Jane Eyre

Chapter 132

“To England， then， I conveyed her； a fearful voyage I had with such a monster in the vessel. Glad was I when I at last got her to Thornfield， and saw her safely lodged in that third-storey room， of whose secret inner cabinet she has now for ten years made a wild beast’s den—a goblin’s cell. I had some trouble in finding an attendant for her， as it was necessary to select one on whose fidelity dependence could be placed； for her ravings would inevitably betray my secret： besides， she had lucid intervals of days—sometimes weeks—which she filled up with abuse of me. At last I hired Grace Poole from the Grimbsy Retreat. She and the surgeon， Carter (who dressed Mason’s wounds that night he was stabbed and worried)， are the only two I have ever admitted to my confidence. Mrs. Fairfax may indeed have suspected something， but she could have gained no precise knowledge as to facts. Grace has， on the whole， proved a good keeper； though， owing partly to a fault of her own， of which it appears nothing can cure her， and which is incident to her harassing profession， her vigilance has been more than once lulled and baffled. The lunatic is both cunning and malignant； she has never failed to take advantage of her guardian’s temporary lapses； once to secrete the knife with which she stabbed her brother， and twice to possess herself of the key of her cell， and issue therefrom in the night-time. On the first of these occasions， she perpetrated the attempt to burn me in my bed； on the second， she paid that ghastly visit to you. I thank Providence， who watched over you， that she then spent her fury on your wedding apparel， which perhaps brought back vague reminiscences of her own bridal days： but on what might have happened， I cannot endure to reflect. When I think of the thing which flew at my throat this morning， hanging its black and scarlet visage over the nest of my dove， my blood curdles
“And what， sir，” I asked， while he paused， “did you do when you had settled her here？ Where did you go？”

“What did I do， Jane？ I transformed myself into a will-o’-the-wisp. Where did I go？ I pursued wanderings as wild as those of the March-spirit. I sought the Continent， and went devious through all its lands. My fixed desire was to seek and find a good and intelligent woman， whom I could love： a contrast to the fury I left at Thornfield—”

“But you could not marry， sir.”

“I had determined and was convinced that I could and ought. It was not my original intention to deceive， as I have deceived you. I meant to tell my tale plainly， and make my proposals openly： and it appeared to me so absolutely rational that I should be considered free to love and be loved， I never doubted some woman might be found willing and able to understand my case and accept me， in spite of the curse with which I was burdened.”

“Well， sir？”

“When you are inquisitive， Jane， you always make me smile. You open your eyes like an eager bird， and make every now and then a restless movement， as if answers in speech did not flow fast enough for you， and you wanted to read the tablet of one’s heart. But before I go on， tell me what you mean by your ‘Well， sir？’ It is a small phrase very frequent with you； and which many a time has drawn me on and on through interminable talk： I don’t very well know why.”

“I mean，—What next？ How did you proceed？ What came of such an event？”

“Precisely！ and what do you wish to know now？”

“Whether you found any one you liked： whether you asked her to marry you； and what she said.”

“I can tell you whether I found any one I liked， and whether I asked her to marry me： but what she said is yet to be recorded in the book of Fate. For ten long years I roved about， living first in one capital， then another： sometimes in St. Petersburg； oftener in Paris； occasionally in Rome， Naples， and Florence. Provided with plenty of money and the passport of an old name， I could choose my own society： no circles were closed against me. I sought my ideal of a woman amongst English ladies， French countesses， Italian signoras， and German Gr？finnen. I could not find her. Sometimes， for a fleeting moment， I thought I caught a glance， heard a tone， beheld a form， which announced the realisation of my dream： but I was presently undeserved. You are not to suppose that I desired perfection， either of mind or person. I longed only for what suited me—for the antipodes of the Creole： and I longed vainly. Amongst them all I found not one whom， had I been ever so free， I—warned as I was of the risks， the horrors， the loathings of incongruous unions—would have asked to marry me. Disappointment made me reckless. I tried dissipation—never debauchery： that I hated， and hate. That was my Indian Messalina’s attribute： rooted disgust at it and her restrained me much， even in pleasure. Any enjoyment that bordered on riot seemed to approach me to her and her vices， and I eschewed it.
“Yet I could not live alone； so I tried the companionship of mistresses. The first I chose was Céline Varens—another of those steps which make a man spurn himself when he recalls them. You already know what she was， and how my liaison with her terminated. She had two successors： an Italian， Giacinta， and a German， Clara； both considered singularly handsome. What was their beauty to me in a few weeks？ Giacinta was unprincipled and violent： I tired of her in three months. Clara was honest and quiet；but heavy， mindless， and unimpressible： not one whit to my taste. I was glad to give her a sufficient sum to set her up in a good line of business， and so get decently rid of her. But， Jane， I see by your face you are not forming a very favourable opinion of me just now. You think me an unfeeling， loose-principled rake： don’t you？”

“I don’t like you so well as I have done sometimes， indeed， sir. Did it not seem to you in the least wrong to live in that way， first with one mistress and then another？ You talk of it as a mere matter of course.”

(End of this chapter)