Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte Deluxe Edition Chapter 26.

Sophie came at seven to dress me: she was very long indeed in
accomplishing her task; so long that Mr. Rochester, grown, I suppose,
impatient of my delay, sent up to ask why I did not come. She was
just fastening my veil (the plain square of blond after all) to
my hair with a brooch; I hurried from under her hands as soon as
I could. "Stop!" she cried in French. "Look at yourself in the mirror:
you have not taken one peep." So I turned at the door: I saw a robed
and veiled figure, so unlike my usual self that it seemed almost the
image of a stranger. "Jane!" called a voice, and I hastened down. I
was received at the foot of the stairs by Mr. Rochester. "Lingerer!"
he said, "my brain is on fire with impatience, and you tarry so long!"
He took me into the dining room, surveyed me keenly all over,
pronounced me "fair as a lily, and not only the pride of his life,
but the desire of his eyes," and then telling me he would give me
but ten minutes to eat some breakfast, he rang the bell. One of
his lately hired servants, a footman, answered it.

"Is John getting the carriage ready?" "Yes, sir." "Is the luggage
brought down?" "They are bringing it down, sir." "Go you to
the church: see if Mr. Wood (the clergyman) and the clerk are
there: return and tell me." The church, as the reader knows,
was but just beyond the gates; the footman soon returned.
"Mr. Wood is in the vestry, sir, putting on his surplice."
"And the carriage?" "The horses are harnessing." "We shall
not want it to go to church; but it must be ready the moment
we return: all the boxes and luggage arranged and strapped
on, and the coachman in his seat." "Yes, sir." "Jane, are you ready?"

I rose. There were no groomsmen, no bridesmaids, no relatives to
wait for or marshal: none but Mr. Rochester and I. Mrs. Fairfax
stood in the hall as we passed. I would fain have spoken to her,
but my hand was held by a grasp of iron: I was hurried along by a
stride I could hardly follow; and to look at Mr. Rochester's face
was to feel that not a second of delay would be tolerated for any
purpose. I wonder what other bridegroom ever looked as he did
so bent up to a purpose, so grimly resolute: or who, under such
steadfast brows, ever revealed such flaming and flashing eyes.
I know not whether the day was fair or foul; in descending the drive,
I gazed neither on sky nor earth: my heart was with my eyes; and
both seemed migrated into Mr. Rochester's frame. I wanted to see
the invisible thing on which, as we went along, he appeared to
fasten a glance fierce and fell. I wanted to feel the thoughts
whose force he seemed breasting and resisting.

At the churchyard wicket he stopped: he discovered I was quite
out of breath. "Am I cruel in my love?" he said. "Delay an instant:
lean on me, Jane." And now I can recall the picture of the grey old
house of god rising calm before me, of a rook wheeling round the
steeple, of a ruddy morning sky beyond. I remember something,
too, of the green grave mounds; and I have not forgotten, either,
two figures of strangers straying amongst the low hillocks and
reading the mementoes graven on the few mossy head stones.
I noticed them, because, as they saw us, they passed round to the
back of the church; and I doubted not they were going to enter
by the side aisle door and witness the ceremony. By Mr. Rochester
they were not observed; he was earnestly looking at my face from
which the blood had, I daresay, momentarily fled: for I felt my
forehead dewy, and my cheeks and lips cold. When I rallied, which
I soon did, he walked gently with me up the path to the porch.

We entered the quiet and humble temple; the priest waited in his
white surplice at the lowly altar, the clerk beside him. All was
still: two shadows only moved in a remote corner. My conjecture
had been correct: the strangers had slipped in before us, and they
now stood by the vault of the Rochesters, their backs towards us,
viewing through the rails the old time stained marble tomb, where
a kneeling angel guarded the remains of Damer de Rochester, slain
at Marston Moor in the time of the civil wars, and of Elizabeth,
his wife. Our place was taken at the communion rails. Hearing
a cautious step behind me, I glanced over my shoulder: one of the
strangers a gentleman, evidently was advancing up the chancel. The
service began. The explanation of the intent of matrimony was gone
through; and then the clergyman came a step further forward, and,
bending slightly towards Mr. Rochester, went on.

"I require and charge you both (as ye will answer at the dreadful
day of judgment, when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed),
that if either of you know any impediment why ye may not lawfully
be joined together in matrimony, ye do now confess it; for be ye
well assured that so many as are coupled together otherwise than
god's Word doth allow, are not joined together by god, neither is
their matrimony lawful." He paused, as the custom is. When is
the pause after that sentence ever broken by reply? Not, perhaps,
once in a hundred years. And the clergyman, who had not lifted
his eyes from his book, and had held his breath but for a moment,
was proceeding: his hand was already stretched towards
Mr. Rochester, as his lips unclosed to ask, "Wilt thou have this
woman for thy wedded wife?" when a distinct and near voice said
"The marriage cannot go on: I declare the existence of an impediment."
The clergyman looked up at the speaker and stood mute; the clerk
did the same; Mr. Rochester moved slightly, as if an earthquake had
rolled under his feet: taking a firmer footing, and not turning
his head or eyes, he said, "Proceed." Profound silence fell when he
had uttered that word, with deep but low intonation. Presently
Mr. Wood said, "I cannot proceed without some investigation
into what has been asserted, and evidence of its truth or falsehood."
"The ceremony is quite broken off," subjoined the voice behind
us. "I am in a condition to prove my allegation: an insuperable
impediment to this marriage exists."

Mr. Rochester heard, but heeded not: he stood stubborn and rigid,
making no movement but to possess himself of my hand. What a hot
and strong grasp he had! and how like quarried marble was his
pale, firm, massive front at this moment! How his eye shone, still
watchful, and yet wild beneath! Mr. Wood seemed at a loss.
"What is the nature of the impediment?" he asked. "Perhaps it may
be got over explained away?" "Hardly," was the answer. "I have
called it insuperable, and I speak advisedly."

The speaker came forward and leaned on the rails. He continued,
uttering each word distinctly, calmly, steadily, but not loudly
"It simply consists in the existence of a previous marriage. Mr.
Rochester has a wife now living." My nerves vibrated to those
low spoken words as they had never vibrated to thunder my
blood felt their subtle violence as it had never felt frost or fire;
but I was collected, and in no danger of swooning. I looked at
Mr. Rochester: I made him look at me. His whole face was colourless
rock: his eye was both spark and flint. He disavowed nothing:
he seemed as if he would defy all things. Without speaking, without
smiling, without seeming to recognise in me a human without being,
he only twined my waist with his arm and riveted me to his side.
"Who are you?" he asked of the intruder. "My name is Briggs, a
solicitor of Street, London." "And you would thrust on me a wife?"

"I would remind you of your lady's existence, sir, which the law
recognises, if you do not." "Favour me with an account of her with
her name, her parentage, her place of abode." "Certainly." Mr. Briggs
calmly took a paper from his pocket, and read out in a sort of official,
nasal voice: "'I affirm and can prove that on the 20th of October A.D. (a
date of fifteen years back), Edward Fairfax Rochester, of Thornfield
Hall, in the county of , and of Ferndean Manor, in shire, England,
was married to my sister, Bertha Antoinetta Mason, daughter of
Jonas Mason, merchant, and of Antoinetta his wife, a Creole, at
church, Spanish Town, Jamaica. The record of the marriage will be
found in the register of that church a copy of it is now in my
possession. Signed, Richard Mason.'" "That if a genuine document
may prove I have been married, but it does not prove that the
woman mentioned therein as my wife is still living." "She was
living three months ago," returned the lawyer. "How do you know?"
"I have a witness to the fact, whose testimony even you, sir, will
scarcely controvert." "Produce him or go to hell." "I will produce him
first he is on the spot. Mr. Mason, have the goodness to step forward."

Mr. Rochester, on hearing the name, set his teeth; he experienced,
too, a sort of strong convulsive quiver; near to him as I was, I
felt the spasmodic movement of fury or despair run through his frame.
The second stranger, who had hitherto lingered in the background,
now drew near; a pale face looked over the solicitor's shoulder
yes, it was Mason himself. Mr. Rochester turned and glared at
him. his eye, as I have often said, was a black eye: it had now
a tawny, nay, a bloody light in its gloom; and his face flushed
olive cheek and hueless forehead received a glow as from spreading,
ascending heart fire: and he stirred, lifted his strong arm he
could have struck Mason, dashed him on the church floor, shocked
by ruthless blow the breath from his body but Mason shrank away,
and cried faintly, "Good god!" Contempt fell cool on Mr. Rochester
his passion died as if a blight had shrivelled it up: he only
asked "What have YOU to say?"

An inaudible reply escaped Mason's white lips. "The devil is in it if
you cannot answer distinctly. I again demand, what have you to say?"
"Sir sir," interrupted the clergyman, "do not forget you are in
a sacred place." Then addressing Mason, he inquired gently, "Are
you aware, sir, whether or not this gentleman's wife is still
living?" "Courage," urged the lawyer, "speak out."
"She is now living at Thornfield Hall," said Mason, in more articulate
tones: "I saw her there last April. I am her brother."

"At Thornfield Hall!" ejaculated the clergyman. "Impossible! I
am an old resident in this neighbourhood, sir, and I never heard
of a Mrs. Rochester at Thornfield Hall." I saw a grim smile
contort Mr. Rochester's lips, and he muttered "No, by god!
I took care that none should hear of it or of her under that
name." He mused for ten minutes he held counsel with himself:
he formed his resolve, and announced it "Enough! all shall bolt
out at once, like the bullet from the barrel. Wood, close your
book and take off your surplice; John Green (to the clerk), leave
the church: there will be no wedding to day." The man obeyed.

Mr. Rochester continued, hardily and recklessly: "Bigamy is an
ugly word! I meant, however, to be a bigamist; but fate has out
manoeuvred me, or Providence has checked me, perhaps the last.
I am little better than a devil at this moment; and, as my pastor
there would tell me, deserve no doubt the sternest judgments of
god, even to the quenchless fire and deathless worm. Gentlemen,
my plan is broken up: what this lawyer and his client say is true:
I have been married, and the woman to whom I was married lives!
You say you never heard of a Mrs. Rochester at the house up yonder,
Wood; but I daresay you have many a time inclined your ear to gossip
about the mysterious lunatic kept there under watch and ward. Some
have whispered to you that she is my bastard half sister: some,
my cast off mistress. I now inform you that she is my wife, whom
I married fifteen years ago, Bertha Mason by name; sister of
this resolute personage, who is now, with his quivering limbs and
white cheeks, showing you what a stout heart men may bear.

Cheer up, Dick! Never fear me! I'd almost as soon strike a woman
as you. Bertha Mason is mad; and she came of a mad family; idiots
and maniacs through three generations! Her mother, the Creole,
was both a madwoman and a drunkard! as I found out after I had
wed the daughter: for they were silent on family secrets before.
Bertha, like a dutiful child, copied her parent in both points.
I had a charming partner pure, wise, modest: you can fancy I
was a happy man. I went through rich scenes! Oh! my experience
has been heavenly, if you only knew it! But I owe you no further
explanation. Briggs, Wood, Mason, I invite you all to come up to
the house and visit Mrs. Poole's patient, and MY WIFE! You shall
see what sort of a being I was cheated into espousing, and judge
whether or not I had a right to break the compact, and seek sympathy
with something at least human. This girl," he continued, looking
at me, "knew no more than you, Wood, of the disgusting secret:
she thought all was fair and legal and never dreamt she was going
to be entrapped into a feigned union with a defrauded wretch,
already bound to a bad, mad, and embruted partner! Come all of
you follow!"

Still holding me fast, he left the church: the three gentlemen
came after. At the front door of the hall we found the carriage.
"Take it back to the coach house, John," said Mr. Rochester coolly;
"it will not be wanted to day." At our entrance, Mrs. Fairfax,
Adele, Sophie, Leah, advanced to meet and greet us. "To the right
about every soul!" cried the master; "away with your congratulations!
Who wants them? Not I! They are fifteen years too late!" He passed on
and ascended the stairs, still holding my hand, and still beckoning
the gentlemen to follow him, which they did. We mounted the first
staircase, passed up the gallery, proceeded to the third storey:
the low, black door, opened by Mr. Rochester's master key,
admitted us to the tapestried room, with its great bed and its
pictorial cabinet. "You know this place, Mason," said our guide;
"she bit and stabbed you here."

He lifted the hangings from the wall, uncovering the second door:
this, too, he opened. In a room without a window, there burnt a
fire guarded by a high and strong fender, and a lamp suspended from
the ceiling by a chain. Grace Poole bent over the fire, apparently
cooking something in a saucepan. In the deep shade, at the farther
end of the room, a figure ran backwards and forwards. What it
was, whether beast or human being, one could not, at first sight,
tell: it grovelled, seemingly, on all fours; it snatched and growled
like some strange wild animal: but it was covered with clothing,
and a quantity of dark, grizzled hair, wild as a mane, hid its head
and face. "Good morrow, Mrs. Poole!" said Mr. Rochester. "How are
you? and how is your charge to day?"

"We're tolerable, sir, I thank you," replied Grace, lifting the
boiling mess carefully on to the hob: "rather snappish, but not
'rageous." A fierce cry seemed to give the lie to her favourable
report: the clothed hyena rose up, and stood tall on its hind feet.
"Ah! sir, she sees you!" exclaimed Grace: "you'd better not
stay." "Only a few moments, Grace: you must allow me a few
moments." "Take care then, sir! for god's sake, take care!"
The maniac bellowed: she parted her shaggy locks from her visage,
and gazed wildly at her visitors. I recognised well that purple
face, those bloated features. Mrs. Poole advanced. "Keep out of
the way," said Mr. Rochester, thrusting her aside: "she has no
knife now, I suppose, and I'm on my guard." "One never knows
what she has, sir: she is so cunning: it is not in mortal discretion
to fathom her craft." "We had better leave her," whispered Mason.
"Go to the devil!" was his brother in law's recommendation.

"'Ware!" cried Grace. The three gentlemen retreated simultaneously.
Mr. Rochester flung me behind him: the lunatic sprang and grappled
his throat viciously, and laid her teeth to his cheek: they
struggled. She was a big woman, in stature almost equalling her
husband, and corpulent besides: she showed virile force in the
contest more than once she almost throttled him, athletic as
he was. He could have settled her with a well planted blow; but
he would not strike: he would only wrestle. At last he mastered
her arms; Grace Poole gave him a cord, and he pinioned them behind
her: with more rope, which was at hand, he bound her to a chair.
The operation was performed amidst the fiercest yells and the most
convulsive plunges. Mr. Rochester then turned to the spectators:
he looked at them with a smile both acrid and desolate.

"That is MY WIFE," said he. "Such is the sole conjugal embrace
I am ever to know such are the endearments which are to solace
my leisure hours! And THIS is what I wished to have" (laying his
hand on my shoulder): "this young girl, who stands so grave and
quiet at the mouth of hell, looking collectedly at the gambols of
a demon, I wanted her just as a change after that fierce ragout.
Wood and Briggs, look at the difference! Compare these clear eyes
with the red balls yonder this face with that mask this form
with that bulk; then judge me, priest of the gospel and man of the
law, and remember with what judgment ye judge ye shall be judged!
Off with you now. I must shut up my prize." We all withdrew.
Mr. Rochester stayed a moment behind us, to give some further
order to Grace Poole. The solicitor addressed me as he descended
the stair. "You, madam," said he, "are cleared from all blame: your
uncle will be glad to hear it if, indeed, he should be still living
when Mr. Mason returns to Madeira." "My uncle! What of him?
Do you know him?"

"Mr. Mason does. Mr. Eyre has been the Funchal correspondent of
his house for some years. When your uncle received your letter
intimating the contemplated union between yourself and Mr. Rochester,
Mr. Mason, who was staying at Madeira to recruit his health, on his
way back to Jamaica, happened to be with him. Mr. Eyre mentioned
the intelligence; for he knew that my client here was acquainted
with a gentleman of the name of Rochester. Mr. Mason, astonished
and distressed as you may suppose, revealed the real state of
matters. Your uncle, I am sorry to say, is now on a sick bed; from
which, considering the nature of his disease decline and the
stage it has reached, it is unlikely he will ever rise. He could
not then hasten to England himself, to extricate you from the snare
into which you had fallen, but he implored Mr. Mason to lose no
time in taking steps to prevent the false marriage. He referred
him to me for assistance. I used all despatch, and am thankful
I was not too late: as you, doubtless, must be also. Were I not
morally certain that your uncle will be dead ere you reach Madeira,
I would advise you to accompany Mr. Mason back; but as it is, I
think you had better remain in England till you can hear further,
either from or of Mr. Eyre. Have we anything else to stay for?"
he inquired of Mr. Mason.

"No, no let us be gone," was the anxious reply; and without
waiting to take leave of Mr. Rochester, they made their exit at
the hall door. The clergyman stayed to exchange a few sentences,
either of admonition or reproof, with his haughty parishioner; this
duty done, he too departed. I heard him go as I stood at the half
open door of my own room, to which I had now withdrawn.
The house cleared, I shut myself in, fastened the bolt that none
might intrude, and proceeded not to weep, not to mourn, I was
yet too calm for that, but mechanically to take off the wedding
dress, and replace it by the stuff gown I had worn yesterday, as
I thought, for the last time. I then sat down: I felt weak and tired.
I leaned my arms on a table, and my head dropped on them. And
now I thought: till now I had only heard, seen, moved followed
up and down where I was led or dragged watched event rush on
event, disclosure open beyond disclosure: but NOW, I THOUGHT.

The morning had been a quiet morning enough all except the brief
scene with the lunatic: the transaction in the church had not been
noisy; there was no explosion of passion, no loud altercation, no
dispute, no defiance or challenge, no tears, no sobs: a few words
had been spoken, a calmly pronounced objection to the marriage
made; some stern, short questions put by Mr. Rochester; answers,
explanations given, evidence adduced; an open admission of the
truth had been uttered by my master; then the living proof had been
seen; the intruders were gone, and all was over. I was in my own
room as usual just myself, without obvious change: nothing had
smitten me, or scathed me, or maimed me. And yet where was the
Jane Eyre of yesterday? where was her life? Where were her prospects?

Jane Eyre, who had been an ardent, expectant woman almost
a bride, was a cold, solitary girl again: her life was pale; her
prospects were desolate. A christmas frost had come at midsummer;
a white December storm had whirled over June; ice glazed the ripe
apples, drifts crushed the blowing roses; on hayfield and cornfield lay
a frozen shroud: lanes which last night blushed full of flowers,
to day were pathless with untrodden snow; and the woods, which
twelve hours since waved leafy and flagrant as groves between the
tropics, now spread, waste, wild, and white as pine forests in wintry
Norway. My hopes were all dead struck with a subtle doom, such
as, in one night, fell on all the first born in the land of Egypt.
I looked on my cherished wishes, yesterday so blooming and glowing;
they lay stark, chill, livid corpses that could never revive. I
looked at my love: that feeling which was my master's which he
had created; it shivered in my heart, like a suffering child in a
cold cradle; sickness and anguish had seized it; it could not seek
Mr. Rochester's arms it could not derive warmth from his breast.

Oh, never more could it turn to him; for faith was blighted
confidence destroyed! Mr. Rochester was not to me what he had
been; for he was not what I had thought him. I would not ascribe
vice to him; I would not say he had betrayed me; but the attribute
of stainless truth was gone from his idea, and from his presence I
must go: THAT I perceived well. When how whither, I could
not yet discern; but he himself, I doubted not, would hurry me from
Thornfield. Real affection, it seemed, he could not have for me;
it had been only fitful passion: that was balked; he would want me
no more. I should fear even to cross his path now: my view must
be hateful to him. Oh, how blind had been my eyes! How weak my
conduct!

My eyes were covered and closed: eddying darkness seemed to swim
round me, and reflection came in as black and confused a flow.
Self abandoned, relaxed, and effortless, I seemed to have laid me
down in the dried up bed of a great river; I heard a flood loosened
in remote mountains, and felt the torrent come: to rise I had no
will, to flee I had no strength. I lay faint, longing to be dead.
One idea only still throbbed life like within me a remembrance
of god: it begot an unuttered prayer: these words went wandering
up and down in my rayless mind, as something that should
be whispered, but no energy was found to express them.
"Be not far from me, for trouble is near: there is none to help."

It was near: and as I had lifted no petition to Heaven to avert it
as I had neither joined my hands, nor bent my knees, nor moved
my lips it came: in full heavy swing the torrent poured over
me. The whole consciousness of my life lorn, my love lost, my
hope quenched, my faith death struck, swayed full and mighty above
me in one sullen mass. That bitter hour cannot be described: in
truth, "the waters came into my soul; I sank in deep mire: I felt
no standing; I came into deep waters; the floods overflowed me."

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte Deluxe Edition Chapter 27.>