31 Jane Eyre Read By Stephanie Poppins

This is S.

D.

Hudson Magic Jane Eyre Chapter 31 When at last I found a home,

It was a cottage,

A little room with white washed walls and a sanded floor,

Containing four painted chairs and a table,

A clock,

A cupboard with two or three plates and dishes,

And a set of tea things in delph.

Above,

A chamber of the same dimensions as the kitchen,

With a deal bedstead and chest of drawers,

Small yet too large to be filled with my scanty wardrobe,

Though the kindness of my gentle and generous friends has increased that by a modest stock of such things as are necessary.

It is evening.

I have dismissed with a fee of an orange the little orphan who serves me as a handmaid.

I am sitting alone on the hearth.

This morning the village school opened.

I had twenty scholars,

But three of the number can read,

None write or cipher.

Several knit,

And a few sew a little.

They speak with the broadest accent of the district.

At present they and I have a difficulty in understanding each other's language.

Some of them are unmannered,

Rough,

Intractable as well as ignorant,

But others are docile,

Have a wish to learn,

And invents a disposition that pleases me.

I must not forget these coarsely clad little peasants are of flesh and blood as good as the scions of gentlest genealogy,

And that the germs of native excellence,

Refinement,

Intelligence,

Kind feeling,

Are as likely to exist in their hearts as those of the best born.

My duty will be to develop these germs.

Surely I shall find some happiness in discharging that office.

Much enjoyment I do not expect in the life opening before me,

Yet it will,

Doubtless,

If I regulate my mind and exert my powers as I ought,

Yield me enough to live on from day to day.

Was I very gleeful,

Settled,

Content during the hours I passed in John de Baer's humble schoolroom this morning and this afternoon?

Not to deceive myself I must reply,

No,

I felt desolate to a degree.

I felt,

Yes,

Idiot,

That I am,

I felt degraded.

I doubted I had taken a step which sank instead of raising me in the scale of social existence.

I was weakly dismayed at the ignorance,

The poverty,

The coarseness of all I heard and saw around me.

But let me not hate and despise myself too much for these feelings.

I know them to be wrong,

That it is a great step gained.

I shall strive to overcome them,

And tomorrow I trust I shall get the better of them partially,

And in a few weeks perhaps they will be quite subdued.

In a few months it's possible.

The happiness of seeing progress and a change for the better in my scholars may substitute gratification for disgust.

Meantime let me ask myself one question,

Which is better,

To have surrendered to temptation,

Listened to passion,

Made no painful effort,

But to have sunk down in a silk and snare,

Fallen asleep on the flowers covering it,

Weakened in a southern climb,

Amongst the luxuries of a pleasure villa,

To have been now living in France,

Mr.

Rochester's mistress,

Delirious with his love half my time.

For he would,

Oh yes,

He would have loved me well for a while.

He did love me.

No one will ever love me so again.

I shall never more know the sweet homage given to beauty,

Youth,

And grace,

For never to anyone else shall I seem to possess these charms.

He was fond and proud of me.

Is that what no man besides will ever be?

But where am I wandering,

And what am I saying,

And above all feeling?

Whether it is better I asked to be a slave in a fool's paradise at Marseilles,

Fevered with delusive bliss one hour,

Suffering with the bitterest tears of remorse and shame the next,

Or to be a village schoolmistress,

Free and honest,

In a breezy mountain look in the healthy heart of England.

Yes,

I feel now I was right to adhere to principle and law,

And scorned and crushed the insane promptings of a frenzied moment.

God directed me to a correct choice.

I thank his providence for the guidance.

Having brought my eventide musings to this point,

I rose,

Went to my door,

And looked at the sunset of the harvest day,

And at the quiet fields before my cottage,

Which,

With the school,

Was distant half a mile from the village.

The birds were singing their last strains.

While I looked,

I thought myself happy,

And was surprised to find myself e'er long weeping.

And why?

For the doom which had wreft me from adhesion to my master,

For him I was no more to see,

For the desperate grief and fatal fury,

Consequences of my departure,

Which must now perhaps be dragging him from the path of right,

Too far to leave hope for ultimate restoration thither.

At this thought I turned my face aside from the lovely sky of Eve,

And lonely vale of Morton.

I say lonely,

For in that bend of it visible to me,

There was no building apparent,

Save the church,

And the parsonage,

Half-hidden trees,

And quite at the extremity the roof of Vale Hall,

Where the rich Mr.

Oliver and his daughter lived.

I hid my eyes,

And lent my head against the stone frame of my door.

But soon a slight noise near the wicket,

Which shut in my tiny garden from the meadow beyond it,

Made me look up.

A dog,

Old Carlo,

Mr.

River's Pointer,

As I saw in a moment,

Was pushing the gate with his nose,

And Sir John himself lent upon it with folded arms,

His brow neat,

His gaze grave almost to displeasure fixed on me.

I asked him to come in.

No,

I cannot stay.

I've only bought you a little parcel my sisters left.

I think it contains a colour box,

Pencils,

And paper.

I approached to take it.

A welcome gift it was.

He examined my face,

I thought with austerity,

As I came near.

The traces of tears were doubtless very visible upon it.

Have you found your first day's work harder than you expected?

He asked.

Oh no,

On the contrary,

I think in time I shall get on with my scholars very well.

But perhaps your accommodations,

Your cottage,

Your furniture have disappointed your expectations?

They are in truth scanty enough,

But.

.

.

I interrupted.

My cottage is clean and weatherproof,

My furniture sufficient and commodious.

All I see has made me thankful,

Not despondent.

I'm not absolutely such a fool and sensualist as to regret the absence of a carpet,

A sofa,

And a silver plate.

Besides,

Five weeks ago I had nothing.

I was an outcast,

A beggar,

A vagrant.

Now I have acquaintance,

A home,

And a business.

I wonder at the goodness of God,

The generosity of my friends,

The bounty of my lot,

And I do not repine.

But you feel solitude and oppression.

The little house there behind you is dark and empty.

I have hardly time yet to enjoy a sense of tranquility,

Much less to grow impatient under one of loneliness.

Very well,

I hope you feel the content you express.

At any rate,

Your good sense will tell you it's too soon yet to yield to the vacillating fears of Lot's wife.

What you had left before I saw you,

Of course,

I do not know,

But I counsel you to resist firmly every temptation which would incline you to look back.

Pursue your present career steadily for some months at least.

It is what I mean to do,

I answered.

St John continued,

It is hard work to control the workings of inclination and turn the bent of nature,

But that it must be done,

I know that from experience.

God has given us in a measure the power to make our own fate,

And when our energies seem to command sustenance they cannot get,

When our will strains after a path we may not follow,

We need neither starve from indignation nor stand still in despair.

We have but to seek another nourishment for the mind.

A year ago I was myself intensely miserable because I thought I'd made a mistake in entering the ministry.

Its uniform duties wearied me to death.

I burned for the more active life of the world,

For the more exciting toils of a literary career,

For the destiny of an artist,

Author,

Orator,

Anything rather than that of a priest.

I considered my life was so wretched it made me change,

Or I must die.

After a season of darkness and struggling,

Light broke and relief fell.

My cramped existence all at once spread out to a plain without bounds.

My powers heard a call from heaven to rise,

Gather their full strength,

Spread their wings and move beyond Ken.

God had an errand for me,

To deliver it well,

Skill and strength,

Courage and eloquence,

The best qualification of soldier,

Statement and orator were all needed,

For these all centre in the good missionary.

A missionary I resolved to be.

From that moment my state of mind changed,

The fetters dissolved and dropped from every faculty,

Leaving nothing of bondage but its galling soreness,

Which time only can heal.

St John said this in his peculiar subdued yet emphatic voice,

Looking when he had ceased speaking not at me,

But at the setting sun,

At which I looked at too.

Both he and I had our backs towards the path leading up the field to the wicket.

We had heard no step on that grass-grown track,

The water running in the vale was the one lulling sound of the hour unseen.

We might well then start,

When a gay voice sweet as a silver bell exclaimed.

Good evening,

Mr Rivers,

And good evening,

Old Carlo.

Your dog is quicker to recognise his friends than when you are,

Sir.

He pricked his ears and wagged his tail when I was at bottom of the field,

And you have your back towards me now.

St John paused,

Then turned at last with measured deliberation.

A vision as it seemed to me had risen at his side.

There appeared within three feet of him a form clad in pure white,

A youthful,

Graceful form,

Full yet fine in contour,

And when after bending to caress Carlo it lifted up his head and threw back a long veil,

There bloomed under his glance a face of perfect beauty.

Perfect beauty is a strong expression,

But I do not retrace or qualify it,

As sweet features as ever the temperate clime of Albion moulded,

As pure hues of rose and lily as ever her humid gales and vapoury skies generated and screened,

Justified in this instance the term.

No charm was wanting,

No defect was perceptible.

This young girl had regular and delicate liniments,

Eyes shaped and coloured as we see them in lovely pictures,

Large and dark and full.

What did St John Rivers think of this earthly angel?

I naturally asked myself as I saw him turn to her and look at her,

And as naturally I sought the answer to the inquiry in his countenance.

He had already withdrawn his eye,

And was looking at a humble tuft of daisies which grew by the wicket.

A lovely evening,

But late for you to be out alone,

He said,

As he crushed the snowy heads of the closed flowers with his foot.

Oh,

I've only just returned this afternoon.

Papa told me you'd opened your school and that your new mistress was come,

So I put on my bonnet after tea and ran up the alley to see her.

This is she?

She pointed to me.

It is,

Said St John.

Do you think you shall like Morton?

She asked of me with a direct and naive simplicity of tone and manner,

Pleasing if childlike.

I hope I shall,

I said.

I have many inducements to do so.

Did you find your scholars as attentive as you expected?

Quite.

Do you like your house?

Very much.

Have I furnished it nicely?

Very nicely indeed,

And made a good choice of an attendant for you in this Alice Wood.

You have indeed,

Said I.

She is teachable and handy.

I shall come and help you to teach sometimes,

She added.

It will be a change for me to visit you and now and then,

And I do like a change.

Miss Rivers,

I have been so gay during my stay away last night,

Or rather this morning.

I was dancing till two o'clock.

The regiment has stationed there since the riots,

And the officers are the most agreeable men in the world.

They put all our young knife grinders and scissor merchants to shame.

It seemed to me at that moment,

St John's under lip protruded,

And his upper lip curled.

His mouth suddenly looked a good deal compressed,

And the lower part of his face unusually stern and square,

As the laughing girl gave him this information.

Then he lifted his gaze from the daisies and turned it on her.

An unsmiling,

Searching,

Meaning gaze it was.

She answered it with a second laugh,

And laughter well became her youth,

Her roses,

Her dimples,

And her bright eyes.

As she patted Carlo's head,

Bending with native grace before his young and austere mouth,

I saw a glow rise to that master's face.

I saw his solemn eye melt with sudden fire,

And flicker with resistless emotion.

Flushed and kindled thus,

He looked nearly as beautiful for a man as she for a woman.

His chest heaved once,

As if his large heart had expanded,

Despite the will,

And made a vigorous bound for the attainment of liberty.

But he curbed it,

I think,

As a resolute rider would curb a rearing steed.

Papa says you never come to see us now,

Continued Miss Oliver.

You're quite a stranger at Vale Hall.

He's alone this evening and not very well.

Will you return with me and visit him?

It is not a seasonable hour to intrude upon Mr.

Oliver,

Answered St.

John.

Not a seasonable hour,

But I declare it is.

It's just the hour when Papa most wants company.

Why are you so very shy and so very sombre,

Mr.

Rivers?

She filled up the hiatus his silence left by a reply of her own.

Oh,

I forgot,

She exclaimed.

I'm so giddy and thoughtless.

Do excuse me.

It has slipped my memory.

You've got good reason to be indisposed for joining in my chatter.

Diana and Mary have left you,

And Morehouse is shut up,

And you are so lonely.

I'm sure I pity you.

Do come and see Papa.

Not tonight,

Miss Rosamond.

Not tonight.

St.

John spoke almost like an automaton.

Himself only knew the effort it cost him thus to refuse.

Well,

If you're so obstinate,

I will leave you,

For I dare not stay any longer.

The dew begins to fall.

Good evening.

She held out her hand and he just touched it.

Good evening,

He repeated in a voice low and hollow as an echo.

She turned,

But in a moment returned.

Are you well?

She asked.

Well,

Might she put the question.

His face was as blanched as her gown.

Quite well,

He enunciated,

And with a bow she left the gate.

She went one way,

He another.

She turned twice to gaze after him,

As she tripped fairy-like down the field.

He,

As he strode firmly across,

Never turned at all.

This spectacle of another suffering and sacrifice wrapped my thoughts from exclusive meditation on my own.

Diana Rivers had designated her brother inexorable as death,

And she had not exaggerated.