The Brontë Sisters: The Complete Novels. Anne Bronte

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СКАЧАТЬ that performed at the altar. You will stipulate, I see, for peculiar terms—what will they be?”

      “I only want an easy mind, sir; not crushed by crowded obligations. Do you remember what you said of Céline Varens?—of the diamonds, the cashmeres you gave her? I will not be your English Céline Varens. I shall continue to act as Adèle’s governess; by that I shall earn my board and lodging, and thirty pounds a year besides. I’ll furnish my own wardrobe out of that money, and you shall give me nothing but—”

      “Well, but what?”

      “Your regard; and if I give you mine in return, that debt will be quit.”

      “Well, for cool native impudence and pure innate pride, you haven’t your equal,” said he. We were now approaching Thornfield. “Will it please you to dine with me to-day?” he asked, as we re-entered the gates.

      “No, thank you, sir.”

      “And what for, ‘no, thank you?’ if one may inquire.”

      “I never have dined with you, sir: and I see no reason why I should now: till—”

      “Till what? You delight in half-phrases.”

      “Till I can’t help it.”

      “Do you suppose I eat like an ogre or a ghoul, that you dread being the companion of my repast?”

      “I have formed no supposition on the subject, sir; but I want to go on as usual for another month.”

      “You will give up your governessing slavery at once.”

      “Indeed, begging your pardon, sir, I shall not. I shall just go on with it as usual. I shall keep out of your way all day, as I have been accustomed to do: you may send for me in the evening, when you feel disposed to see me, and I’ll come then; but at no other time.”

      “I want a smoke, Jane, or a pinch of snuff, to comfort me under all this, ‘pour me donner une contenance,’ as Adèle would say; and unfortunately I have neither my cigar-case, nor my snuff-box. But listen—whisper. It is your time now, little tyrant, but it will be mine presently; and when once I have fairly seized you, to have and to hold, I’ll just—figuratively speaking—attach you to a chain like this” (touching his watch-guard). “Yes, bonny wee thing, I’ll wear you in my bosom, lest my jewel I should tyne.”

      He said this as he helped me to alight from the carriage, and while he afterwards lifted out Adèle, I entered the house, and made good my retreat upstairs.

      He duly summoned me to his presence in the evening. I had prepared an occupation for him; for I was determined not to spend the whole time in a tête-à-tête conversation. I remembered his fine voice; I knew he liked to sing—good singers generally do. I was no vocalist myself, and, in his fastidious judgment, no musician, either; but I delighted in listening when the performance was good. No sooner had twilight, that hour of romance, began to lower her blue and starry banner over the lattice, than I rose, opened the piano, and entreated him, for the love of heaven, to give me a song. He said I was a capricious witch, and that he would rather sing another time; but I averred that no time was like the present.

      “Did I like his voice?” he asked.

      “Very much.” I was not fond of pampering that susceptible vanity of his; but for once, and from motives of expediency, I would e’en soothe and stimulate it.

      “Then, Jane, you must play the accompaniment.”

      “Very well, sir, I will try.”

      I did try, but was presently swept off the stool and denominated “a little bungler.” Being pushed unceremoniously to one side—which was precisely what I wished—he usurped my place, and proceeded to accompany himself: for he could play as well as sing. I hied me to the window-recess. And while I sat there and looked out on the still trees and dim lawn, to a sweet air was sung in mellow tones the following strain:—

      “The truest love that ever heart

       Felt at its kindled core,

       Did through each vein, in quickened start,

       The tide of being pour.

      Her coming was my hope each day,

       Her parting was my pain;

       The chance that did her steps delay

       Was ice in every vein.

      I dreamed it would be nameless bliss,

       As I loved, loved to be;

       And to this object did I press

       As blind as eagerly.

      But wide as pathless was the space

       That lay our lives between,

       And dangerous as the foamy race

       Of ocean-surges green.

      And haunted as a robber-path

       Through wilderness or wood;

       For Might and Right, and Woe and Wrath,

       Between our spirits stood.

      I dangers dared; I hindrance scorned;

       I omens did defy:

       Whatever menaced, harassed, warned,

       I passed impetuous by.

      On sped my rainbow, fast as light;

       I flew as in a dream;

       For glorious rose upon my sight

       That child of Shower and Gleam.

      Still bright on clouds of suffering dim

       Shines that soft, solemn joy;

       Nor care I now, how dense and grim

       Disasters gather nigh.

      I care not in this moment sweet,

       Though all I have rushed o’er

       Should come on pinion, strong and fleet,

       Proclaiming vengeance sore:

      Though haughty Hate should strike me down,

       Right, bar approach to me,

       And grinding Might, with furious frown,

       Swear endless enmity.

      My love has placed her little hand

       With noble faith in mine,

       And vowed that wedlock’s sacred band

       Our nature shall entwine.

      My love has sworn, with sealing kiss,

       With me to live—to die;

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