Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte Deluxe Edition Chapter 14.

For several subsequent days I saw little of Mr. Rochester. In the
mornings he seemed much engaged with business, and, in the afternoon,
gentlemen from Millcote or the neighbourhood called, and sometimes
stayed to dine with him. When his sprain was well enough to admit
of horse exercise, he rode out a good deal; probably to return
these visits, as he generally did not come back till late at night.

During this interval, even Adele was seldom sent for to his presence,
and all my acquaintance with him was confined to an occasional
rencontre in the hall, on the stairs, or in the gallery, when he would
sometimes pass me haughtily and coldly, just acknowledging my
presence by a distant nod or a cool glance, and sometimes bow and
smile with gentlemanlike affability. his changes of mood did not
offend me, because I saw that I had nothing to do with their alternation;
the ebb and flow depended on causes quite disconnected with me.


One day he had had company to dinner, and had sent for my portfolio;
in order, doubtless, to exhibit its contents: the gentlemen went
away early, to attend a public meeting at Millcote, as Mrs. Fairfax
informed me; but the night being wet and inclement, Mr. Rochester
did not accompany them. Soon after they were gone he rang the bell:
a message came that I and Adele were to go downstairs. I brushed
Adele's hair and made her neat, and having ascertained that I was
myself in my usual Quaker trim, where there was nothing to retouch
all being too close and plain, braided locks included, to admit
of disarrangement we descended, Adele wondering whether the
petit coffre was at length come; for, owing to some mistake, its
arrival had hitherto been delayed. She was gratified: there it stood,
a little carton, on the table when we entered the diningroom.
She appeared to know it by instinct.

"Ma boite! Ma boite!" exclaimed she, running towards it.
"Yes, there is your 'boite' at last: take it into a corner, you
genuine daughter of Paris, and amuse yourself with disembowelling
it," said the deep and rather sarcastic voice of Mr. Rochester,
proceeding from the depths of an immense easychair at the fireside.
"And mind," he continued, "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: tienstoi tranquille,
enfant; comprendstu?"

Adele seemed scarcely to need the warning she had already retired
to a sofa with her treasure, and was busy untying the cord which
secured the lid. Having removed this impediment, and lifted
certain silvery envelopes of tissue paper, she merely exclaimed.
"Oh ciel! Que c'est beau!" and then remained absorbed in ecstatic
contemplation.

"Is Miss Eyre there?" now demanded the master, half rising from
his seat to look round to the door, near which I still stood.
"Ah! well, come forward; be seated here." He drew a chair near
his own. "I am not fond of the prattle of children," he continued;
"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 teteetete with a brat. 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 simpleminded old ladies. Bythebye,
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."

He rang, and despatched an invitation to Mrs. Fairfax, who soon
arrived, knittingbasket in hand. "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, indeed, no sooner saw Mrs. Fairfax, than she summoned her
to her sofa, and there quickly filled her lap with the porcelain, the ivory,
the waxen contents of her "boite;" pouring out, meantime, explanations
and raptures in such broken English as she was mistress of.

"Now I have performed the part of a good host," pursued Mr. Rochester,
"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 did as I was bid, though I would much rather have remained
somewhat in the shade; but Mr. Rochester had such a direct way of
giving orders, it seemed a matter of course to obey him promptly.
We were, as I have said, in the diningroom: the lustre, which had
been lit for dinner, filled the room with a festal breadth of light;
the large fire was all red and clear; the purple curtains hung rich
and ample before the lofty window and loftier arch; everything was
still, save the subdued chat of Adele (she dared not speak loud), and,
filling up each pause, the beating of winter rain against the panes.

Mr. Rochester, as he sat in his damaskcovered chair, looked
different to what I had seen him look before; not quite so stern
much less gloomy. There was a smile on his lips, and his eyes
sparkled, whether with wine or not, I am not sure; but I think it
very probable. He was, in short, in his afterdinner mood; more
expanded and genial, and also more selfindulgent than the frigid
and rigid temper of the morning; still he looked preciously grim,
cushioning his massive head against the swelling back of his chair,
and receiving the light of the fire on his granitehewn features, and in
his great, dark eyes; for he had great, dark eyes, and very fine eyes, too
not without a certain change in their depths sometimes, which, if it
was not softness, reminded you, at least, of that feeling.

He had been looking two minutes at the fire, and I had been looking
the same length of time at him, when, turning suddenly, he caught my
gaze fastened on his physiognomy. "You examine me, Miss Eyre," said
he: "do you think me handsome?" I should, if I had deliberated, have replied
to this question by something conventionally vague and polite; but the
answer somehow slipped from my tongue before I was aware "No, sir."

"Ah! By my word! there is something singular about you," said
he: "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, bythebye, 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 pen knife 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." "Just so: I think so: and you
shall be answerable for it. Criticise me: does my forehead not please
you?" He lifted up the sable waves of hair which lay horizontally over
his brow, and showed a solid enough mass of intellectual organs, but an
abrupt deficiency where the suave sign of benevolence should have risen.

"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 pen knife, 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;"
and he pointed to the prominences which are said to indicate
that faculty, and which, fortunately for him, were sufficiently
conspicuous; giving, indeed, a marked breadth to the upper part of
his head: "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 Indiarubber
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 retransformation from Indiarubber back to flesh?"
"Decidedly he has had too much wine," I thought; and I did not
know what answer to make to his queer question: how could I tell
whether he was capable of being retransformed? "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 tonight."

With this announcement he rose from his chair, and stood, leaning
his arm on the marble mantelpiece: in that attitude his shape was
seen plainly as well as his face; his unusual breadth of chest,
disproportionate almost to his length of limb. I am sure most
people would have thought him an ugly man; yet there was so much
unconscious pride in his port; so much ease in his demeanour; such
a look of complete indifference to his own external appearance; so
haughty a reliance on the power of other qualities, intrinsic or
adventitious, to atone for the lack of mere personal attractiveness,
that, in looking at him, one inevitably shared the indifference,
and, even in a blind, imperfect sense, put faith in the confidence.

"I am disposed to be gregarious and communicative tonight,"
he repeated, "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 tonight 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."

Instead of speaking, I smiled; and not a very complacent or submissive
smile either. "Speak," he urged. "What about, sir?" "Whatever you like.
I leave both the choice of subject and the manner of treating it entirely
to yourself." Accordingly I sat and said nothing: "If he expects me to talk
for the mere sake of talking and showing off, he will find he has addressed
himself to the wrong person," I thought. "You are dumb, Miss Eyre."
I was dumb still. He bent his head a little towards me, and with
a single hasty glance seemed to dive into my eyes.

"Stubborn?" he said, "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."

He had deigned an explanation, almost an apology, and I did not
feel insensible to his condescension, and would not seem so.
"I am 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?" I smiled:
I thought to myself Mr. Rochester IS peculiar he seems to forget
that he pays me 30 pounds per annum for receiving his orders.

"The smile is very well," said he, catching instantly the passing
expression; "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! 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 freeborn would submit
to, even for a salary."

"Humbug! Most things freeborn 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,
coarseminded misapprehension of one's meaning are the usual rewards
of candour. Not three in three thousand raw schoolgirlgovernesses
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."

"And so may you," I thought. My eye met his as the idea crossed
my mind: he seemed to read the glance, answering as if its import
had been spoken as well as imagined. "Yes, yes, you are right,"
said he; "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
peace of mind, your clean conscience, your unpolluted your
memory. Little girl, a memory without blot or contamination
must be an exquisite treasure an inexhaustible source of pure
refreshment: is it not?"

"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." "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" (taking one
from the mantelpiece). "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."

"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, bythebye, 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."

"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 simpleton excites
my cool: I turned desperate; then I degenerated. Now, when any
vicious 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."

"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."
"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" (taking one from the mantelpiece). "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 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." "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 consciencekeeper, so don't make yourself
uneasy. Here, come in, bonny wanderer!" He said this as if he spoke
to a vision, viewless to any eye but his own; then, folding his arms,
which he had half extended, on his chest, he seemed to enclose in
their embrace the invisible being. "Now," he continued, again
addressing me, "I have received the pilgrim a disguised deity, as
I verily believe. Already it has done me good: my heart was a sort
of charnel; it will now be a shrine."

"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."

"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."

"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 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 intrusted." "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,"
I said, as I rose, deeming it useless to continue a discourse which
was all darkness to me; and, besides, sensible that the character
of my interlocutor was beyond my penetration; at least, beyond
its present reach; and feeling the uncertainty, the vague sense of
insecurity, which accompanies a conviction of ignorance.

"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." "You ARE afraid your selflove 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 closeset bars of a cage: a vivid,
restless, resolute captive is there; were it but free, it would soar
cloudhigh. You are still bent on going?" "It has struck nine, sir."

"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). 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 reenter; 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."

Ere long, Adele's little foot was heard tripping across the hall.
She entered, transformed as her guardian had predicted. A dress
of rosecoloured satin, very short, and as full in the skirt as
it could be gathered, replaced the brown frock she had previously
worn; a wreath of rosebuds circled her forehead; her feet were
dressed in silk stockings and small white satin sandals.
"Estce que ma robe va bien?" cried she, bounding forwards; "et
mes souliers? et mes bas? Tenez, je crois que je vais danser!"

And spreading out her dress, she chasseed across the room till,
having reached Mr. Rochester, she wheeled lightly round before
him on tiptoe, then dropped on one knee at his feet, exclaiming
"Monsieur, je vous remercie mille fois de votre bonte;" then
rising, she added, "C'est comme cela que maman faisait, n'estce
pas, monsieur?" "Precisely!" was the answer; "and, 'comme cela,'
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. Goodnight."

Perfume.

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte Deluxe Edition Chapter 15.>