifting kaleidoscope of imagination: a glimpse of sea between two rocks; the rising moon; and a ship crossing its disk; a group of reeds and water…flags; and a naiad’s head; crowned with lotus…flowers; rising out of them; an elf sitting in a hedge…sparrow’s nest; under a wreath of hawthorn… bloom

One morning I fell to sketching a face: what sort of a face it was to be; I did not care or know。 I took a soft black pencil; gave it a broad point; and worked away。 Soon I had traced on the paper a broad and prominent forehead and a square lower outline of visage: that contour gave me pleasure; my fingers proceeded actively to fill it with features。 Strongly…marked horizontal eyebrows must be traced under that brow; then followed; naturally; a well…defined nose; with a straight ridge and full nostrils; then a flexible… looking mouth; by no means narrow; then a firm chin; with a decided cleft down the middle of it: of course; some black whiskers were wanted; and some jetty hair; tufted on the temples; and waved above the forehead。 Now for the eyes: I had left them to the last; because they required the most careful working。 I drew them large; I shaped them well: the eyelashes I traced long and sombre; the irids lustrous and large。 “Good! but not quite the thing;” I thought; as I surveyed the effect: “they want more force and spirit;” and I wrought the shades blacker; that the lights might flash more brilliantly—a happy touch or two secured success。 There; I had a friend’s face under my gaze; and what did it signify that those young ladies turned their backs on me? I looked at it; I smiled at the speaking likeness: I was absorbed and content。

“Is that a portrait of some one you know?” asked Eliza; who had approached me unnoticed。 I responded that it was merely a fancy head; and hurried it beneath the other sheets。 Of course; I lied: it was; in fact; a very faithful representation of Mr。 Rochester。 But what was that to her; or to any one but myself? Georgiana also advanced to look。 The other drawings pleased her much; but she called that “an ugly man。” They both seemed surprised at my skill。 I offered to sketch their portraits; and each; in turn; sat for a pencil outline。 Then Georgiana produced her album。 I promised to contribute a water…colour drawing: this put her at once into good humour。 She proposed a walk in the grounds。 Before we had been out two hours; we were deep in a confidential conversation: she had favoured me with a description of the brilliant winter she had spent in London two seasons ago—of the admiration she had there excited— the attention she had received; and I even got hints of the titled conquest she had made。 In the course of the afternoon and evening these hints were enlarged on: various soft conversations were reported; and sentimental scenes represented; and; in short; a volume of a novel of fashionable life was that day improvised by her for my benefit。 The munications were renewed from day to day: they always ran on the same theme—herself; her loves; and woes。 It was strange she never once adverted either to her mother’s illness; or her brother’s death; or the present gloomy state of the family prospects。 Her mind seemed wholly taken up with reminiscences of past gaiety; and aspirations after dissipations to e。 She passed about five minutes each day in her mother’s sick…room; and no more。

Eliza still spoke little: she had evidently no time to talk。 I never saw a busier person than she seemed to be; yet it was difficult to say what she did: or rather; to discover any result of her diligence。 She had an alarm to call her up early。 I know not how she occupied herself before breakfast; but after that meal she divided her time into regular portions; and each hour had its allotted task。 Three times a day she studied a little book; which I found; on inspection; was a mon Prayer Book。 I asked her once what was the great attraction of that volume; and she said; “the Rubric。” Three hours she gave to stitching; with gold thread; the border of a square crimson cloth; almost large enough for a carpet。 In answer to my inquiries after the use of this article; she informed me it was a covering for the altar of a new church lately erected near Gatesh

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