Here ensued a pause, filled up by the producing and lighting of
a cigar; having placed it to his lips and breathed a trail of Havannah incense on the freezing and sunless air, he went on
I liked bonbons too in those days, Miss Eyre, and I was croquant[56] (overlook the barbarism) croquant chocolate comfits, and smoking alternately, watching meantime the equipages that rolled along the fashionable streets towards the neighbouring opera-house, when in an elegant close carriage drawn by a beautiful pair of English horses, and distinctly seen in the brilliant city-night, I recognised the voiture I had given Céline. She was returning: of course my heart thumped with impatience against the iron rails I leant upon. The carriage stopped, as I had expected, at the hotel door; my flame (that is the very word for an opera inamorata) alighted: though muffed in a cloak an unnecessary encumbrance, by-the-bye, on so warm a June evening I knew her instantly by her little foot, seen peeping from the skirt of her dress, as she skipped from the carriage-step. Bending over the balcony, I was about to murmur Mon ange in a tone, of course, which should be audible to the ear of love alone when a figure jumped from the carriage after her; cloaked also; but that was a spurred heel which had rung on the pavement, and that was a hatted head which now passed under the arched porte cochère[57] of the hotel.
You never felt jealousy, did you, Miss Eyre? Of course not: I need not ask you; because you never felt love. You have both sentiments yet to experience: your soul sleeps; the shock is yet to be given which shall waken it. You think all existence lapses in as quiet a flow as that in which your youth has hitherto slid away. Floating on with closed eyes and muffled ears, you neither see the rocks bristling not far off in the bed of the flood, nor hear the breakers boil at their base. But I tell you and you may mark my words you will come some day to a craggy pass in the channel, where the whole of lifes stream will be broken up into whirl and tumult, foam and noise: either you will be dashed to atoms on crag points, or lifted up and borne on by some master-wave into a calmer current as I am now.
I like this day; I like that sky of steel; I like the sternness and stillness of the world under this frost. I like Thornfield, its antiquity, its retirement, its old crow-trees and thorn-trees, its grey façade, and lines of dark windows reflecting that metal welkin: and yet how long have I abhorred the very thought of it, shunned it like a great plague-house? How I do still abhor
He ground his teeth and was silent: he arrested his step and struck his boot against the hard ground. Some hated thought seemed to have him in its grip, and to hold him so tightly that he could not advance.
We were ascending the avenue when he thus paused; the hall was before us. Lifting his eye to its battlements, he cast over them a glare such as I never saw before or since. Pain, shame, ire, impatience, disgust, detestation, seemed momentarily to hold a quivering conflict in the large pupil dilating under his ebon eyebrow. Wild was the wrestle which should be paramount; but another feeling rose and triumphed: something hard and cynical: self-willed and resolute: it settled his passion and petrified his countenance: he went on
During the moment I was silent, Miss Eyre, I was arranging a point with my destiny. She stood there, by that beech-trunk a hag like one of those who appeared to Macbeth on the heath of Forres. You like Thornfield? she said, lifting her finger; and then she wrote in the air a memento, which ran in lurid hieroglyphics all along the house-front, between the upper and lower row of windows, Like it if you can! Like it if you dare!
I will like it, said I; I dare like it; and (he subjoined moodily) I will keep my word; I will break obstacles to happiness, to goodness yes, goodness. I wish to be a better man than I have been, than I am; as Jobs leviathan broke the spear, the dart, and the habergeon[58], hindrances which others count as iron and brass, I will esteem but straw and rotten wood.
Adèle here ran before him with her shuttlecock. Away! he cried harshly; keep at a distance, child; or go in to Sophie! Continuing then to pursue his walk in silence, I ventured to recall him to the point whence he had abruptly diverged
Did you leave the balcony, sir, I asked, when Mdlle. Varens entered?
I almost expected a rebuff for this hardly well-timed question, but, on the contrary, waking out of his scowling abstraction, he turned his eyes towards me, and the shade seemed to clear off his brow. Oh, I had forgotten Céline! Well, to resume. When I saw my
charmer thus come in accompanied by a cavalier, I seemed to hear a hiss, and the green snake of jealousy, rising on undulating coils from the moonlit balcony, glided within my waistcoat, and ate its way in two minutes to my hearts core. Strange! he exclaimed, suddenly starting again from the point. Strange that I should choose you for the confidant of all this, young lady; passing strange that you should listen to me quietly, as if it were the most usual thing in the world for a man like me to tell stories of his opera-mistresses to a quaint, inexperienced girl like you! But the last singularity explains the first, as I intimated once before: you, with your gravity, considerateness, and caution were made to be the recipient of secrets. Besides, I know what sort of a mind I have placed in communication with my own: I know it is one not liable to take infection: it is a peculiar mind: it is a unique one. Happily I do not mean to harm it: but, if I did, it would not take harm from me. The more you and I converse, the better; for while I cannot blight you, you may refresh me. After this digression he proceeded