Jane Eyre (51 page)

“And what will you do, Janet, while I am bargaining for so many tons of flesh and such an assortment of black eyes?”

“I’ll be preparing myself to go out as a missionary to preach liberty to them that are enslaved—your harem inmates amongst the rest. I’ll get admitted there, and I’ll stir up mutiny and you, three-tailed bashaw as you are, sir, shall in a trice find yourself fettered amongst our hands, nor will I, for one, consent to cut your bonds till you have signed a charter, the most liberal that despot ever yet conferred.”

“I would consent to be at your mercy, Jane.”

“I would have no mercy, Mr Rochester, if you supplicated for it with an eye like that.” Just as he had shown me no mercy! “While you looked so, I should be certain that whatever charter you might grant under coercion, your first act, when released, would be to violate its conditions.”

“Why, Jane, what would you have? I fear you will compel me to go through a private marriage ceremony, besides that performed at the altar.”

 Indeed, with what we had already shared, it was, indeed, as if we already had! “You will stipulate, I see, for peculiar terms—what will they be?”

“I only want an easy mind, sir; not crushed by crowded obligations. Do you remember what you said of Céline Varens?—of the diamonds, the cashmeres you gave her? I will not be your English Céline Varens. I shall continue to act as Adèle’s governess; by that I shall earn my board and lodging, and thirty pounds a year besides. I’ll furnish my own wardrobe out of that money, and you shall give me nothing but—”

“Well, but what?”

“Your regard and if I give you mine in return, that debt will be quit.”

“Well, for cool native impudence and pure innate pride, you haven’t your equal,” said he. We were now approaching Thornfield. “Will it please you to dine with me today?” he asked, as we re-entered the gates.

“No, thank you, sir.”

“And what for, ‘no, thank you?’ if one may enquire.”

“I never have dined with you, sir, and I see no reason why I should now, till—”

“Till what? You delight in half-phrases.”

“Till I can’t help it.”

“Do you suppose I eat like an ogre or a ghoul, that you dread being the companion of my repast?”

“I have formed no supposition on the subject, sir, but I want to go on as usual for another month.”

“You will give up your governessing slavery at once.”

“Indeed, begging your pardon, sir, I shall not. I shall just go on with it as usual. I shall keep out of your way all day, as I have been accustomed to do, you may send for me in the evening, when you feel disposed to see me, and I’ll come then, but at no other time.”

“I want a smoke, Jane, or a pinch of snuff, to comfort me under all this, ‘pour me donner une contenance,’ as Adèle would say and unfortunately I have neither my cigar-case, nor my snuff-box. But listen—whisper. It is your time now, little tyrant, but it will be mine presently and when once I have fairly seized you, to have and to hold, I’ll just—figuratively speaking—attach you to a chain like this”—touching his watch-guard—“Yes, bonny wee thing, I’ll wear you in my bosom, lest my jewel I should tyne.”

He said this as he helped me to alight from the carriage, and while he afterwards lifted out Adèle, I entered the house, and made good my retreat upstairs.

He duly summoned me to his presence in the evening. I had prepared an occupation for him; for I was determined not to spend the whole time in a
tête-à-tête
conversation. I remembered his fine voice. I knew he liked to sing—good singers generally do. I was no vocalist myself, and, in his fastidious judgement, no musician, either, but I delighted in listening when the performance was good. No sooner had twilight, that hour of romance, began to lower her blue and starry banner over the lattice, than I rose, opened the piano, and entreated him, for the love of heaven, to give me a song. He said I was a capricious witch, and that he would rather sing another time, but I averred that no time was like the present.

“Did I like his voice?” he asked.

“Very much.” I was not fond of pampering that susceptible vanity of his, but for once, and from motives of expediency, I would e’en soothe and stimulate it.

“Then, Jane, you must play the accompaniment.”

“Very well, sir, I will try.”

I did try, but was presently swept off the stool and denominated ‘a little bungler’. Being pushed unceremoniously to one side—which was precisely what I wished—he usurped my place, and proceeded to accompany himself, for he could play as well as sing. I hied me to the window-recess.

 “Show me your thighs, sweet Jane.”

 “Sir!

 “You have, with great purpose and delight, thwarted me at every turn today.”

 “But, sir!”

 “And with the half-phrases! Haste, else I shall have you show your cunny.”

 “You are a cad and a scandal, sir.”

 “Shall I come lift your hem for you?”

 “You should not dare!”

 He began to push away, and he looked at me with a fierce scowl. Leaving no doubt of the threat, said he, “I rather like your creamy thighs, Miss Eyre.”

 I sat there in continual defiance.

 He started to rise. How easily I knew he could overtake me, after all, he had just reposed me from the stool.

 “Your choice.”

 I liked that about him. He allowed me the honour of being his equal in all things, in all desires. Despite the warmth of the room and the heated fever of my skin, I knew a sudden chill. Mr Rochester would certainly let me know he was still the master.

 Blushing like a schoolchild, no, in fact worse, I lifted my skirt.

“Ah, my bride, I shall never tire of one such as you, whose grace, whose bravery, whose daring matches mine.”

And while I sat there and looked out on the still trees and dim lawn, to a sweet air was sung in mellow tones the following strain:

“The truest love that ever heart

Felt at its kindled core,

Did through each vein, in quickened start,

The tide of being pour.

Her coming was my hope each day,

Her parting was my pain;

The chance that did her steps delay

Was ice in every vein.

I dreamed it would be nameless bliss,

As I loved, loved to be;

And to this object did I press

As blind as eagerly.

But wide as pathless was the space

That lay our lives between,

And dangerous as the foamy race

Of ocean-surges green.

And haunted as a robber-path

Through wilderness or wood;

For Might and Right, and Woe and Wrath,

Between our spirits stood.

I dangers dared. I hindrance scorned;

I omens did defy,

Whatever menaced, harassed, warned,

I passed impetuous by,

On sped my rainbow, fast as light;

I flew as in a dream;

For glorious rose upon my sight

That child of Shower and Gleam.

Still bright on clouds of suffering dim

Shines that soft, solemn joy;

Nor care I now, how dense and grim

Disasters gather nigh.

I care not in this moment sweet,

Though all I have rushed o’er

Should come on pinion, strong and fleet,

Proclaiming vengeance sore.

Though haughty Hate should strike me down,

Right, bar approach to me,

And grinding Might, with furious frown,

Swear endless enmity.

My love has placed her little hand

With noble faith in mine,

And vowed that wedlock’s sacred band

Our nature shall entwine.

My love has sworn, with sealing kiss,

With me to live—to die;

I have at last my nameless bliss.

As I love—loved am I!”

He rose and came towards me, and I saw his face all kindled, and his full falcon-eye flashing, and tenderness and passion in every lineament. I quailed momentarily—then I rallied. Soft scene, daring demonstration, I would not have and I stood in peril of both, a weapon of defence must be prepared—I whetted my tongue, as he reached me, I asked with asperity, “whom he was going to marry now?”

“That was a strange question to be put by his darling Jane.”

“Indeed! I considered it a very natural and necessary one, he had talked of his future wife dying with him. What did he mean by such a pagan idea?
I
had no intention of dying with him—he might depend on that.”

“Oh, all he longed, all he prayed for, was that I might live with him! Death was not for such as I.”

“Indeed it was, I had as good a right to die when my time came as he had, but I should bide that time, and not be hurried away in a suttee.”

“Would I forgive him for the selfish idea, and prove my pardon by a reconciling kiss?”

“No, I would rather be excused.”

Here I heard myself apostrophised as a “hard little thing,” and it was added, “any other woman would have been melted to marrow at hearing such stanzas crooned in her praise.”

I assured him I was naturally hard—very flinty, and that he would often find me so and that, moreover, I was determined to show him divers rugged points in my character before the ensuing four weeks elapsed, he should know fully what sort of a bargain he had made, while there was yet time to rescind it. To demonstrate fully, I dropped the hem of my skirt, preserving my modesty if not my heart.

“Would I be quiet and talk rationally?”

“I would be quiet if he liked, and as to talking rationally, I flattered myself I was doing that now.”

He fretted, pished, and pshawed. “Very good,” I thought, “you may fume and fidget as you please, but this is the best plan to pursue with you, I am certain. I like you more than I can say, but I’ll not sink into a bathos of sentiment, and with this needle of repartee I’ll keep you from the edge of the gulf too and, moreover, maintain by its pungent aid that distance between you and myself most conducive to our real mutual advantage.”

From less to more, I worked him up to considerable irritation; then, after he had retired, in dudgeon, quite to the other end of the room, I got up, and saying, “I wish you good-night, sir,” in my natural and wonted respectful manner, I slipped out by the side-door and got away.

The system thus entered on, I pursued during the whole season of probation and with the best success. He was kept, to be sure, rather cross and crusty, but on the whole I could see he was excellently entertained, and that a lamb-like submission and turtle-dove sensibility, while fostering his despotism more, would have pleased his judgement, satisfied his common-sense, and even suited his taste less.

In other people’s presence I was, as formerly, deferential and quiet; any other line of conduct being uncalled for, it was only in the evening conferences I thus thwarted and afflicted him. He continued to send for me punctually the moment the clock struck seven; though when I appeared before him now, he had no such honeyed terms as ‘love’ and ‘darling’ on his lips, the best words at my service were “provoking puppet,” “malicious elf,” “sprite,” “changeling,” etcetera. For caresses, too, I now got grimaces, for a pressure of the hand, a pinch on the arm, for a kiss on the cheek, a severe tweak of the ear. It was all right, at present I decidedly preferred these fierce favours to anything more tender. When we were alone and the household slept, he continued to claim me. I had yet to return the book I’d nipped from the library, and some nights he would bid me to open the covers and turn to a random page. Very often he would modify the selected position, adding a phallus, bindings, even clamps. My drawer was ever more full of the paraphernalia he brought to my apartment. Not only did he clamp my nipples, but also the lips of my cunny. The things he conjured seemed to know no boundaries.

 Mrs Fairfax, I saw, approved me. Her anxiety on my account vanished, therefore I was certain I did well. Meantime, Mr Rochester affirmed I was wearing him to skin and bone, and threatened awful vengeance for my present conduct at some period fast coming. I laughed in my sleeve at his menaces. I could hardly wait! “I can keep you in reasonable check now,” I reflected, “and I don’t doubt to be able to do it hereafter, if one expedient loses its virtue, another must be devised.”

Yet after all my task was not an easy one; often I would rather have pleased than teased him. My future husband was becoming to me my whole world and more than the world, almost my hope of heaven. He stood between me and every thought of religion, as an eclipse intervenes between man and the broad sun. I could not, in those days, see God for His creature, of whom I had made an idol.

 Chapter Twenty-Five

The month of courtship had wasted, its very last hours were being numbered. There was no putting off the day that advanced—the bridal day and all preparations for its arrival were complete.
I
, at least, had nothing more to do, there were my trunks, packed—Mr Rochester had instructed me to include all the items he’d brought to my apartment—including the book—locked, corded, ranged in a row along the wall of my little chamber; tomorrow, at this time, they would be far on their road to London, and so should I—D.V.— or rather, not I, but one Jane Rochester, a person whom as yet I knew not. The cards of address alone remained to nail on, they lay, four little squares, in the drawer. Mr Rochester had himself written the direction, “Mrs Rochester, Hotel, London,” on each. I could not persuade myself to affix them, or to have them affixed. Mrs Rochester! She did not exist, she would not be born till tomorrow, some time after eight o’clock a.m. and I would wait to be assured she had come into the world alive before I assigned to her all that property. It was enough that in yonder closet, opposite my dressing-table, garments said to be hers had already displaced my black stuff Lowood frock and straw bonnet, for not to me appertained that suit of wedding raiment, the pearl-coloured robe, the vapoury veil pendent from the usurped portmanteau. I shut the closet to conceal the strange, wraith-like apparel it contained; which, at this evening hour—nine o’clock—gave out certainly a most ghostly shimmer through the shadow of my apartment. “I will leave you by yourself, white dream,” I said. “I am feverish. I hear the wind blowing. I will go out of doors and feel it.”