CHAPTER 4

I spent the next few days on various business matters that I had neglected during my absence from Thornfield. I saw Miss Eyre on occasion when we were both wandering along one of the hallways but I was careful not to converse too much for I seemed to go too far the last time we met. I did not like the effect she was having on me and thought avoidance the best course of action to take.

One afternoon after my ankle healed, I took my horse for a ride through the grounds to have a look at things. I found everything strangely alive for late winter months as it seemed like spring had come early to Thornfield. During my journey I traveled near the place where I first met Jane Eyre. I began to think about how her elf-like figure surprised me on that first meeting and how captivating she was. Since I was accident prone in these parts, I was careful not to get too lost in my thoughts so I turned the house around and rode back to the house. As I rode, I found myself wondering if Miss Eyre had any exercise today as I ascertained she was a good walker.

"Oh Edward," I thought to myself. "Her concerns are of no importance to you right now. Besides you have guests coming tomorrow." This woman had placed some kind of spell on me and I found myself thinking about her all too frequently. I knew she would never feel anything for me so I did everything I could to get her out of my mind including of thinking of other things when she came to my mind.

I planned a dinner with some of the wealthier members of the immediate neighborhood the next evening so I knew much of my time for the next day would be spent in preparation of that. I knew Mrs Fairfax would have plenty of activities for the staff to do that day so it was unlikely I would see Miss Eyre.

When my friends came to dinner, we met in the drawing room to discuss politics and business. As one of my friends began to drone on about the current state of government reform, I found myself missing Miss Eyre's lively conversation. She would certainly have something interesting to say on the subject of reform. I got up from my chair, excused myself and found Mrs. Fairfax, who was setting the table.

"Mrs. Fairfax," I said. "Please be sure that Miss Eyre and Adele join me in the drawing room for tea tonight. Oh and see if Miss Eyre would share her sketch book with my guests." The good lady nodded and I returned to my guests. I am not sure why I asked for the sketch books but as I found them so enchanting a few nights ago, I am sure my guests would as well. I sat down with them again and Mrs. Fairfax came back in with the sketch book.

"Here gentlemen, what do you make of these?" I said as I handed the book off to Mr. Smith who was sitting next to me. Smith was an excellent man and seemed interested enough in the book.

"Who drew these Rochester?" he asked after leafing through them. "The steadiness of hand is amazing."

"Why Jane Eyre. She is my ward's governess." Smith seemed taken a back by my answer.

"A governess? I thought you brought them back from your travels." I laughed at his response. The other gentlemen were less interested but dinner was ready to be served so we had other matters before us.

Dinner passed quickly and the gentlemen informed me they were going to a meeting in town that evening. I did not want to leave Thornfield that evening especially since I was expecting company for tea so I gave them my regrets and said goodbye. Before mounting his horse, Smith cam over to me and said, "Be sure to have that governess do some more sketches before I next visit Rochester." I smiled and said I would. I said goodbye to my friend and made my way into the house. Smith seemed a bit too enthusiastic about the governess for my liking so I put it out of my mind.

It was approaching tea time so I quickly changed into some less formal clothes for my meeting with Miss Eyre. I also grabbed a treat I had brought for Adele to entertain her while I conversed with Miss Eyre. I made my way back downstairs to the drawing room. They were not there so I placed the package on the table and sat down in my leather chair. After a few minutes I heard them come in.

"Ma boite! ma boite!" exclaimed Adele as she ran towards the package.

"Yes, there is your 'boite' at last: take it into a corner, you genuine daughter of Paris, and amuse yourself with disemboweling it. And mind, don't bother me with any details of the anatomical process, or any notice of the condition of the entrails: let your operation be conducted in silence: tiens-toi tranquille, enfant; comprends-tu?" I wished to speak only with Miss Eyre that evening and did not want any distractions from the child.

Adele unwrapped the present and I stared into the fire some more. "Oh ciel! Que c'est beau!" she exclaimed.

I had enough of the child for the evening so I said authoritatively, "Is Miss Eyre there?" I saw her petite frame in the doorway from my chair. She looked at me rather coolly as if she was upset at how I treated the child.

I said to Miss Eyre "Ah! well, come forward; be seated here," and pointed towards a nearby chair.

I then said "I am not fond of the prattle of children, for, old bachelor as I am; I have no pleasant associations connected with their lisp. It would be intolerable to me to pass a whole evening tete-e-tete with a brat."

Miss Eyre seemed to pull the chair further from me so I shouted, "Don't draw that chair farther off, Miss Eyre; sit down exactly where I placed it--if you please, that is. Confound these civilities! I continually forget them. Nor do I particularly affect simple-minded old ladies. By- the-bye, I must have mine in mind; it won't do to neglect her; she is a Fairfax, or wed to one; and blood is said to be thicker than water."

I rang the bell to signal for Mrs Fairfax to join us and said, "Good evening, madam; I sent to you for a charitable purpose. I have forbidden Adele to talk to me about her presents, and she is bursting with repletion: have the goodness to serve her as auditress and interlocutrice; it will be one of the most benevolent acts you ever performed."

Adele gleefully saw Mrs. Fairfax who was willing to listen to the child on the matter of her new present. I turned to Miss Eyre and resolutely declared, "Now I have performed the part of a good host, put my guests into the way of amusing each other, I ought to be at liberty to attend to my own pleasure. Miss Eyre, draw your chair still a little farther forward: you are yet too far back; I cannot see you without disturbing my position in this comfortable chair, which I have no mind to do." I hated her sitting so far away from me as I could not focus on her mesmerizing eyes as we conversed. She willingly did as she was asked and I found myself searching for something we could talk about. I stared into the fire in search of an appropriate subject for so what often entertained my male guests would offend one so innocent.

As I looked into the fire, I felt her eyes on me. I could hardly believe what was happening as I had felt eyes on me like that many times before but did not expect it from Miss Eyre. Still it seemed she could actually be interested in me and my haggard appearance. Could she actually feel something for me I thought? I knew I had a bit of an attraction but it seemed impossible she should feel the same way, which is why I tried to suppress my feelings. Still her eyes revealed something so I said, "You examine me, Miss Eyre. Do you think me handsome?"

She almost jumped at this question and said, "No, sir," so deliberately that I knew she was more interested than she let on.

I said, "Ah! By my word! There is something singular about you. You have the air of a little nonnette; quaint, quiet, grave, and simple, as you sit with your hands before you, and your eyes generally bent on the carpet (except, by-the-bye, when they are directed piercingly to my face; as just now, for instance); and when one asks you a question, or makes a remark to which you are obliged to reply, you rap out a round rejoinder, which, if not blunt, is at least brusque. What do you mean by it?"

"Sir, I was too plain; I beg your pardon. I ought to have replied that it was not easy to give an impromptu answer to a question about appearances; that tastes mostly differ; and that beauty is of little consequence, or something of that sort."

"You ought to have replied no such thing. Beauty of little consequence, indeed! And so, under pretence of softening the previous outrage, of stroking and soothing me into placidity, you stick a sly penknife under my ear! Go on: what fault do you find with me, pray? I suppose I have all my limbs and all my features like any other man?"

"Mr. Rochester, allow me to disown my first answer: I intended no pointed repartee: it was only a blunder."

I decided not to let her off as I was enjoying teasing her so I replied, "Just so: I think so: and you shall be answerable for it. Criticise me: does my forehead not please you?"

I lifted my tattered hair from my forehead and she seemed somewhat struck by the shape of my forehead so I said, "Now, ma'am, am I a fool?"

"Far from it, sir. You would, perhaps, think me rude if I inquired in return whether you are a philanthropist?"

"There again! Another stick of the penknife, when she pretended to pat my head: and that is because I said I did not like the society of children and old women (low be it spoken!). No, young lady, I am not a general philanthropist; but I bear a conscience, " I said as I pointed to another part of my head. Her eyes were still transfixed me and I enjoyed the attention I was receiving from this young woman. I continued "And, besides, I once had a kind of rude tenderness of heart. When I was as old as you, I was a feeling fellow enough, partial to the unfledged, unfostered, and unlucky; but Fortune has knocked me about since: she has even kneaded me with her knuckles, and now I flatter myself I am hard and tough as an India-rubber ball; pervious, though, through a chink or two still, and with one sentient point in the middle of the lump. Yes: does that leave hope for me?"

"Hope of what, sir?"

"Of my final re-transformation from India-rubber back to flesh?" I did not want to discuss too much of past that evening, and I could tell she was uncomfortable with my frank manner of speech and harsh opinions.

She became quiet and I saw a hint of blush in her cheeks. I said, "You looked very much puzzled, Miss Eyre; and though you are not pretty any more than I am handsome, yet a puzzled air becomes you; besides, it is convenient, for it keeps those searching eyes of yours away from my physiognomy, and busies them with the worsted flowers of the rug; so puzzle on. Young lady, I am disposed to be gregarious and communicative to-night."

Her blush revealed plenty to me. I knew she was interested in me so I stood up and placed my arms on the fire place. I knew she would be able to study my entire frame from that angle and perhaps by doing this, I could draw out more than she wanted. I said, "I am disposed to be gregarious and communicative to-night, and that is why I sent for you: the fire and the chandelier were not sufficient company for me; nor would Pilot have been, for none of these can talk. Adele is a degree better, but still far below the mark; Mrs. Fairfax ditto; you, I am persuaded, can suit me if you will: you puzzled me the first evening I invited you down here. I have almost forgotten you since: other ideas have driven yours from my head; but to-night I am resolved to be at ease; to dismiss what importunes, and recall what pleases. It would please me now to draw you out--to learn more of you--therefore speak."

She smiled complacently not offering anything so I said, again, "Speak."

"What about, sir?"

I could tell she was unwilling to discuss subjects close to her heart at this time so I said, "Whatever you like. I leave both the choice of subject and the manner of treating it entirely to yourself."

Yet still, nothing came out of her mouth. I said, "You are dumb, Miss Eyre."

I was getting slightly impatient with her unwillingness to speak for I thought we had a bit of a break through a few nights earlier. Still I was determined we would exchange some meaningful conversation and I said, "Stubborn and annoyed. Ah! It is consistent. I put my request in an absurd, almost insolent form. Miss Eyre, I beg your pardon. The fact is, once for all, I don't wish to treat you like an inferior: that is" (correcting himself), "I claim only such superiority as must result from twenty years' difference in age and a century's advance in experience. This is legitimate, et j'y tiens, as Adele would say; and it is by virtue of this superiority, and this alone, that I desire you to have the goodness to talk to me a little now, and divert my thoughts, which are galled with dwelling on one point--cankering as a rusty nail."

"I am," she finally replied, "willing to amuse you, if I can, sir--quite willing; but I cannot introduce a topic, because how do I know what will interest you? Ask me questions, and I will do my best to answer them."

"Then, in the first place, do you agree with me that I have a right to be a little masterful, abrupt, perhaps exacting, sometimes, on the grounds I stated, namely, that I am old enough to be your father, and that I have battled through a varied experience with many men of many nations, and roamed over half the globe, while you have lived quietly with one set of people in one house?"

"Do as you please, sir."

"That is no answer; or rather it is a very irritating, because a very evasive one. Reply clearly."

"I don't think, sir, you have a right to command me, merely because you are older than I, or because you have seen more of the world than I have; your claim to superiority depends on the use you have made of your time and experience."

"Humph! Promptly spoken. But I won't allow that, seeing that it would never suit my case, as I have made an indifferent, not to say a bad, use of both advantages. Leaving superiority out of the question, then, you must still agree to receive my orders now and then, without being piqued or hurt by the tone of command. Will you?"

She smiled sheepishly to herself and I had to know why.

I said, "The smile is very well but speak too."

"I was thinking, sir, that very few masters would trouble themselves to inquire whether or not their paid subordinates were piqued and hurt by their orders."

"Paid subordinates!" So she was going to bring up money I thought.

I said, "What! You are my paid subordinate, are you? Oh yes, I had forgotten the salary! Well then, on that mercenary ground, will you agree to let me hector a little?"

"No, sir, not on that ground; but, on the ground that you did forget it, and that you care whether or not a dependent is comfortable in his dependency, I agree heartily."

"And will you consent to dispense with a great many conventional forms and phrases, without thinking that the omission arises from insolence?"

"I am sure, sir, I should never mistake informality for insolence: one I rather like, the other nothing free-born would submit to, even for a salary."

She seemed completely uninterested in money. I said, "Humbug! Most things free-born will submit to anything for a salary; therefore, keep to yourself, and don't venture on generalities of which you are intensely ignorant. However, I mentally shake hands with you for your answer, despite its inaccuracy; and as much for the manner in which it was said, as for the substance of the speech; the manner was frank and sincere; one does not often see such a manner: no, on the contrary, affectation, or coldness, or stupid, coarse-minded misapprehension of one's meaning are the usual rewards of candour. Not three in three thousand raw school-girl-governesses would have answered me as you have just done. But I don't mean to flatter you: if you are cast in a different mould to the majority, it is no merit of yours: Nature did it. And then, after all, I go too fast in my conclusions: for what I yet know, you may be no better than the rest; you may have intolerable defects to counterbalance your few good points."

Her innocence was such a gift and I found myself reminiscing of a time when I cared little of worldly things. But I knew she was right and it was time for me to yield. I said, "Yes, yes, you are right. I have plenty of faults of my own: I know it, and I don't wish to palliate them, I assure you. God wot I need not be too severe about others; I have a past existence, a series of deeds, a colour of life to contemplate within my own breast, which might well call my sneers and censures from my neighbours to myself. I started, or rather (for like other defaulters, I like to lay half the blame on ill fortune and adverse circumstances) was thrust on to a wrong tack at the age of one-and- twenty, and have never recovered the right course since: but I might have been very different; I might have been as good as you-- wiser--almost as stainless. I envy you your peace of mind, your clean conscience, your unpolluted memory. Little girl, a memory without blot or contamination must be an exquisite treasure--an inexhaustible source of pure refreshment: is it not?"

"How was your memory when you were eighteen, sir?"

"All right then; limpid, salubrious: no gush of bilge water had turned it to fetid puddle. I was your equal at eighteen--quite your equal. Nature meant me to be, on the whole, a good man, Miss Eyre; one of the better kind, and you see I am not so. You would say you don't see it; at least I flatter myself I read as much in your eye (beware, by-the-bye, what you express with that organ; I am quick at interpreting its language). Then take my word for it,--I am not a villain: you are not to suppose that--not to attribute to me any such bad eminence; but, owing, I verily believe, rather to circumstances than to my natural bent, I am a trite commonplace sinner, hackneyed in all the poor petty dissipations with which the rich and worthless try to put on life. Do you wonder that I avow this to you? Know, that in the course of your future life you will often find yourself elected the involuntary confidant of your acquaintances' secrets: people will instinctively find out, as I have done, that it is not your forte to tell of yourself, but to listen while others talk of themselves; they will feel, too, that you listen with no malevolent scorn of their indiscretion, but with a kind of innate sympathy; not the less comforting and encouraging because it is very unobtrusive in its manifestations."

Here I wanted to understand her a little a better and was instead telling her of past my sins and a time I wished to forget. However she seemed completely interested in what I had to say of course she may have just longed to hear about a strangers idle mistakes.

She said, "How do you know?--how can you guess all this, sir?"

"I know it well; therefore I proceed almost as freely as if I were writing my thoughts in a diary. You would say, I should have been superior to circumstances; so I should--so I should; but you see I was not. When fate wronged me, I had not the wisdom to remain cool: I turned desperate; then I degenerated. Now, when any vicious simpleton excites my disgust by his paltry ribaldry, I cannot flatter myself that I am better than he: I am forced to confess that he and I are on a level. I wish I had stood firm--God knows I do! Dread remorse when you are tempted to err, Miss Eyre; remorse is the poison of life."

"Repentance is said to be its cure, sir."

Oh if she knew how often I repented for my past and was still riddled with guilt.

I said, "It is not its cure. Reformation may be its cure; and I could reform--I have strength yet for that--if--but where is the use of thinking of it, hampered, burdened, cursed as I am? Besides, since happiness is irrevocably denied me, I have a right to get pleasure out of life: and I WILL get it, cost what it may."

"Then you will degenerate still more, sir."

"Possibly: yet why should I, if I can get sweet, fresh pleasure? And I may get it as sweet and fresh as the wild honey the bee gathers on the moor."

"It will sting--it will taste bitter, sir."

She seemed so pious and honest, and here she was talking to a sinner such as me.

I said, "How do you know?--you never tried it. How very serious--how very solemn you look: and you are as ignorant of the matter as this cameo head. You have no right to preach to me, you neophyte, that have not passed the porch of life, and are absolutely unacquainted with its mysteries." I did not like the idea of her judging me like this and wanted desperately for this conversation to end.

She said, "I only remind you of your own words, sir: you said error brought remorse and you pronounced remorse the poison of existence."

"And who talks of error now? I scarcely think the notion that flittered across my brain was an error. I believe it was an inspiration rather than a temptation: it was very genial, very soothing--I know that. Here it comes again! It is no devil, I assure you; or if it be, it has put on the robes of an angel of light. I think I must admit so fair a guest when it asks entrance to my heart." I felt my darkness invading my thoughts once again.

She said, "Distrust it, sir; it is not a true angel."

"Once more, how do you know? By what instinct do you pretend to distinguish between a fallen seraph of the abyss and a messenger from the eternal throne--between a guide and a seducer?"

"I judged by your countenance, sir, which was troubled when you said the suggestion had returned upon you. I feel sure it will work you more misery if you listen to it."

"Not at all--it bears the most gracious message in the world: for the rest, you are not my conscience-keeper, so don't make yourself uneasy. Here, come in, bonny wanderer!"

I felt my pain and despair come to me again. Oh I hated my secrets and lies but I was trapped and I had only myself to blame. I found myself lost in these dark thoughts but before I got too deep within them, I thought of Miss Eyre and her concern for my welfare. She had shown me threw her words that she actually did care for me in some way and I was touched by this.

Her eyes were still on me and I said, "Now, I have received the pilgrim--a disguised deity, as I verify believe. Already it has done me good: my heart was a sort of charnel; it will now be a shrine."

If only she knew how her words touched my soul.

She seemed upset my words and said, "To speak truth, sir, I don't understand you at all: I cannot keep up the conversation, because it has got out of my depth. Only one thing, I know: you said you were not as good as you should like to be, and that you regretted your own imperfection;--one thing I can comprehend: you intimated that to have a sullied memory was a perpetual bane. It seems to me, that if you tried hard, you would in time find it possible to become what you yourself would approve; and that if from this day you began with resolution to correct your thoughts and actions, you would in a few years have laid up a new and stainless store of recollections, to which you might revert with pleasure."

"Justly thought; rightly said, Miss Eyre; and, at this moment, I am paving hell with energy."

"Sir?"

"I am laying down good intentions, which I believe durable as flint. Certainly, my associates and pursuits shall be other than they have been." I knew the associate before me would help me be the type of person I wanted to be.

She said, "And better?"

"And better--so much better as pure ore is than foul dross. You seem to doubt me; I don't doubt myself: I know what my aim is, what my motives are; and at this moment I pass a law, unalterable as that of the Medes and Persians, that both are right."

"They cannot be, sir, if they require a new statute to legalise them."

"They are, Miss Eyre, though they absolutely require a new statute: unheard-of combinations of circumstances demand unheard-of rules."

I thought about how easy it would be if there was a way I could be free from the legal chains of my first marriage. I longed for something like that to happen. Still I could not share these feelings with the woman near me, who seemed more confused.

She said, "That sounds a dangerous maxim, sir; because one can see at once that it is liable to abuse."

"Sententious sage! so it is: but I swear by my household gods not to abuse it."

"You are human and fallible."

I knew I was human but so was she and I still could not fathom she could be this good.

I said, "I am: so are you--what then?"

"The human and fallible should not arrogate a power with which the divine and perfect alone can be safely entrusted."

"What power?"

"That of saying of any strange, unsanctioned line of action,--'Let it be right.'"

"'Let it be right'--the very words: you have pronounced them."

"MAY it be right then."

She rose from her seat and I could tell she was frustrated by our conversation. It became apparent to me that her goodness may never understand my darkness.

She was beginning to leave the room and I said, "Where are you going?"

"To put Adele to bed: it is past her bedtime."

"You are afraid of me, because I talk like a Sphynx."

"Your language is enigmatical, sir: but though I am bewildered, I am certainly not afraid." I knew she was upset by words and even slightly disturbed.

I said, "You ARE afraid--your self-love dreads a blunder."

"In that sense I do feel apprehensive--I have no wish to talk nonsense."

"If you did, it would be in such a grave, quiet manner, I should mistake it for sense. Do you never laugh, Miss Eyre? Don't trouble yourself to answer--I see you laugh rarely; but you can laugh very merrily: believe me; you are not naturally austere, any more than I am naturally vicious. The Lowood constraint still clings to you somewhat; controlling your features, muffling your voice, and restricting your limbs; and you fear in the presence of a man and a brother--or father, or master, or what you will--to smile too gaily, speak too freely, or move too quickly: but, in time, I think you will learn to be natural with me, as I find it impossible to be conventional with you; and then your looks and movements will have more vivacity and variety than they dare offer now. I see at intervals the glance of a curious sort of bird through the close-set bars of a cage: a vivid, restless, resolute captive is there; were it but free, it would soar cloud-high. You are still bent on going?"

"It has struck nine, sir."

I did not want her to retire agitated and me the reason for it.

I said, "Never mind,--wait a minute: Adele is not ready to go to bed yet. My position, Miss Eyre, with my back to the fire, and my face to the room, favours observation. While talking to you, I have also occasionally watched Adele (I have my own reasons for thinking her a curious study,--reasons that I may, nay, that I shall, impart to you some day)." I found myself thinking about the last time I thought I was love and what that woman was like.

I continued, "She pulled out of her box, about ten minutes ago, a little pink silk frock; rapture lit her face as she unfolded it; coquetry runs in her blood, blends with her brains, and seasons the marrow of her bones. 'Il faut que je l'essaie!' cried she, 'et e l'instant meme!' and she rushed out of the room. She is now with Sophie, undergoing a robing process: in a few minutes she will re- enter; and I know what I shall see,--a miniature of Celine Varens, as she used to appear on the boards at the rising of-- But never mind that. However, my tenderest feelings are about to receive a shock: such is my presentiment; stay now, to see whether it will be realised."

Adele came back into the room and,just as I said she would, Adele pranced around in her new dress, showing us both how pretty she thought she was. I could tell Jane was thinking about what I had just old her and congratulated myself on my little victory.

"Est-ce que ma robe va bien?" Adele said as she pranced towards us, "et mes souliers? et mes bas? Tenez, je crois que je vais danser!"

She came towards me, spun in a circle and began to curtsey and said, "Monsieur, je vous remercie mille fois de votre bonte. C'est comme cela que maman faisait, n'est-ce pas, monsieur?"

"Pre-cise-ly!" I replied. "And, 'comme cela,'"

I turned to Miss Eyre and said, "She charmed my English gold out of my British breeches' pocket. I have been green, too, Miss Eyre,--ay, grass green: not a more vernal tint freshens you now than once freshened me. My Spring is gone, however, but it has left me that French floweret on my hands, which, in some moods, I would fain be rid of. Not valuing now the root whence it sprang; having found that it was of a sort which nothing but gold dust could manure, I have but half a liking to the blossom, especially when it looks so artificial as just now. I keep it and rear it rather on the Roman Catholic principle of expiating numerous sins, great or small, by one good work. I'll explain all this some day. Good- night."

Miss Eyre said good night and took Adele upstairs. Mrs. Fairfax came to me and asked if I needed anything else. I told her no and she retired for the evening. I slumped into my chair and thought about Miss Eyre. She was so different to the other women I had been with. Celine was as interested in material things as Adele is Bertha was completely another story, but Jane, I mean, Miss Eyre, seemed genuinely interested in conversation and my spiritual well being. I sighed and took a sip of wine. Could this elf-like creature be my savior from my darkness? As I stared at the fire, I found myself thinking I might actually be redeemed and this was all because of Jane Eyre. I felt more drawn to her then ever and hopeful for a future, possibly even with her. She did care about me so perhaps it was even acceptable for me to let my heart care for her in some way. I knew this creature would do me good.