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THE promise of a smooth career, which my first calm introduction
to Thornfield Hall seemed to pledge, was not belied on a longer
acquaintance with the place and its inmates. Mrs. Fairfax turned
out to be what she appeared, a placid-tempered, kind-natured woman,
of competent education and average intelligence. My pupil was
a lively child, who had been spoilt and indulged, and therefore
was sometimes wayward; but as she was committed entirely to my
care, and no injudicious interference from any quarter ever thwarted
my plans for her improvement, she soon forgot her little freaks,
and became obedient and teachable. She had no great talents, no
marked traits of character, no peculiar development of feeling
or taste which raised her one inch above the ordinary level of
childhood; but neither had she any deficiency or vice which sunk
her below it. She made reasonable progress, entertained for me
a vivacious, though perhaps not very profound, affection; and
by her simplicity, gay prattle, and efforts to please, inspired
me, in return, with a degree of attachment sufficient to make
us both content in each other's society.
This, par parenthese, will be thought cool language by persons
who entertain solemn doctrines about the angelic nature of children,
and the duty of those charged with their education to conceive
for them an idolatrous devotion: but I am not writing to flatter
parental egotism, to echo cant, or prop up humbug; I am merely
telling the truth. I felt a conscientious solicitude for Adele's
welfare and progress, and a quiet liking for her little self:
just as I cherished towards Mrs. Fairfax a thankfulness for her
kindness, and a pleasure in her society proportionate to the tranquil
regard she had for me, and the moderation of her mind and character.
Anybody may blame me who likes, when I add further, that, now
and then, when I took a walk by myself in the grounds; when I
went down to the gates and looked through them along the road;
or when, while Adele played with her nurse, and Mrs. Fairfax made
jellies in the storeroom, I climbed the three staircases, raised
the trap-door of the attic, and having reached the leads, looked
out afar over sequestered field and hill, and along dim sky-line-
that then I longed for a power of vision which might overpass
that limit; which might reach the busy world, towns, regions full
of life I had heard of but never seen- that then I desired more
of practical experience than I possessed; more of intercourse
with my kind, of acquaintance with variety of character, than
was here within my reach. I valued what was good in Mrs. Fairfax,
and what was good in Adele; but I believed in the existence of
other and more vivid kinds of goodness, and what I believed in
I wished to behold.
Who blames me? Many, no doubt; and I shall be called discontented.
I could not help it: the restlessness was in my nature; it agitated
me to pain sometimes. Then my sole relief was to walk along the
corridor of the third storey, backwards and forwards, safe in
the silence and solitude of the spot, and allow my mind's eye
to dwell on whatever bright visions rose before it- and, certainly,
they were many and glowing; to let my heart be heaved by the exultant
movement, which, while it swelled it in trouble, expanded it with
life; and, best of all, to open my inward ear to a tale that was
never ended- a tale my imagination created, and narrated continuously;
quickened with all of incident, life, fire, feeling, that I desired
and had not in my actual existence.
It is in vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with
tranquillity: they must have action; and they will make it if
they cannot find it. Millions are condemned to a stiller doom
than mine, and millions are in silent revolt against their lot.
Nobody knows how many rebellions besides political rebellions
ferment in the masses of life which people earth. Women are supposed
to be very calm generally: but women feel just as men feel; they
need exercise for their faculties, and a field for their efforts,
as much as their brothers do; they suffer from too rigid a restraint,
too absolute a stagnation, precisely as men would suffer; and
it is narrow-minded in their more privileged fellow-creatures
to say that they ought to confine themselves to making puddings
and knitting stockings, to playing on the piano and embroidering
bags. It is thoughtless to condemn them, or laugh at them, if
they seek to do more or learn more than custom has pronounced
necessary for their sex.
When thus alone, I not unfrequently heard Grace Poole's laugh:
the same peal, the same low, slow ha! ha! which, when first heard,
had thrilled me: I heard, too, her eccentric murmurs; stranger
than her laugh. There were days when she was quite silent; but
there were others when I could not account for the sounds she
made. Sometimes I saw her: she would come out of her room with
a basin, or a plate, or a tray in her hand, go down to the kitchen
and shortly return, generally (oh, romantic reader, forgive me
for telling the plain truth!) bearing a pot of porter. Her appearance
always acted as a damper to the curiosity raised by her oral oddities:
hard-featured and staid, she had no point to which interest could
attach. I made some attempts to draw her into conversation, but
she seemed a person of few words: a monosyllabic reply usually
cut short every effort of that sort.
The other members of the household, viz., John and his wife,
Leah the housemaid, and Sophie the French nurse, were decent people;
but in no respect remarkable; with Sophie I used to talk French,
and sometimes I asked her questions about her native country;
but she was not of a descriptive or narrative turn, and generally
gave such vapid and confused answers as were calculated rather
to check than encourage inquiry.
October, November, December passed away. One afternoon in January,
Mrs. Fairfax had begged a holiday for Adele, because she had a
cold; and, as Adele seconded the request with an ardour that reminded
me how precious occasional holidays had been to me in my own childhood,
I accorded it, deeming that I did well in showing pliability on
the point. It was a fine, calm day, though very cold; I was tired
of sitting still in the library through a whole long morning:
Mrs. Fairfax had just written a letter which was waiting to be
posted, so I put on my bonnet and cloak and volunteered to carry
it to Hay; the distance, two miles, would be a pleasant winter
afternoon walk. Having seen Adele comfortably seated in her little
chair by Mrs. Fairfax's parlour fireside, and given her her best
wax doll (which I usually kept enveloped in silver paper in a
drawer) to play with, and a story-book for a change of amusement;
and having replied to her 'Revenez bientot, ma bonne amie, ma
chere Mdlle. Jeannette,' with a kiss I set out.
The ground was hard, the air was still, my road was lonely; I
walked fast till I got warm, and then I walked slowly to enjoy
and analyse the species of pleasure brooding for me in the hour
and situation. It was three o'clock; the church bell tolled as
I passed under the belfry: the charm of the hour lay in its approaching
dimness, in the low-gliding and pale-beaming sun. I was a mile
from Thornfield, in a lane noted for wild roses in summer, for
nuts and blackberries in autumn, and even now possessing a few
coral treasures in hips and haws, but whose best winter delight
lay in its utter solitude and leafless repose. If a breath of
air stirred, it made no sound here; for there was not a holly,
not an evergreen to rustle, and the stripped hawthorn and hazel
bushes were as still as the white, worn stones which causewayed
the middle of the path. Far and wide, on each side, there were
only fields, where no cattle now browsed; and the little brown
birds, which stirred occasionally in the hedge, looked like single
russet leaves that had forgotten to drop.
This lane inclined up-hill all the way to Hay; having reached
the middle, I sat down on a stile which led thence into a field.
Gathering my mantle about me, and sheltering my hands in my muff,
I did not feel the cold, though it froze keenly; as was attested
by a sheet of ice covering the causeway, where a little brooklet,
now congealed, had overflowed after a rapid thaw some days since.
From my seat I could look down on Thornfield: the grey and battlemented
hall was the principal object in the vale below me; its woods
and dark rookery rose against the, west. I lingered till the sun
went down amongst the trees, and sank crimson and clear behind
them. I then turned eastward.
On the hill-top above me sat the rising moon; pale yet as a cloud,
but brightening momentarily, she looked over Hay, which, half
lost in trees, sent up a blue smoke from its few chimneys: it
was yet a mile distant, but in the absolute hush I could hear
plainly its thin murmurs of life. My ear, too, felt the flow of
currents; in what dales and depths I could not tell: but there
were many hills beyond Hay, and doubtless many becks threading
their passes. That evening calm betrayed alike the tinkle of the
nearest streams, the sough of the most remote.
A rude noise broke on these fine ripplings and whisperings, at
once so far away and so clear: a positive tramp, tramp, a metallic
clatter, which effaced the soft wave-wanderings; as, in a picture,
the solid mass of a crag, or the rough boles of a great oak, drawn
in dark and strong on the foreground, efface the aerial distance
of azure hill, sunny horizon, and blended clouds where tint melts
into tint.
The din was on the causeway: a horse was coming; the windings
of the lane yet hid it, but it approached. I was just leaving
the stile; yet, as the path was narrow, I sat still to let it
go by. In those days I was young, and all sorts of fancies bright
and dark tenanted my mind: the memories of nursery stories were
there amongst other rubbish; and when they recurred, maturing
youth added to them a vigour and vividness beyond what childhood
could give. As this horse approached, and as I watched for it
to appear through the dusk, I remembered certain of Bessie's tales,
wherein figured a North-of-England spirit called a 'Gytrash,'
which, in the form of horse, mule, or large dog, haunted solitary
ways, and sometimes came upon belated travellers, as this horse
was now coming upon me.
It was very near, but not yet in sight; when, in addition to
the tramp, tramp, I heard a rush under the hedge, and close down
by the hazel stems glided a great dog, whose black and white colour
made him a distinct object against the trees. It was exactly one
form of Bessie's Gytrash- a lion-like creature with long hair
and a huge head: it passed me, however, quietly enough; not staying
to look up, with strange pretercanine eyes, in my face, as I half
expected it would. The horse followed,- a tall steed, and on its
back a rider. The man, the human being, broke the spell at once.
Nothing ever rode the Gytrash: it was always alone; and goblins,
to my notions, though they might tenant the dumb carcasses of
beasts, could scarce covet shelter in the commonplace human form.
No Gytrash was this,- only a traveller taking the short cut to
Millcote. He passed, and I went on; a few steps, and I turned:
a sliding sound and an exclamation of 'What the deuce is to do
now?' and a clattering tumble, arrested my attention. Man and
horse were down; they had slipped on the sheet of ice which glazed
the causeway. The dog came bounding back, and seeing his master
in a predicament, and hearing the horse groan, barked till the
evening hills echoed the sound, which was deep in proportion to
his magnitude. He snuffed round the prostrate group, and then
he ran up to me; it was all he could do,- there was no other help
at hand to summon. I obeyed him, and walked down to the traveller,
by this time struggling himself free of his steed. His efforts
were so vigorous, I thought he could not be much hurt; but I asked
him the question-
'Are you injured, sir?'
I think he was swearing, but am not certain; however, he was
pronouncing some formula which prevented him from replying to
me directly.
'Can I do anything?' I asked again.
'You must just stand on one side,' he answered as he rose, first
to his knees, and then to his feet. I did; whereupon began a heaving,
stamping, clattering process, accompanied by a barking and baying
which removed me effectually some yards' distance; but I would
not be driven quite away till I saw the event. This was finally
fortunate; the horse was re-established, and the dog was silenced
with a 'Down, Pilot!' The traveller now, stooping, felt his foot
and leg, as if trying whether they were sound; apparently something
ailed them, for he halted to the stile whence I had just risen,
and sat down.
I was in the mood for being useful, or at least officious, I
think, for I now drew near him again.
'If you are hurt, and want help, sir, I can fetch some one either
from Thornfield Hall or from Hay.'
'Thank you: I shall do: I have no broken bones,- only a sprain;'
and again he stood up and tried his foot, but the result extorted
an involuntary 'Ugh!'
Something of daylight still lingered, and the moon was waxing
bright: I could see him plainly. His figure was enveloped in a
riding cloak, fur collared and steel clasped; its details were
not apparent, but I traced the general points of middle height
and considerable breadth of chest. He had a dark face, with stern
features and a heavy brow; his eyes and gathered eyebrows looked
ireful and thwarted just now; he was past youth, but had not reached
middle-age; perhaps he might be thirty-five. I felt no fear of
him, and but little shyness. Had he been a handsome, heroic-looking
young gentleman, I should not have dared to stand thus questioning
him against his will, and offering my services unasked. I had
hardly ever seen a handsome youth; never in my life spoken to
one. I had a theoretical reverence and homage for beauty, elegance,
gallantry, fascination; but had I met those qualities incarnate
in masculine shape, I should have known instinctively that they
neither had nor could have sympathy with anything in me, and should
have shunned them as one would fire, lightning, or anything else
that is bright but antipathetic.
If even this stranger had smiled and been good-humoured to me
when I addressed him; if he had put off my offer of assistance
gaily and with thanks, I should have gone on my way and not felt
any vocation to renew inquiries: but the frown, the roughness
of the traveller, set me at my ease: I retained my station when
he waved to me to go, and announced-
'I cannot think of leaving you, sir, at so late an hour, in this
solitary lane, till I see you are fit to mount your horse.'
He looked at me when I said this; he had hardly turned his eyes
in my direction before.
'I should think you ought to be at home yourself,' said he, 'if
you have a home in this neighbourhood: where do you come from?'
'From just below; and I am not at all afraid of being out late
when it is moonlight: I will run over to Hay for you with pleasure,
if you wish it: indeed, I am going there to post a letter.'
'You live just below- do you mean at that house with the battlements?'
pointing to Thornfield Hall, on which the moon cast a hoary gleam,
bringing it out distinct and pale from the woods, that, by contrast
with the western sky, now seemed one mass of shadow.
'Yes, sir.'
'Whose house is it?'
'Mr. Rochester's.'
'Do you know Mr. Rochester?'
'No, I have never seen him.'
'He is not resident, then?'
'No.'
'Can you tell me where he is?'
'I cannot.'
'You are not a servant at the hall, of course. You are-' He stopped,
ran his eye over my dress, which, as usual, was quite simple:
a black merino cloak, a black beaver bonnet; neither of them half
fine enough for a lady's-maid. He seemed puzzled to decide what
I was; I helped him.
'I am the governess.'
'Ah, the governess!' he repeated; 'deuce take me, if I had not
forgotten! The governess!' and again my raiment underwent scrutiny.
In two minutes he rose from the stile: his face expressed pain
when he tried to move.
'I cannot commission you to fetch help,' he said; 'but you may
help me a little yourself, if you will be so kind.'
'Yes, sir.'
'You have not an umbrella that I can use as a stick?'
'No.'
'Try to get hold of my horse's bridle and lead him to me: you
are not afraid?'
I should have been afraid to touch a horse when alone, but when
told to do it, I was disposed to obey. I put down my muff on the
stile, and went up to the tall steed; I endeavoured to catch the
bridle, but it was a spirited thing, and would not let me come
near its head; I made effort on effort, though in vain: meantime,
I was mortally afraid of its trampling forefeet. The traveller
waited and watched for some time, and at last he laughed.
'I see,' he said, 'the mountain will never be brought to Mahomet,
so all you can do is to aid Mahomet to go to the mountain; I must
beg of you to come here.'
I came. 'Excuse me,' he continued: 'necessity compels me to make
you useful.' He laid a heavy hand on my shoulder, and leaning
on me with some stress, limped to his horse. Having once caught
the bridle, he mastered it directly and sprang to his saddle;
grimacing grimly as he made the effort, for it wrenched his sprain.
'Now,' said he, releasing his under lip from a hard bite, 'just
hand me my whip; it lies there under the hedge.'
I sought it and found it.
'Thank you; now make haste with the letter to Hay, and return
as fast as you can.'
A touch of a spurred heel made his horse first start and rear,
and then bound away; the dog rushed in his traces; all three vanished,
'Like heath that, in the wilderness,
The wild wind whirls away.'
I took up my muff and walked on. The incident had occurred and
was gone for me: it was an incident of no moment, no romance,
no interest in a sense; yet it marked with change one single hour
of a monotonous life. My help had been needed and claimed; I had
given it: I was pleased to have done something; trivial, transitory
though the deed was, it was yet an active thing, and I was weary
of an existence all passive. The new face, too, was like a new
picture introduced to the gallery of memory; and it was dissimilar
to all the others hanging there: firstly, because it was masculine;
and, secondly, because it was dark, strong, and stern. I had it
still before me when I entered Hay, and slipped the letter into
the post-office; I saw it as I walked fast down-hill all the way
home. When I came to the stile, I stopped a minute, looked round
and listened, with an idea that a horse's hoofs might ring on
the causeway again, and that a rider in a cloak, and a Gytrash-like
Newfoundland dog, might be again apparent: I saw only the hedge
and a pollard willow before me, rising up still and straight to
meet the moonbeams; I heard only the faintest waft of wind roaming
fitful among the trees round Thornfield, a mile distant; and when
I glanced down in the direction of the murmur, my eye, traversing
the hall-front, caught a light kindling in a window: it reminded
me that I was late, and I hurried on.
I did not like re-entering Thornfield. To pass its threshold
was to return to stagnation; to cross the silent hall, to ascend
the darksome staircase, to seek my own lonely little room, and
then to meet tranquil Mrs. Fairfax, and spend the long winter
evening with her, and her only, was to quell wholly the faint
excitement wakened by my walk,- to slip again over my faculties
the viewless fetters of an uniform and too still existence; of
an existence whose very privileges of security and ease I was
becoming incapable of appreciating. What good it would have done
me at that time to have been tossed in the storms of an uncertain
struggling life, and to have been taught by rough and bitter experience
to long for the calm amidst which I now repined! Yes, just as
much good as it would do a man tired of sitting still in a 'too
easy chair' to take a long walk: and just as natural was the wish
to stir, under my circumstances, as it would be under his.
I lingered at the gates; I lingered on the lawn; I paced backwards
and forwards on the pavement; the shutters of the glass door were
closed; I could not see into the interior; and both my eyes and
spirit seemed drawn from the gloomy house- from the grey hollow
filled with rayless cells, as it appeared to me- to that sky expanded
before me,- a blue sea absolved from taint of cloud; the moon
ascending it in solemn march; her orb seeming to look up as she
left the hill-tops, from behind which she had come, far and farther
below her, and aspired to the zenith, midnight dark in its fathomless
depth and measureless distance; and for those trembling stars
that followed her course; they made my heart tremble, my veins
glow when I viewed them. Little things recall us to earth; the
clock struck in the hall; that sufficed; I turned from moon and
stars, opened a side-door, and went in.
The hall was not dark, nor yet was it lit, only by the high-hung
bronze lamp; a warm glow suffused both it and the lower steps
of the oak staircase. This ruddy shine issued from the great dining-room,
whose two-leaved door stood open, and showed a genial fire in
the grate, glancing on marble hearth and brass fire-irons, and
revealing purple draperies and polished furniture, in the most
pleasant radiance. It revealed, too, a group near the mantelpiece:
I had scarcely caught it, and scarcely become aware of a cheerful
mingling of voices, amongst which I seemed to distinguish the
tones of Adele, when the door closed.
I hastened to Mrs. Fairfax's room; there was a fire there too,
but no candle, and no Mrs. Fairfax. Instead, all alone, sitting
upright on the rug, and gazing with gravity at the blaze, I beheld
a great black and white long-haired dog, just like the Gytrash
of the lane. It was so like it that I went forward and said- 'Pilot,'
and the thing got up and came to me and snuffed me. I caressed
him, and he wagged his great tail; but he looked an eerie creature
to be alone with, and I could not tell whence he had come. I rang
the bell, for I wanted a candle; and I wanted, too, to get an
account of this visitant. Leah entered.
'What dog is this?'
'He came with master.'
'With whom?'
'With master- Mr. Rochester- he is just arrived.'
'Indeed! and is Mrs. Fairfax with him?'
'Yes, and Miss Adele; they are in the dining-room, and John is
gone for a surgeon; for master has had an accident; his horse
fell and his ankle is sprained.'
'Did the horse fall in Hay Lane?'
'Yes, coming down-hill; it slipped on some ice.'
'Ah! Bring me a candle, will you, Leah?'
Leah brought it; she entered, followed by Mrs. Fairfax, who repeated
the news; adding that Mr. Carter the surgeon was come, and was
now with Mr. Rochester: then she hurried out to give orders about
tea, and I went upstairs to take off my things.
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