简爱(英文版)-第43部分

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“The　night　is　serene；　sir；　and　so　am　I。”
“And　you　will　not　dream　of　separation　and　sorrow　to…night；　but　of　happy　love　and　blissful　union。”
This　prediction　was　but　half　fulfilled：　I　did　not　indeed　dream　of　sorrow；　but　as　little　did　I　dream　of　joy；　for　I　never　slept　at　all。　With　little　Adèle　in　my　arms；　I　watched　the　slumber　of　childhood—so　tranquil；　so　passionless；　so　innocent—and　waited　for　the　ing　day：　all　my　life　was　awake　and　astir　in　my　frame：　and　as　soon　as　the　sun　rose　I　rose　too。　I　remember　Adèle　clung　to　me　as　I　left　her：　I　remember　I　kissed　her　as　I　loosened　her　little　hands　from　my　neck；　and　I　cried　over　her　with　strange　emotion；　and　quitted　her　because　I　feared　my　sobs　would　break　her　still　sound　repose。　She　seemed　the　emblem　of　my　past　life；　and　he　I　was　now　to　array　myself　to　meet；　the　dread；　but　adored；　type　of　my　unknown　future　day。
Chapter　26
Sophie　came　at　seven　to　dress　me：　she　was　very　long　indeed　in　acplishing　her　task；　so　long　that　Mr。　Rochester；　grown；　I　suppose；　impatient　of　my　delay；　sent　up　to　ask　why　I　did　not　e。　She　was　just　fastening　my　veil　（the　plain　square　of　blond　after　all）　to　my　hair　with　a　brooch；　I　hurried　from　under　her　hands　as　soon　as　I　could。
“Stop！”　she　cried　in　French。　“Look　at　yourself　in　the　mirror：　you　have　not　taken　one　peep。”
So　I　turned　at　the　door：　I　saw　a　robed　and　veiled　figure；　so　unlike　my　usual　self　that　it　seemed　almost　the　image　of　a　stranger。　“Jane！”　called　a　voice；　and　I　hastened　down。　I　was　received　at　the　foot　of　the　stairs　by　Mr。　Rochester。
“Lingerer！”　he　said；　“my　brain　is　on　fire　with　impatience；　and　you　tarry　so　long！”
He　took　me　into　the　dining…room；　surveyed　me　keenly　all　over；　pronounced　me　“fair　as　a　lily；　and　not　only　the　pride　of　his　life；　but　the　desire　of　his　eyes；”　and　then　telling　me　he　would　give　me　but　ten　minutes　to　eat　some　breakfast；　he　rang　the　bell。　One　of　his　lately　hired　servants；　a　footman；　answered　it。
“Is　John　getting　the　carriage　ready？”
“Yes；　sir。”
“Is　the　luggage　brought　down？”
“They　are　bringing　it　down；　sir。”
“Go　you　to　the　church：　see　if　Mr。　Wood　（the　clergyman）　and　the　clerk　are　there：　return　and　tell　me。”
The　church；　as　the　reader　knows；　was　but　just　beyond　the　gates；　the　footman　soon　returned。
“Mr。　Wood　is　in　the　vestry；　sir；　putting　on　his　surplice。”
“And　the　carriage？”
“The　horses　are　harnessing。”
“We　shall　not　want　it　to　go　to　church；　but　it　must　be　ready　the　moment　we　return：　all　the　boxes　and　luggage　arranged　and　strapped　on；　and　the　coachman　in　his　seat。”
“Yes；　sir。”
“Jane；　are　you　ready？”
I　rose。　There　were　no　groomsmen；　no　bridesmaids；　no　relatives　to　wait　for　or　marshal：　none　but　Mr。　Rochester　and　I。　Mrs。　Fairfax　stood　in　the　hall　as　we　passed。　I　would　fain　have　spoken　to　her；　but　my　hand　was　held　by　a　grasp　of　iron：　I　was　hurried　along　by　a　stride　I　could　hardly　follow；　and　to　look　at　Mr。　Rochester’s　face　was　to　feel　that　not　a　second　of　delay　would　be　tolerated　for　any　purpose。　I　wonder　what　other　bridegroom　ever　looked　as　he　did—so　bent　up　to　a　purpose；　so　grimly　resolute：　or　who；　under　such　steadfast　brows；　ever　revealed　such　flaming　and　flashing　eyes。
I　know　not　whether　the　day　was　fair　or　foul；　in　descending　the　drive；　I　gazed　neither　on　sky　nor　earth：　my　heart　was　with　my　eyes；　and　both　seemed　migrated　into　Mr。　Rochester’s　frame。　I　wanted　to　see　the　invisible　thing　on　which；　as　we　went　along；　he　appeared　to　fasten　a　glance　fierce　and　fell。　I　wanted　to　feel　the　thoughts　whose　force　he　seemed　breasting　and　resisting。
At　the　churchyard　wicket　he　stopped：　he　discovered　I　was　quite　out　of　breath。　“Am　I　cruel　in　my　love？”　he　said。　“Delay　an　instant：　lean　on　me；　Jane。”
And　now　I　can　recall　the　picture　of　the　grey　old　house　of　God　rising　calm　before　me；　of　a　rook　wheeling　round　the　steeple；　of　a　ruddy　morning　sky　beyond。　I　remember　something；　too；　of　the　green　grave…　mounds；　and　I　have　not　forgotten；　either；　two　figures　of　strangers　straying　amongst　the　low　hillocks　and　reading　the　mementoes　graven　on　the　few　mossy　head…stones。　I　noticed　them；　because；　as　they　saw　us；　they　passed　round　to　the　back　of　the　church；　and　I　doubted　not　they　were　going　to　enter　by　the　side…aisle　door　and　witness　the　ceremony。　By　Mr。　Rochester　they　were　not　observed；　he　was　earnestly　looking　at　my　face　from　which　the　blood　had；　I　daresay；　momentarily　fled：　for　I　felt　my　forehead　dewy；　and　my　cheeks　and　lips　cold。　When　I　rallied；　which　I　soon　did；　he　walked　gently　with　me　up　the　path　to　the　porch。
ple；　the　priest　waited　in　his　white　surplice　at　the　lowly　altar；　the　clerk　beside　him。　All　was　still：　two　shadows　only　moved　in　a　remote　corner。　My　conjecture　had　been　correct：　the　strangers　had　slipped　in　before　us；　and　they　now　stood　by　the　vault　of　the　Rochesters；　their　backs　towards　us；　viewing　through　the　rails　the　old　time…stained　marble　tomb；　where　a　kneeling　angel　guarded　the　remains　of　Damer　de　Rochester；　slain　at　Marston　Moor　in　the　time　of　the　civil　wars；　and　of　Elizabeth；　his　wife。
Our　place　was　taken　at　the　munion　rails。　Hearing　a　cautious　step　behind　me；　I　glanced　over　my　shoulder：　one　of　the　strangers—a　gentleman；　evidently—was　advancing　up　the　chancel。　The　service　began。　The　explanation　of　the　intent　of　matrimony　was　gone　through；　and　then　the　clergyman　came　a　step　further　forward；　and；　bending　slightly　towards　Mr。　Rochester；　went　on。
“I　require　and　charge　you　both　（as　ye　will　answer　at　the　dreadful　day　of　judgment；　when　the　secrets　of　all　hearts　shall　be　disclosed）；　that　if　either　of　you　know　any　impediment　why　ye　may　not　lawfully　be　joined　together　in　matrimony；　ye　do　now　confess　it；　for　be　ye　well　assured　that　so　many　as　are　coupled　together　otherwise　than　God’s　Word　doth　allow；　are　not　joined　together　by　God；　neither　is　their　matrimony　lawful。”
He　paused；　as　the　custom　is。　When　is　the　pause　after　that　sentence　ever　broken　by　reply？　Not；　perhaps；　once　in　a　hundred　years。　And　the　clergyman；　who　had　not　lifted　his　eyes　from　his　book；　and　had　held　his　breath　but　for　a　moment；　was　proceeding：　his　hand　was　already　stretched　towards　Mr。　Rochester；　as　his　lips　unclosed　to　ask；　“Wilt　thou　have　this　woman　for　thy　wedded　wife？”—when　a　distinct　and　near　voice　said—
“The　marriage　cannot　go　on：　I　declare　the　existence　of　an　impediment。”
The　clergyman　looked　up　at　the　speaker　and　stood　mute；　the　clerk　did　the　same；　Mr。　Rochester　moved　slightly；　as　if　an　earthquake　had　rolled　under　his　feet：　taking　a　firmer　footing；　and　not　turning　his　head　or　eyes；　he　said；　“Proceed。”
Profound　silence　fell　when　he　had　uttered　that　word；　with　deep　but　low　intonation。　Presently　Mr。　Wood　said—
“I　cannot　proceed　without　some　investigation　into　what　has　been　asserted；　and　evidence　of　its　truth　or　falsehood。”
“The　ceremony　is　quite　broken　off；”　subjoined　the　voice　behind　us。　“I　am　in　a　condition　to　prove　my　allegation：　an　insuperable　impediment　to　this　marriage　exists。”
Mr。　Rochester　heard；　but　heeded　not：　he　stood　stubborn　and　rigid；　making　no　movement　but　to　possess　himself　of　my　hand。　What　a　hot　and　strong　grasp　he　had！　and　hoarble　was　his　pale；　firm；　massive　front　at　this　moment！　How　his　eye　shone；　still　watchful；　and　yet　wild　beneath！
Mr。　Wood　seemed　at　a　loss。　“What　is　the　nature　of　the　impediment？”　he　asked。　“Perhaps　it　may　be　got　over—explained　away？”
“Hardly；”　was　the　answer。　“I　have　called　it　insuperable；　and　I　speak　advisedly。”
The　speaker　came　forward　and　leaned　on　the　rails。　He　continued；　uttering　each　word　distinctly；　calmly；　steadily；　but　not　loudly—
“It　simply　consists　in　the　existence　of　a　previous　marriage。　Mr。　Rochester　has　a　wife　now　living。”
My　nerves　vibrated　to　those　low…spoken　words　as　they　had　never　vibrated　to　thunder—my　blood　felt　their　subtle　violence　as　it　had　never　felt　frost　or　fire；　but　I　was　collected；　and　in　no　danger　of　swooning。　I　looked　at　Mr。　Rochester：　I　made　him　look　at　me。　His　whole　face　was　colourless　rock：　his　eye　was　both　spark　and　flint。　He　disavowed　nothing：　he　seemed　as　if　he　would　defy　all　things。　Without　speaking；　without　smiling；　without　seeming　to　recognise　in　me　a　human　being；　he　only　twined　my　waist　with　his　arm　and　riveted　me　to　his　side。
“Who　are　you？”　he　asked　of　the　intruder。
“My　name　is　Briggs；　a　solicitor　of—Street；　London。”
“And　you　would　thrust　on　me　a　wife？”
“I　would　remind　you　of　your　lady’s　existence；　sir；　which　the　law　recognises；　if　you　do　not。”
“Favour　me　with　an　account　of　her—with　her　name；　her　parentage；　her　place　of　abode。”
“Certainly。”　Mr。　Briggs　calmly　took　a　paper　from　his　pocket；　and　read　out　in　a　sort　of　official；　nasal　voice：—
“‘I　affirm　and　can　prove　that　on　the　20th　of　October　A。D。—（a　date　of　fifteen　years　back）；　Edward　Fairfax　Rochester；　of　Thornfield　Hall；　in　the　county　of　—；　and　of　Ferndean　Manor；　in—shire；　England；　was　married　to　my　sister；　Bertha　Antoita　Mason；　daughter　of　Jonas　Mason；　merchant；　and　of　Antoita　his　wife；　a　Creole；　at—church；　Spanish　Town；　Jamaica。　The　record　of　the　marriage　will　be　found　in　the　register　of　that　church—a　copy　of　it　is　now　in　my　possession。　Signed；　Richard　Mason。’”
“That—if　a　genuine　document—may　prove　I　have　been　married；　but　it　does　not　prove　that　the　woman　mentioned　therein　as　my　wife　is　still　living。”
“She　was　living　three　months　ago；”　returned　the　lawyer。
“How　do　you　know？”
“I　have　a　witness　to　the　fact；　whose　testimony　even　you；　sir；　will　scarcely　controvert。”
“Produce　him—or　go　to　hell。”
“I　will　produce　him　first—he　is　on　the　spot。　Mr。　Mason；　have　the　goodness　to　step　forward。”
Mr。　Rochester；　on　hearing　the　name；　set　his　teeth；　he　experienced；　too；　a　sort　of　strong　convulsive　quiver；　near　to　him　as　I　was；　I　felt　the　spasmodic　movement　of　fury　or　despair　run　through　his　frame。　The　second　stranger；　who　had　hitherto　lingered　in　the　background；　now　drew　near；　a　pale　face　looked　over　the　solicitor’s　shoulder—yes；　it　was　Mason　himself。　Mr。　Rochester　turned　and　glared　at　him。　His　eye；　as　I　have　often　said；　was　a　black　eye：　it　had　now　a　tawny；　nay；　a　bloody　light　in　its　gloom；　and　his　face　flushed—olive　cheek　and　hueless　forehead　received　a　glow　as　from　spreading；　ascending　heart…fire：　and　he　stirred；　lifted　his　strong　arm—he　could　have　struck　Mason；　dashed　him　on　the　church…floor；　shocked　by　ruthless　blow　the　breath　from　his　body—but　Mason　shrank　away；　and　cried　faintly；　“Good　God！”　Contempt　fell　cool　on　Mr。　Rochester—his　passion　died　as　if　a　blight　had　shrivelled　it　up：　he　only　asked—“What　have　you　to　say？”
An　inaudible　reply　escaped　Mason’s　white　lips。
“The　devil　is　in　it　if　you　cannot　answer　distinctly。　I　again　demand；　what　have　you　to　say？”
“Sir—sir；”　interrupted　the　clergyman；　“do　not　forget　you　are　in　a　sacred　place。”　Then　addressing　Mason；　he　inquired　gently；　“Are　you　aware；　sir；　whether　or　not　this　gentleman’s　wife　is　still　living？”
“Courage；”　urged　the　lawyer；—“speak　out。”
“She　is　now　living　at　Thornfield　Hall；”　said　Mason；　in　more　articulate　tones：　“I　saw　her　there　last　April。　I　am　her　brother。”
“At　Thornfield　Hall！”　ejaculated　the　clergyman。　“Impossible！　I　am　an　old　resident　in　this　neighbourhood；　sir；　and　I　never　heard　of　a　Mrs。　Rochester　at　Thornfield　Hall。”
I　saw　a　grim　smile　contort　Mr。　Rochester’s　lips；　and　he　muttered—
“No；　by　God！　I　took　care　that　none　should　hear　of　it—or　of　her　under　that　name。”　He　mused—for　ten　minutes　he　held　counsel　with　himself：　he　formed　his　resolve；　and　announced　it—
“Enough！　all　shall　bolt　out　at　once；　like　the　bullet　from　the　barrel。　Wood；　close　your　book　and　take　off　your　surplice；　John　Green　（to　the　clerk）；　leave　the　church：　there　will　be　no　wedding　to…day。”　The　man　obeyed。
Mr。　Rochester　continued；　hardily　and　recklessly：　“Bigamy　is　an　ugly　word！—I　meant；　however；　to　be　a　bigamist；　but　fate　has　out…　manoeuvred　me；　or　Providence　has　checked　me；—perhaps　the　last。　I　am　little　better　than　a　devil　at　this　moment；　and；　as　my　pastor　there　would　tell　me；　deserve　no　doubt　the　sternest　judgments　of　God；　even　to　the　quenchless　fire　and　deathless　worm。　Gentlemen；　my　plan　is　broken　up：…　what　this　lawyer　and　his　client　say　is　true：　I　have　been　married；　and　the　woman　to　whom　I　was　married　lives！　You　say　you　never　heard　of　a　Mrs。　Rochester　at　the　house　up　yonder；　Wood；　but　I　daresay　you　have　many　a　time　inclined　your　ear　to　gossip　about　the　mysterious　lunatic　kept　there　under　watch　and　ward。　Some　have　whispered　to　you　that　she　is　my　bastard　half…sister：　some；　my　cast…　off　mistress。　I　now　inform　you　that　she　is　my　wife；　whom　I　married　fifteen　years　ago；—Bertha　Mason　by　name；　sister　of　this　resolute　personage；　bs　and　white　cheeks；　showing　you　what　a　stout　heart　men　may　bear。　Cheer　up；　Dick！—never　fear　me！—I’d　almost　as　soon　strike　a　woman　as　you。　Bertha　Mason　is　mad；　and　she　came　of　a　mad　family；　idiots　and　maniacs　through　three　generations？　Her　mother；　the　Creole；　was　both　a　madwoman　and　a　drunkard！—as　I　found　out　after　I　had　wed　the　daughter：　for　they　were　silent　on　family　secrets　before。　Bertha；　like　a　dutiful　child；　copied　her　parent　in　both　points。　I　had　a　charming　partner—pure；　wise；　modest：　you　can　fancy　I　was　a　happy　man。　I　went　through　rich　scenes！　Oh！　my　experience　has　been　heavenly；　if　you　only　knew　it！　But　I　owe　you　no　further　explanation。　Briggs；　Wood；　Mason；　I　invite　you　all　to　e　up　to　the　house　and　visit　Mrs。　Poole’s　patient；　and　my　wife！　You　shall　see　what　sort　of　a　being　I　was　cheated　into　espousing；　and　judge　whether　or　not　I　had　a　right　to　break　the　pact；　and　seek　sympathy　with　something　at　least　human。　This　girl；”　he　continued；　looking　at　me；　“knew　no　more　than　you；　Wood；　of　the　disgusting　secret：　she　thought　all　was　fair　and　legal　and　never　dreamt　she　was　going　to　be　entrapped　into　a　feigned　union　with　a　defrauded　wretch；　already　bound　to　a　bad；　mad；　and　embruted　partner！　e　all　of　you—follow！”
Still　holding　me　fast；　he　left　the　church：　the　three　gentlemen　came　after。　At　the　front　door　of　the　hall　we　found　the　carriage。
“Take　it　back　to　the　coach…house；　John；”　said　Mr。　Rochester　coolly；　“it　will　not　be　wanted　to…day。”
At　our　entrance；　Mrs。　Fairfax；　Adèle；　Sophie；　Leah；　advanced　to　meet　and　greet　us。
“To　the　right…about—every　soul！”　cried　the　master；　“away　with　your　congratulations！　Who　wants　them？　Not　I！—they　are　fifteen　years　too　late！”
He　passed　on　and　ascended　the　stairs；　still　holding　my　hand；　and　still　beckoning　the　gentlemen　to　follow　him；　which　they　did。　We　mounted　the　first　staircase；　passed　up　the　gallery；　proceeded　to　the　third　storey：　the　low；　black　door；　opened　by　Mr。　Rochester’s　master…key；　admitted　us　to　the　tapestried　room；　with　its　great　bed　and　its　pictorial　cabi。
“You　know　this　place；　Mason；”　said　our　guide；　“she　bit　and　stabbed　you　here。”
He　lifted　the　hangings　from　the　wall；　uncovering　the　second　door：　this；　too；　he　opened。　In　a　room　without　a　window；　there　burnt　a　fire　guarded　by　a　high　and　strong　fender；　and　a　lamp　suspended　from　the　ceiling　by　a　chain。　Grace　Poole　bent　over　the　fire；　apparently　cooking　something　in　a　saucepan。　In　the　deep　shade；　at　the　farther　end　of　the　room；　a　figure　ran　backwards　and　forwards。　What　it　was；　whether　beast　or　human　being；　one　could　not；　at　first　sight；　tell：　it　grovelled；　seemingly；　on　all　fours；　it　snatched　and　growled　like　some　strange　wild　animal：　but　it　was　covered　with　clothing；　and　a　quantity　of　dark；　grizzled　hair；　wild　as　a