简爱(英文版)-第28部分

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n　your　eye　（beware；　by…the…bye；　what　you　express　with　that　organ；　I　am　quick　at　interpreting　its　language）。　Then　take　my　word　for　it；—I　am　not　a　villain：　you　are　not　to　suppose　that—not　to　attribute　to　me　any　such　bad　eminence；　but；　owing；　I　verily　believe；　rather　to　circumstances　than　to　my　natural　bent；　I　am　a　trite　monplace　sinner；　hackneyed　in　all　the　poor　petty　dissipations　with　which　the　rich　and　worthless　try　to　put　on　life。　Do　you　wonder　that　I　avow　this　to　you？　Know；　that　in　the　course　of　your　future　life　you　will　often　find　yourself　elected　the　involuntary　confidant　of　your　acquaintances’　secrets：　people　will　instinctively　find　out；　as　I　have　done；　that　it　is　not　your　forte　to　tell　of　yourself；　but　to　listen　while　others　talk　of　themselves；　they　will　feel；　too；　that　you　listen　with　no　malevolent　scorn　of　their　indiscretion；　but　with　a　kind　of　innate　sympathy；　not　the　less　forting　and　encouraging　because　it　is　very　unobtrusive　in　its　manifestations。”
“How　do　you　know？—how　can　you　guess　all　this；　sir？”
“I　know　it　well；　therefore　I　proceed　almost　as　freely　as　if　I　were　writing　my　thoughts　in　a　diary。　You　would　say；　I　should　have　been　superior　to　circumstances；　so　I　should—so　I　should；　but　you　see　I　was　not。　When　fate　wronged　me；　I　had　not　the　wisdom　to　remain　cool：　I　turned　desperate；　then　I　degenerated。　Now；　when　any　vicious　simpleton　excites　my　disgust　by　his　paltry　ribaldry；　I　cannot　flatter　myself　that　I　am　better　than　he：　I　am　forced　to　confess　that　he　and　I　are　on　a　level。　I　wish　I　had　stood　firm—God　knows　I　do！　Dread　remorse　when　you　are　tempted　to　err；　Miss　Eyre；　remorse　is　the　poison　of　life。”
“Repentance　is　said　to　be　its　cure；　sir。”
“It　is　not　its　cure。　Reformation　may　be　its　cure；　and　I　could　reform—I　have　strength　yet　for　that—if—but　where　is　the　use　of　thinking　of　it；　hampered；　burdened；　cursed　as　I　am？　Besides；　since　happiness　is　irrevocably　denied　me；　I　have　a　right　to　get　pleasure　out　of　life：　and　I　will　get　it；　cost　what　it　may。”
“Then　you　will　degenerate　still　more；　sir。”
“Possibly：　yet　why　should　I；　if　I　can　get　sweet；　fresh　pleasure？　And　I　may　get　it　as　sweet　and　fresh　as　the　wild　honey　the　bee　gathers　on　the　moor。”
“It　will　sting—it　will　taste　bitter；　sir。”
“How　do　you　know？—you　never　tried　it。　How　very　serious—how　very　solemn　you　look：　and　you　are　as　ignorant　of　the　matter　as　this　cameo　head”　（taking　one　from　the　mantelpiece）。　“You　have　no　right　to　preach　to　me；　you　neophyte；　that　have　not　passed　the　porch　of　life；　and　are　absolutely　unacquainted　with　its　mysteries。”
“I　only　remind　you　of　your　own　words；　sir：　you　said　error　brought　remorse；　and　you　pronounced　remorse　the　poison　of　existence。”
“And　who　talks　of　error　now？　I　scarcely　think　the　notion　that　flittered　across　my　brain　was　an　error。　I　believe　it　was　an　inspiration　rather　than　a　temptation：　it　was　very　genial；　very　soothing—I　know　that。　Here　it　es　again！　It　is　no　devil；　I　assure　you；　or　if　it　be；　it　has　put　on　the　robes　of　an　angel　of　light。　I　think　I　must　admit　so　fair　a　guest　when　it　asks　entrance　to　my　heart。”
“Distrust　it；　sir；　it　is　not　a　true　angel。”
“Once　more；　how　do　you　know？　By　what　instinct　do　you　pretend　to　distinguish　between　a　fallen　seraph　of　the　abyss　and　a　messenger　from　the　eternal　throne—between　a　guide　and　a　seducer？”
“I　judged　by　your　countenance；　sir；　which　was　troubled　when　you　said　the　suggestion　had　returned　upon　you。　I　feel　sure　it　will　work　you　more　misery　if　you　listen　to　it。”
“Not　at　all—it　bears　the　most　gracious　message　in　the　world：　for　the　rest；　you　are　not　my　conscience…keeper；　so　don’t　make　yourself　uneasy。　Here；　e　in；　bonny　wanderer！”
He　said　this　as　if　he　spoke　to　a　vision；　viewless　to　any　eye　but　his　own；　then；　folding　his　arms；　which　he　had　half　extended；　on　his　chest；　he　seemed　to　enclose　in　their　embrace　the　invisible　being。
“Now；”　he　continued；　again　addressing　me；　“I　have　received　the　pilgrim—a　disguised　deity；　as　I　verify　believe。　Already　it　has　done　me　good：　my　heart　was　a　sort　of　charnel；　it　will　now　be　a　shrine。”
“To　speak　truth；　sir；　I　don’t　understand　you　at　all：　I　cannot　keep　up　the　conversation；　because　it　has　got　out　of　my　depth。　Only　one　thing；　I　know：　you　said　you　were　not　as　good　as　you　should　like　to　be；　and　that　you　regretted　your　own　imperfection；—one　thing　I　can　prehend：　you　intimated　that　to　have　a　sullied　memory　was　a　perpetual　bane。　It　seems　to　me；　that　if　you　tried　hard；　you　would　in　time　find　it　possible　to　bee　what　you　yourself　would　approve；　and　that　if　from　this　day　you　began　with　resolution　to　correct　your　thoughts　and　actions；　you　would　in　a　few　years　have　laid　up　a　new　and　stainless　store　of　recollections；　to　which　you　might　revert　with　pleasure。”
“Justly　thought；　rightly　said；　Miss　Eyre；　and；　at　this　moment；　I　am　paving　hell　with　energy。”
“Sir？”
“I　am　laying　down　good　intentions；　which　I　believe　durable　as　flint。　Certainly；　my　associates　and　pursuits　shall　be　other　than　they　have　been。”
“And　better？”
“And　better—so　much　better　as　pure　ore　is　than　foul　dross。　You　seem　to　doubt　me；　I　don’t　doubt　myself：　I　know　what　my　aim　is；　what　my　motives　are；　and　at　this　moment　I　pass　a　law；　unalterable　as　that　of　the　Medes　and　Persians；　that　both　are　right。”
“They　cannot　be；　sir；　if　they　require　a　new　statute　to　legalise　them。”
“They　are；　Miss　Eyre；　though　they　absolutely　require　a　new　statute：　unheard…of　binations　of　circumstances　demand　unheard…of　rules。”
“That　sounds　a　dangerous　maxim；　sir；　because　one　can　see　at　once　that　it　is　liable　to　abuse。”
“Sententious　sage！　so　it　is：　but　I　swear　by　my　household　gods　not　to　abuse　it。”
“You　are　human　and　fallible。”
“I　am：　so　are　you—what　then？”
“The　human　and　fallible　should　not　arrogate　a　power　with　which　the　divine　and　perfect　alone　can　be　safely　intrusted。”
“What　power？”
“That　of　saying　of　any　strange；　unsanctioned　line　of　action；—‘Let　it　be　right。’”
“‘Let　it　be　right’—the　very　words：　you　have　pronounced　them。”
“May　it　be　right　then；”　I　said；　as　I　rose；　deeming　it　useless　to　continue　a　discourse　which　was　all　darkness　to　me；　and；　besides；　sensible　that　the　character　of　my　interlocutor　was　beyond　my　peration；　at　least；　beyond　its　present　reach；　and　feeling　the　uncertainty；　the　vague　sense　of　insecurity；　which　acpanies　a　conviction　of　ignorance。
“Where　are　you　going？”
“To　put　Adèle　to　bed：　it　is　past　her　bedtime。”
“You　are　afraid　of　me；　because　I　talk　like　a　Sphynx。”
“Your　language　is　enigmatical；　sir：　but　though　I　am　bewildered；　I　am　certainly　not　afraid。”
“You　are　afraid—your　self…love　dreads　a　blunder。”
“In　that　sense　I　do　feel　apprehensive—I　have　no　wish　to　talk　nonsense。”
“If　you　did；　it　would　be　in　such　a　grave；　quiet　manner；　I　should　mistake　it　for　sense。　Do　you　never　laugh；　Miss　Eyre？　Don’t　trouble　yourself　to　answer—I　see　you　laugh　rarely；　but　you　can　laugh　very　merrily：　believe　me；　you　are　not　naturally　austere；　any　more　than　I　am　naturally　vicious。　The　Lowood　constraint　still　clings　to　you　somewhat；　controlling　your　features；　muffling　your　voice；　and　restricting　your　limbs；　and　you　fear　in　the　presence　of　a　man　and　a　brother—or　father；　or　master；　or　what　you　will—to　smile　too　gaily；　speak　too　freely；　or　move　too　quickly：　but；　in　time；　I　think　you　will　learn　to　be　natural　with　me；　as　I　find　it　impossible　to　be　conventional　with　you；　and　then　your　looks　and　movements　will　have　more　vivacity　and　variety　than　they　dare　offer　now。　I　see　at　intervals　the　glance　of　a　curious　sort　of　bird　through　the　close…set　bars　of　a　cage：　a　vivid；　restless；　resolute　captive　is　there；　were　it　but　free；　it　would　soar　cloud…high。　You　are　still　bent　on　going？”
“It　has　struck　nine；　sir。”
“Never　mind；—wait　a　minute：　Adèle　is　not　ready　to　go　to　bed　yet。　My　position；　Miss　Eyre；　with　my　back　to　the　fire；　and　my　face　to　the　room；　favours　observation。　While　talking　to　you；　I　have　also　occasionally　watched　Adèle　（I　have　my　own　reasons　for　thinking　her　a　curious　study；—reasons　that　I　may；　nay；　that　I　shall；　impart　to　you　some　day）。　She　pulled　out　of　her　box；　about　ten　minutes　ago；　a　little　pink　silk　frock；　rapture　lit　her　face　as　she　unfolded　it；　coquetry　runs　in　her　blood；　blends　with　her　brains；　and　seasons　the　marrow　of　her　bones。　‘Il　faut　que　je　l’essaie！’　cried　she；　‘et　à　l’instant　même！’　and　she　rushed　out　of　the　room。　She　is　now　with　Sophie；　undergoing　a　robing　process：　in　a　few　minutes　she　will　re…　enter；　and　I　know　what　I　shall　see；—a　miniature　of　Céline　Varens；　as　she　used　to　appear　on　the　boards　at　the　rising　of—　But　never　mind　that。　However；　my　tenderest　feelings　are　about　to　receive　a　shock：　such　is　my　presentiment；　stay　now；　to　see　whether　it　will　be　realised。”
Ere　long；　Adèle’s　little　foot　was　heard　tripping　across　the　hall。　She　entered；　transformed　as　her　guardian　had　predicted。　A　dress　of　rose…coloured　satin；　very　short；　and　as　full　in　the　skirt　as　it　could　be　gathered；　replaced　the　brown　frock　she　had　previously　worn；　a　wreath　of　rosebuds　circled　her　forehead；　her　feet　were　dressed　in　silk　stockings　and　small　white　satin　sandals。
“Est…ce　que　ma　robe　va　bien？”　cried　she；　bounding　forwards；　“et　mes　souliers？　et　mes　bas？　Tenez；　je　crois　que　je　vais　danser！”
And　spreading　out　her　dress；　she　chasséed　across　the　room　till；　having　reached　Mr。　Rochester；　she　wheeled　lightly　round　before　him　on　tip…toe；　then　dropped　on　one　knee　at　his　feet；　exclaiming—
“Monsieur；　je　vous　remercie　mille　fois　de　votre　bonté；”　then　rising；　she　added；　“C’est　me　cela　que　maman　faisait；　n’est…ce　pas；　monsieur？”
“Pre…cise…ly！”　was　the　answer；　“and；　‘me　cela；’　she　charmed　my　English　gold　out　of　my　British　breeches’　pocket。　I　have　been　green；　too；　Miss　Eyre；—ay；　grass　green：　not　a　more　vernal　tint　freshens　you　now　than　once　freshened　me。　My　Spring　is　gone；　however；　but　it　has　left　me　that　French　floweret　on　my　hands；　which；　in　some　moods；　I　would　fain　be　rid　of。　Not　valuing　now　the　root　whence　it　sprang；　having　found　that　it　was　of　a　sort　which　nothing　but　gold　dust　could　manure；　I　have　but　half　a　liking　to　the　blossom；　especially　when　it　looks　so　artificial　as　just　now。　I　keep　it　and　rear　it　rather　on　the　Roman　Catholic　principle　of　expiating　numerous　sins；　great　or　small；　by　one　good　work。　I’ll　explain　all　this　some　day。　Good…　night。”
Chapter　15
Mr。　Rochester　did；　on　a　future　occasion；　explain　it。　It　was　one　afternoon；　when　he　chanced　to　meet　me　and　Adèle　in　the　grounds：　and　while　she　played　with　Pilot　and　her　shuttlecock；　he　asked　me　to　walk　up　and　down　a　long　beech　avenue　within　sight　of　her。
He　then　said　that　she　was　the　daughter　of　a　French　opera…dancer；　Céline　Varens；　towards　whom　he　had　once　cherished　what　he　called　a　“grande　passion。”　This　passion　Céline　had　professed　to　return　with　even　superior　ardour。　He　thought　himself　her　idol；　ugly　as　he　was：　he　believed；　as　he　said；　that　she　preferred　his　“taille　d’athlète”　to　the　elegance　of　the　Apollo　Belvidere。
“And；　Miss　Eyre；　so　much　was　I　flattered　by　this　preference　of　the　Gallic　sylph　for　her　British　gnome；　that　I　installed　her　in　an　hotel；　gave　her　a　plete　establishment　of　servants；　a　carriage；　cashmeres；　diamonds；　dentelles；　&c。　In　short；　I　began　the　process　of　ruining　myself　in　the　received　style；　like　any　other　spoony。