Jane Eyre 簡愛 13

HE did not leave for Cambridge the next day, as he had said he would. He deferred his departure a whole week, and during that time he made me feel what severe punishment a good yet stern, a conscientious yet implacable man can inflict on one who has offended him. Without one overt act of hostility, one upbraiding word he contrived to impress me momently with the conviction that I was put beyond the pale of his favour.Not that St. John harboured a spirit of unchristian vindictiveness- not that he would have injured a hair of my head, if it had been fully in his power to do so. Both by nature and principle, he was superior to the mean gratification of vengeance: he had forgiven me for saying I scorned him and his love, but he had not forgotten the words; and as long as he and I lived he never would forget them. I saw by his look, when he turned to me, that they were always written on the air between me and him; whenever I spoke, they sounded in my voice to his ear, and their echo toned every answer he gave me.

He did not abstain from conversing with me: he even called me as usual each morning to join him at his desk; and I fear the corrupt man within him had a pleasure unimparted to, and unshared by, the pure Christian, in evincing with what skill he could, while acting and speaking apparently just as usual, extract from every deed and every phrase the spirit of interest and approval which had formerly communicated a certain austere charm to his language and manner. To me, he was in reality become no longer flesh, but marble; his eye was a cold, bright, blue gem; his tongue a speaking instrument- nothing more.

All this was torture to me- refined, lingering torture. It kept up a slow fire of indignation and a trembling trouble of grief, which harassed and crushed me altogether. I felt how- if I were his wife, this good man, pure as the deep sunless source, could soon kill me, without drawing from my veins a single drop of blood, or receiving on his own crystal conscience the faintest stain of crime.

Especially I felt this when I made any attempt to propitiate him. No ruth met my ruth. He experienced no suffering from estrangement- no yearning after reconciliation; and though, more than once, my fast falling tears blistered the page over which we both bent, they produced no more effect on him than if his heart had been really a matter of stone or metal. To his sisters, meantime, he was somewhat kinder than usual: as if afraid that mere coldness would not sufficiently convince me how completely I was banished and banned, he added the force of contrast; and this I am sure he did not by malice, but on principle.

The night before he left home, happening to see him walking in the garden about sunset, and remembering, as I looked at him, that this man, alienated as he now was, had once saved my life, and that we were near relations, I was moved to make a last attempt to  regain his friendship. I went out and approached him as he stood leaning over the little gate; I spoke to the point at once.

'St. John, I am unhappy because you are still angry with me. Let us be friends.'

'I hope we are friends,' was the unmoved reply; while he still watched the rising of the moon, which he had been contemplating as I approached.

'No, St. John, we are not friends as we were. You know that.'

'Are we not? That is wrong. For my part, I wish you no ill and all good.'

'I believe you, St. John; for I am sure you are incapable of wishing any one ill; but, as I am your kinswoman, I should desire somewhat more of affection than that sort of general philanthropy you extend to mere strangers.'

'Of course,' he said. 'Your wish is reasonable, and I am far from regarding you as a stranger.'

This, spoken in a cool, tranquil tone, was mortifying and baffling enough. Had I attended to the suggestions of pride and ire, I should immediately have left him; but something worked within me more strongly than those feelings could. I deeply venerated my cousin's talent and principle. His friendship was of value to me: to lose it tried me severely. I would not so soon relinquish the attempt to reconquer it.

'Must we part in this way, St. John? And when you go to India, will you leave me so, without a kinder word than you have yet spoken?'

He now turned quite from the moon and faced me.

'When I go to India, Jane, will I leave you! What! do you not go to India?'

'You said I could not unless I married you.'

'And you will not marry me! You adhere to that resolution?'

Reader, do you know, as I do, what terror those cold people can put into the ice of their questions? How much of the fall of the avalanche is in their anger? of the breaking up of the frozen sea in their displeasure?

'No, St. John, I will not marry you. I adhere to my resolution.'

The avalanche had shaken and slid a little forward, but it did not yet crash down.

'Once more, why this refusal?' he asked.

'Formerly,' I answered, 'because you did not love me; now, I reply, because you almost hate me. If I were to marry you, you would kill me.

You are killing me now.'

His lips and cheeks turned white- quite white.

'I should kill you- I am killing you? Your words are such as ought not to be used: violent, unfeminine, and untrue. They betray an unfortunate state of mind: they merit severe reproof: they would seem inexcusable, but that it is the duty of man to forgive his fellow even until seventy-and-seven times.'

I had finished the business now. While earnestly wishing to erase from his mind the trace of my former offence, I had stamped on that tenacious surface another and far deeper impression: I had burnt it in.

'Now you will indeed hate me,' I said. 'It is useless to attempt to conciliate you: I see I have made an eternal enemy of you.'

A fresh wrong did these words inflict: the worse, because they touched on the truth. That bloodless lip quivered to a temporary spasm. I knew the steely ire I had whetted. I was heart-wrung.

'You utterly misinterpret my words,' I said, at once seizing his hand: 'I have no intention to grieve or pain you- indeed, I have not.'

Most bitterly he smiled- most decidedly he withdrew his hand from mine. 'And now you recall your promise, and will not go to India at all, I presume?' said he, after a considerable pause.

'Yes, I will, as your assistant,' I answered.

A very long silence succeeded. What struggle there was in him between Nature and Grace in this interval, I cannot tell: only singular gleams scintillated in his eyes, and strange shadows passed over his face. He spoke at last.

'I before proved to you the absurdity of a single woman of your age proposing to accompany abroad a single man of mine. I proved it to you in such terms as, I should have thought, would have prevented your ever again alluding to the plan. That you have done so, I regret- for your sake.'

I interrupted him. Anything like a tangible reproach gave me courage at once. 'Keep to common sense, St. John: you are verging on nonsense. You pretend to be shocked by what I have said. You are not really shocked: for, with your superior mind, you cannot be either so dull or so conceited as to misunderstand my meaning. I say again, I will be your curate, if you like, but never your wife.'

Again he turned lividly pale; but, as before, controlled his passion perfectly. He answered emphatically but calmly-

'A female curate, who is not my wife, would never suit me. With me, then, it seems, you cannot go: but if you are sincere in your offer, I will, while in town, speak to a married missionary, whose wife needs a coadjutor. Your own fortune will make you independent of the Society's aid; and thus you may still be spared the dishonour of breaking your promise and deserting the band you engaged to join.'

Now I never had, as the reader knows, either given any formal promise or entered into any engagement; and this language was all much too hard and much too despotic for the occasion. I replied-

'There is no dishonour, no breach of promise, no desertion in the case. I am not under the slightest obligation to go to India, especially with strangers. With you I would have ventured much, because I admire, confide in, and, as a sister, I love you; but I am convinced that, go when and with whom I would, I should not live long in that climate.'

'Ah! you are afraid of yourself,' he said, curling his lip.

'I am. God did not give me my life to throw away; and to do as you wish me would, I begin to think, be almost equivalent to committing suicide. Moreover, before I definitely resolve on quitting England, I will know for certain whether I cannot be of greater use by remaining in it than by leaving it.'

'What do you mean?'

'It would be fruitless to attempt to explain; but there is a point on which I have long endured painful doubt, and I can go nowhere till by some means that doubt is removed.'

'I know where your heart turns and to what it clings. The interest you cherish is lawless and unconsecrated. Long since you ought to have crushed it: now you should blush to allude to it. You think of Mr. Rochester?'

It was true. I confessed it by silence.

'Are you going to seek Mr. Rochester?'

'I must find out what is become of him.'

'It remains for me, then,' he said, 'to remember you in my prayers, and to entreat God for you, in all earnestness, that you may not indeed become a castaway. I had thought I recognised in you one of the chosen. But God sees not as man sees: His will be done.'

He opened the gate, passed through it, and strayed away down the glen. He was soon out of sight.

On re-entering the parlour, I found Diana standing at the window, looking very thoughtful. Diana was a great deal taller than I:. she put her hand on my shoulder, and, stooping, examined my face.

'Jane,' she said, 'you are always agitated and pale now. I am sure there is something the matter. Tell me what business St. John and you have on hands. I have watched you this half hour from the window; you must forgive my being such a spy, but for a long time I have fancied I hardly know what. St. John is a strange being-'

She paused- I did not speak: soon she resumed-

'That brother of mine cherishes peculiar views of some sort respecting you, I am sure: he has long distinguished you by a notice and interest he never showed to any one else- to what end? I wish he loved you- does he, Jane?'

I put her cool hand to my hot forehead; 'No, Die, not one whit.'

'Then why does he follow you so with his eyes, and get you so frequently alone with him, and keep you so continually at his side?

Mary and I had both concluded he wished you to marry him.'

'He does- he has asked me to be his wife.'

Diana clapped her hands. 'That is just what we hoped and thought!

And you will marry him, Jane, won't you? And then he will stay in England.'

'Far from that, Diana; his sole idea in proposing to me is to procure a fitting fellow-labourer in his Indian toils.'

'What! He wishes you to go to India?'

'Yes.'

'Madness!' she exclaimed. 'You would not live three months there, I am certain. You never shall go: you have not consented, have you, Jane?'

'I have refused to marry him-'

'And have consequently displeased him?' she suggested.

'Deeply: he will never forgive me, I fear: yet I offered to accompany him as his sister.'

'It was frantic folly to do so, Jane. Think of the task you undertook- one of incessant fatigue, where fatigue kills even the strong, and you are weak. St. John- you know him- would urge you to impossibilities: with him there would be no permission to rest during the hot hours; and unfortunately, I have noticed, whatever he exacts, you force yourself to perform. I am astonished you found courage to refuse his hand. You do not love him then, Jane?'

'Not as a husband.'

'Yet he is a handsome fellow.'

'And I am so plain, you see, Die. We should never suit.'

'Plain! You? Not at all. You are much too pretty, as well as too good, to be grilled alive in Calcutta.' And again she earnestly conjured me to give up all thoughts of going out with her brother.

'I must indeed,' I said; 'for when just now I repeated the offer of serving him for a deacon, he expressed himself shocked at my want of decency. He seemed to think I had committed an impropriety in proposing to accompany him unmarried: as if I had not from the first hoped to find in him a brother, and habitually regarded him as such.'

'What makes you say he does not love you, Jane?'

'You should hear himself on the subject. He has again and again explained that it is not himself, but his office he wishes to mate. He has told me I am formed for labour- not for love: which is true, no doubt. But, in my opinion, if I am not formed for love, it follows that I am not formed for marriage. Would it not be strange, Die, to be chained for life to a man who regarded one but as a useful tool?'

'Insupportable- unnatural- out of the question!'

'And then,' I continued, 'though I have only sisterly affection for him now, yet, if forced to be his wife, I can imagine the possibility of conceiving an inevitable, strange, torturing kind of love for him, because he is so talented; and there is often a certain heroic grandeur in his look, manner, and conversation. In that case, my lot would become unspeakably wretched. He would not want me to love him; and if I showed the feeling, he would make me sensible that it was a superfluity, unrequired by him, unbecoming in me. I know he would.'

'And yet St. John is a good man,' said Diana.

'He is a good and a great man; but he forgets, pitilessly, the feelings and claims of little people, in pursuing his own large views.

It is better, therefore, for the insignificant to keep out of his way, lest, in his progress, he should trample them down. Here he comes! I will leave you, Diana.' And I hastened upstairs as I saw him entering the garden.

But I was forced to meet him again at supper. During that meal he appeared just as composed as usual. I had thought he would hardly speak to me, and I was certain he had given up the pursuit of his matrimonial scheme: the sequel showed I was mistaken on both points.

He addressed me precisely in his ordinary manner, or what had, of late, been his ordinary manner- one scrupulously polite. No doubt he had invoked the help of the Holy Spirit to subdue the anger I had roused in him, and now believed he had forgiven me once more.

For the evening reading before prayers, he selected the twenty-first chapter of Revelation. It was at all times pleasant to listen while from his lips fell the words of the Bible: never did his fine voice sound at once so sweet and full- never did his manner  become so impressive in its noble simplicity, as when he delivered the oracles of God: and to-night that voice took a more solemn tone-   that manner a more thrilling meaning- as he sat in the midst of his household circle (the May moon shining in through the uncurtained window, and rendering almost unnecessary the light of the candle on  the table): as he sat there, bending over the great old Bible, and described from its page the vision of the new heaven and the new earth- told how God would come to dwell with men, how He would wipe away all tears from their eyes, and promised that there should be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying, nor any more pain, because the former things were passed away.

The succeeding words thrilled me strangely as he spoke them: especially as I felt, by the slight, indescribable alteration in sound, that in uttering them, his eye had turned on me.

'He that overcometh shall inherit all things; and I will be his God, and he shall be my son. But,' was slowly, distinctly read, 'the fearful, the unbelieving, etc., shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone, which is the second death.'

Henceforward, I knew what fate St. John feared for me. A calm, subdued triumph, blent with a longing earnestness, marked his enunciation of the last glorious verses of that chapter. The reader believed his name was already written in the Lamb's book of life, and he yearned after the hour which should admit him to the city to which the kings of the earth bring their glory and honour; which has no need of sun or moon to shine in it, because the glory of God lightens it, and the Lamb is the light thereof.

In the prayer following the chapter, all his energy gathered- all his stern zeal woke: he was in deep earnest, wrestling with God, and resolved on a conquest. He supplicated strength for the weak-hearted; guidance for wanderers from the fold: a return, even at the eleventh hour, for those whom the temptations of the world and the flesh were luring from the narrow path. He asked, he urged, he claimed the boon of a brand snatched from the burning. Earnestness is ever deeply solemn: first, as I listened to that prayer, I wondered

at his; then, when it continued and rose, I was touched by it, and at last awed. He felt the greatness and goodness of his purpose so sincerely: others who heard him plead for it, could not but feel it too.

The prayer over, we took leave of him: he was to go at a very early hour in the morning. Diana and Mary having kissed him, left the room- in compliance, I think, with a whispered hint from him: I tendered my hand, and wished him a pleasant journey.

'Thank you, Jane. As I said, I shall return from Cambridge in a fortnight: that space, then, is yet left you for reflection. If I listened to human pride, I should say no more to you of marriage with me; but I listen to my duty, and keep steadily in view my first aim- to do all things to the glory of God. My Master was long-suffering: so will I be. I cannot give you up to perdition as a vessel of wrath: repent- resolve, while there is yet time. Remember, we are bid to work while it is day- warned that "the night cometh when no man shall work." Remember the fate of Dives, who had his good things in this life. God give you strength to choose that better part which shall not be taken from you!'

He laid his hand on my head as he uttered the last words. He had spoken earnestly, mildly: his look was not, indeed, that of a lover beholding his mistress, but it was that of a pastor recalling his wandering sheep- or better, of a guardian angel watching the soul for which he is responsible. All men of talent, whether they be men of feeling or not; whether they be zealots, or aspirants, or despots- provided only they be sincere- have their sublime moments, when they subdue and rule. I felt veneration for St. John- veneration so strong that its impetus thrust me at once to the point I had so long shunned. I was tempted to cease struggling with him- to rush down the torrent of his will into the gulf of his existence, and there lose my own. I was almost as hard beset by him now as I had been once before, in a different way, by another. I was a fool both times. To have yielded then would have been an error of principle; to have yielded now would have been an error of judgment. So I think at this hour, when I look back to the crisis through the quiet medium of time:  I was unconscious of folly at the instant.

I stood motionless under my hierophant's touch. My refusals were forgotten- my fears overcome- my wrestlings paralysed. The Impossible- i.e., my marriage with St. John- was fast becoming the Possible. All was changing utterly with a sudden sweep. Religion called- Angels beckoned- God commanded- life rolled together like a scroll- death's gates opening, showed eternity beyond: it seemed, that for safety and bliss there, all here might be sacrificed in a second. The dim room was full of visions.

'Could you decide now?' asked the missionary. The inquiry was put in gentle tones: he drew me to him as gently. Oh, that gentleness! how far more potent is it than force! I could resist St. John's wrath: I grew pliant as a reed under his kindness. Yet I knew all the time, if I yielded now, I should not the less be made to repent, some day, of my former rebellion. His nature was not changed by one hour of solemn prayer: it was only elevated.

'I could decide if I were but certain,' I answered: 'were I but convinced that it is God's will I should marry you, I could vow to marry you here and now- come afterwards what would!'

'My prayers are heard!' ejaculated St. John. He pressed his hand firmer on my head, as if he claimed me: he surrounded me with his arm, almost as if he loved me (I say almost- I knew the difference- for I had felt what it was to be loved; but, like him, I had now put love  out of the question, and thought only of duty). I contended with my inward dimness of vision, before which clouds yet rolled. I sincerely, deeply, fervently longed to do what was right; and only that. 'Show me, show me the path!' I entreated of Heaven. I was excited more than I had ever been; and whether what followed was the effect of excitement the reader shall judge.

All the house was still; for I believe all, except St. John and myself, were now retired to rest. The one candle was dying out: the room was full of moonlight. My heart beat fast and thick: I heard its throb. Suddenly it stood still to an inexpressible feeling that thrilled it through, and passed at once to my head and extremities.

The feeling was not like an electric shock, but it was quite as sharp, as strange, as startling: it acted on my senses as if their utmost activity hitherto had been but torpor, from which they were now summoned and forced to wake. They rose expectant: eye and ear waited while the flesh quivered on my bones.

'What have you heard? What do you see?' asked St. John. I saw nothing, but I heard a voice somewhere cry-

'Jane! Jane! Jane!'- nothing more.

'O God! what is it?' I gasped.

I might have said, 'Where is it?' for it did not seem in the room- nor in the house- nor in the garden; it did not come out of the air- nor from under the earth- nor from overhead. I had heard it- where, or whence, for ever impossible to know! And it was the voice of a human being- a known, loved, well-remembered voice- that of Edward Fairfax Rochester; and it spoke in pain and woe, wildly, eerily, urgently.

'I am coming!' I cried. 'Wait for me! Oh, I will come!' I flew to the door and looked into the passage: it was dark. I ran out into the garden: it was void.

'Where are you?' I exclaimed.

The hills beyond Marsh Glen sent the answer faintly back- 'Where are you?' I listened. The wind sighed low in the firs: all was moorland loneliness and midnight hush.

'Down superstition!' I commented, as that spectre rose up black by the black yew at the gate. 'This is not thy deception, nor thy witchcraft: it is the work of nature. She was roused, and did- no miracle- but her best.'

I broke from St. John, who had followed, and would have detained me. It was my time to assume ascendency. My powers were in play and in force. I told him to forbear question or remark; I desired him to leave me: I must and would be alone. He obeyed at once. Where there is energy to command well enough, obedience never fails. I mounted to my chamber; locked myself in; fell on my knees; and prayed in my way- a different way to St. John's, but effective in its own fashion. I seemed to penetrate very near a Mighty Spirit; and my soul rushed out in gratitude at His feet. I rose from the thanksgiving- took a resolve- and lay down, unscared, enlightened- eager but for the daylight.

第二天他并没有像他说的那样去剑桥。他把动身的日子推迟了整整一周。在这段时间内，他让我感觉到了一个善良却苛刻、真诚却不宽容的人，能给予得罪了他的人多么严厉的惩罚。他没有公开的敌视行为，没有一句责备的话，却使我能立刻相信，我已得不到他的欢心。

不是说圣.约翰怀着跟基督教不相容的报复心——也不是说要是他有这份能耐，就会伤着我一根头发怎么的。以本性和原则而言，他超越了满足于卑鄙的报复。他原谅我说了蔑视他和他的爱情的话，但他并没有忘记这些话本身。只要他和我还活着，他就永远不会忘掉。我从他转向我时的神态中看到，这些话总是写在我与他之间的空气中，无论什么时候我一开口，在他听来，我的嗓音里总有着这些话的味道，他给我的每个回答也回响着这些话的余音。

他并没有避免同我交谈，他甚至还像往常那样每天早晨把我叫到他书桌旁。我担心他心中的堕落者有一种秘而不宜，也不为纯洁的基督徒所欣赏的乐趣，表明他能多么巧妙地在一如既往的言论举动中，从每个行动和每句话里，抽掉某种曾使他的言语和风度产生严肃魅力的关心和赞许心情。对我来说，他实际上已不再是有血有肉的活体，而是一块大理石。他的眼睛是一块又冷又亮的蓝宝石，他的舌头是说话的工具——如此而已。

这一切对我是一种折磨——细细的慢悠悠的折磨。它不断激起微弱的怒火和令人颤抖的烦恼，弄得我心烦意乱，神衰力竭。假如我是他的妻子，我觉得这位纯洁如没有阳光的深渊的好人，不必从我的血管里抽取一滴血，也不会在清白的良心上留下一丝罪恶的痕迹，就能很快杀死我。我想抚慰他时尤其感到这点，我的同情得不到呼应。他并不因为疏远而感到痛苦——他没有和解的愿望。尽管我一串串落下的眼泪在我们一起埋头阅读的书页上泛起了水泡，他丝毫不为所动，就仿佛他的心确实是一块石头或金属。与此同时，他对妹妹们似乎比平常更好些了，唯恐单单冷淡还不足以使我相信，我已那么彻底被逐出教门，他又加上了反差的力量。我确信他这么做不是因为恶意，而是出于对原则的维护。

他离家前夕，我偶然见他日落时在园子里散步。瞧着他的身影，我想起这个眼下虽然与我有些隔膜的人，曾经救过我的性命，又是我的近亲，心里便感动得打算作最后一次努力，来恢复友谊。我出了门，向他走去，他倚着小门站着，我立刻开门见山地说：

“圣.约翰，我不大高兴，因为你还在生我的气，让我们成为朋友吧。”

“但愿我们是朋友，”他一面无动于衷地回答，一面仍然仰望着冉冉上升的月亮，我走近他时他就早已那么凝视着了。

“不，圣.约翰。我们并不像过去那样是朋友了。这你知道。”

“难道我们不是吗？这话可错了。就我来说，我并没希望你倒霉，而是愿你一切都好。”

“我相信你，圣.约翰，因为我深信你不会希望别人倒霉，不过既然我是你的亲戚，我就希望多得到一分爱，超过你施予一般陌路人的博爱。”

“当然，”他说，“你的愿望是合理的，我决没有把你当作陌路人。”

这话说得沉着镇静，但也是够折磨人令人丧气的。要是我迁就自尊和恼怒的苗头，我会立刻走掉。但是我内心有某种比那些感情更强烈的东西在活动。我十分敬佩我表兄的才能和为人，他的友谊对我来说很宝贵，失掉它会使我心里非常难受。我不会那么很快就放弃重新征服的念头。

“难道我们就得这样分别了吗？圣.约翰？你就这么离开我去印度，不说一句更好听的话吗？”

他这会儿已完全不看月亮，把面孔转向了我。

“我去印度就是离开你吗，简？什么！你不去印度？”

“你说我不能去，除非嫁给你。”

“你将不同我结婚！你坚持这个决定？”

读者呀，你可像我一样知道，这些冷酷的人能赋予他们冰一般的问题什么样的恐怖吗？知道他们一动怒多么像雪崩吗？一不高兴多么像冰海暴裂吗？

“不，圣，约翰，我不嫁你，并坚持自己的决定。”

崩裂的冰雪抖动着往前滑了一下，但还没有塌下来。

“再说一遍，为什么拒绝？”他问。

“以前我回答过了，因为你不爱我。现在我回答。因为你差不多恨我。要是我跟你结婚，你会要我的命，现在就要我的命了。”

他的嘴唇和脸硕顿时刷白——很白很白。

“我会要你的命——我现在就在要你的命？你这些话很凶也不真实，不象女人说的。你根本就不应该这么说。这些话暴露了心灵的一种不幸状态，应当严受责备，而且是不可宽恕的。但是人的职责是宽恕他的同胞，即使是宽恕他七十七次。”

这下可完蛋了。我原是希望从他的脑海里抹去以前的伤痕，却不料在它坚韧的表面上打上了更深的印记，我已经把它烙到里面去了。

“现在你真的恨我了，”我说，“再要同你和解也没有用了。我知道我已把你变成了永久的敌人。”

这些话好似雪上加霜，因为触及事实而更加伤人。没有血色的嘴唇抖动着一下子抽搐起来。我知道我己煽起了钢刀一般的愤怒。我心里痛苦不堪。

“你完全误解了我的话，”我立刻抓住他的手说，“我无意让你难受或痛苦——真的，我没有这个意思。”

他苦笑着——非常坚决地把手抽了回去。“我想，现在你收回你的允诺，根本不去印度了，是吗？”一阵相当长的静默之后他说。

“不，我要去的，当你的助手，”我回答。

接着是一阵很长的沉默。在这间隙，天性与情理之间究竟如何搏斗着，我说不上来，他的眼睛闪着奇异的光芒，奇怪的阴影掠过他的面孔。他终于开口了。

“我以前曾向你证明，像你这般年纪的单身女人，陪伴像我这样的男人是荒唐的。我已把话说到这样的地步，我想你不会再提起这个打算了。很遗憾你居然还是提了——为你感到遗憾。”

我打断了他。类似这种具体的责备反而立刻给了我勇气。“你要通情理，圣.约翰！你近乎胡言乱语了。你假装对我所说的感到震惊，其实你并没有，因为像你这样出色的脑袋，不可能那么迟钝，或者自负，以致于误解我的意思。我再说一次，要是你高兴，我可以当你的副牧师，而不是你妻子。”

我打断了他。类似这种具体的责备反而立刻给了我勇气。“你要通情理，圣.约翰！你近乎胡言乱语了。你假装对我所说的感到震惊，其实你并没有，因为像你这样出色的脑袋，不可能那么迟钝，或者自负，以致于误解我的意思。我再说一次，要是你高兴，我可以当你的副牧师，而不是你妻子。”

他再次脸色刷白，但像以前一样还是完全控制住了自己的感情。他的回答很有力却也很镇静：

“一个不做我妻子的女副牧师，对我绝不合适。那么看来，你是不能同我去了。但要是你的建议很诚心，那我去镇上的时候可以同一个已婚的教士说说，他的妻子需要一个助手。你有自己的财产，不必依赖教会的赞助，这样，你就不会因为失信和毁约而感到耻辱。”

读者们明白，我从来没有作过一本正经的许诺，也没有跟谁订下过约定。在这种场合，他的话说得太狠，太专横了。我回答：

“在这件事情上，并无耻辱可言，也不存在着失信和毁约。我丝毫没有去印度的义务，尤其是同陌生人。同你，我愿意冒很大的险，因为我佩服你，信任你。作为一个妹妹，我爱你。但我相信，不管什么时候去，跟谁去，在那种气候条件下我活不长久。”

“呵，你怕你自己，”他噘起嘴唇说。

“我是害怕。上帝给了我生命不是让我虚掷的，而按你的意愿去做，我想无异于自杀。况且，我在决心离开英国之前，还要确实弄明白，留在这儿是不是比离开更有价值。”

“你这是什么意思？”

“解释也是徒劳的，在这一点上我长期忍受着痛苦的疑虑，不通过某种办法来解除疑团，我什么地方也不能去。”

“我知道你的心向着哪里，依恋着什么。你所怀的兴趣是非法的，不神圣的。你早该将它抛弃了。这会儿你应当为提起它来而感到害臊。你是不是想着罗切斯特先生？”

确实如此，我默认了。

“你要去找罗切斯特先生吗？”

“我得弄清楚他怎么样了。”

“那么，”他说，“就让我在祷告中记住你，真诚地祈求上帝不让你真的成为弃儿。我想我已认为你是主的选民了。不过上帝的眼光跟人的不一样，他的才真正起作用。”

他打开了栅门，走了出去，溜达着行下峡谷，很快就不见了。

我再次进入客厅的时候，发觉黛安娜伫立窗边，看上去若有所思，她个子比我高得多。她把手搭在我肩上，俯身端详起我的脸来。

“简，”她说，“现在你总是脸色苍白，焦躁不安。肯定是出了什么事了。告诉我，圣.约翰同你在闹什么别扭。我从这扇窗看了半个小时了。你得原谅我那么暗中监视你，但过了好久我还不知道自己是怎么回事。圣.约翰是个怪人——”

她顿了一下一一我没有吱声、她立刻接着说——：

“我这位哥哥对你的看法非同一般，我敢肯定。他早就对你特别注意和关心了，对别人可从来没有这样——什么目的呢？但愿他爱上了你——他爱你吗，简？”

我把她冷冰冰的手放在我发烫的额头上：“不，黛，没有那回事儿。”

“那他干嘛眼睛老盯着你——老是要你同他单独在一起，而且一直把你留在他身边？玛丽和我都断定他希望你嫁给他。”

“他确实是这样——他求我做他的妻自鸬娜恕３媚慊估吹眉暗氖焙蜮慊诎伞??戮鲂陌伞＜亲。?颐鞘艿椒愿溃??冒滋旃ぷ鳌??颐腔故艿骄?妫??谝菇?剑?兔挥腥四茏鞴ち恕！?亲∧切┙袷老砀５牟浦鞯拿?恕Ｉ系凼鼓阌辛α垦≡窈玫母７荩?飧７菔遣荒艽幽隳嵌?嶙叩摹！?br> 他说最后几个字时把手放在我头上，话说得很诚恳，也很委婉。说真的，他用的不是一个情人看女友的眼神，而是牧师召回迷途羔羊的目光——或许更好些，是一个守护神注视着他所监护的灵魂的目光，一切有才能的人，无论有无感情，无论是狂热者、还是追求者，抑或暴君——只要是诚恳的——在征服和统治期间都有令人崇敬的时刻。我崇敬圣.约翰——那么五体投地，结果所产生的冲击力一下子把我推到了我久久回避的那一点上。我很想停止同他搏斗——很想让他意志的洪流急速注入他生活的海峡，与我的水乳交融。现在我被他所困扰，几乎就象当初我受到另一个人的不同方式的困扰一样，两次我都做了傻瓜，在当时让步会是原则上的错误；而现在让步就会犯判断的错误。所以此时此刻我想，当我透过时间的平静中介，回头去看那危机时，当初我并没有意识到自己的愚蠢。

我一秙 ?啵”

“不过他是个漂亮的家伙。”

“而我又长得那么平庸，你知道，黛。我们决不般配。”

“平庸！你？绝对不是。你太漂亮，也太好了，不值得那么活活地放到加尔各答去烤。”她再次真诚地恳求我放弃同她兄长一起出国的一切念头。

“说真的我得这样，”我说，“因为刚才我再次提出愿意做他的副牧师时，他对我的不恭表示惊奇。他好像认为提议不结婚陪他去是有失体统，仿佛我一开始就不希望把他当成兄长，而且一直这么看他似的。”

“你怎么会说他不爱你呢，简？”

“你应该听听他自己谈谈对这个问题的看法。他口口声声解释说他要结婚，不是为了他自己，而是为了他的圣职。他还告诉我，我生来就是为了劳作，而不是为了爱情。无疑这话也有道理。但在我看来，如果我生来不是为了爱情，那么随之而来，也生来不是为了婚配。这岂不是咄咄怪事，黛，一生跟一个男人拴在一起，而他只把我当作一样有用的工具？”

“不能容忍——不通人情——办不到的！”

“还有，”我继续说，“虽然我现在对他有兄妹之情，但要是我被迫做了他妻子，我能想象，我对他的爱很可能会无可奈何，奇怪反常，备受折磨。因为他那么有才能，神态、举动和谈吐无不诱出一种英雄气概。那样，我的命运就会悲惨得难以形容。他会不要我爱他，要是我依然有所表露，他会让我感到，那是多余的，他既不需要，对我也不合适。我知道他会这样。”

“而圣.约翰是个好人，”黛安娜说。

“他是一个好人，也是个伟人。可惜他在追求大目标时，忘掉了小人物的情感和要求。因此，微不足道的人还是离他远一点好，免得他在前进时把他们踩倒了。他来了，我得走了，黛安娜。”我见他进了园子，便匆匆上楼去了。

但是吃晚饭时我不得不再次与他相遇。用餐时他完全像平常那样显得很平静，我本以为他不会同我说话了，而且确信他已经放弃了自己的婚姻计划，但后来的情况表明，在这两点上我都错了。他完全以平常的态度，或者说最近已习以为常的态度同我说话。无疑他求助于圣灵来克制我在他心里所激起的愤怒，现在他相信已再次宽恕了我。

祷告前的晚读，他选了《启示录》的第二十一章。倾听《圣经》中的话从他嘴里吐出来始终是一种享受。他在发表上帝的圣谕时，他优美的嗓子是最洪亮又最动听的，他的态度之高尚纯朴也最令人难忘。而今天晚上，他的语调更加严肃——他的态度更富有令人震颤的含义——他坐在围成一圈的家人中间（五月的月亮透过没有拉上窗帘的窗子，泻进室内，使桌上的烛光显得几乎是多余的了）。他坐在那里，低头看着伟大而古老的圣经，描绘着书页中的新天堂和新世界的幻境——告诉大家上帝如何会来到世间与人同住，如何会抹去人们的眼泪，并允诺不会再有死亡，也不会有忧愁或者哭泣，不会有痛苦，因为这些往事都已一去不复回了。

接着的一番话，他讲得让我出奇地激动不已，尤其是从他声音的难以描述的细小变化中，我感觉到，他在说这些话的时候，目光已经转向了我。

“得胜的，必承受这些为业，我要作他的上帝，他要作我的儿子。”这段话读得又慢又清楚，“唯有胆怯的，不信的……他们的份，就在烧着硫磺的火湖里，这是第二次的死。”

从此。我知道圣.约翰担心什么命运会落在我头上。

他在朗读那一章最后几句壮丽的诗句时，露出一种平静而克制的得意之情，混杂着竭诚的渴望。这位朗读者相信，他的名字已经写在羔羊生命册上了，他盼望着允许他进城的时刻，地上的君王已将自己的荣耀光照，又有羔羊为城的灯。

在这章之后的祈祷中，他调动了全身的活力——他那一本正经的热情又复苏了，他虔诚地向上帝祈祷，决心要取胜。他祈求给弱者以力量；给脱离羊栏的迷路人以方向；让那些受世俗生活和情欲诱惑而离开正道者，关键时刻迷途而知返。他请求，他敦促，他要求上天开恩，让他们免于火烙。真诚永远是庄严的。开始，我听着祈祷的时候，对他的真诚心存疑惑；接着，祈祷继续进行并声音越来越响时，我被它所打动，最后终于不胜敬畏了。他真诚地感到他目的之伟大和高尚；那些听他为此祈祷的人也不能不产生同感。

祈祷之后，我们向他告别，因为第二天一早他就要出门。黛安娜和玛丽吻了他以后离开了房间，想必是听从他的悄声暗示的缘故。我伸出手去，祝他旅途愉快。

“谢谢你，简。我说过，两周后我会从剑桥返回，那么这段时间留着供你思考。要是我听从人的尊严，我应当不再说起你同我结婚的事儿，但我听从职责，一直注视着我的第一个目标——为上帝的荣誉而竭尽全力。我的主长期受苦受难，我也会这样。我不能让你永坠地狱，变成受上天谴责的人。趁你还来得及的时候忏悔吧——下决心吧。记住，我们受到吩咐，要趁白天工作——我们还受到警告，‘黑夜将到，就没有人能作工了。’记住那些今世享福的财主的命运。上帝使你有力量选择好的福份，这福份是不能从你那儿夺走的。”

他说最后几个字时把手放在我头上，话说得很诚恳，也很委婉。说真的，他用的不是一个情人看女友的眼神，而是牧师召回迷途羔羊的目光——或许更好些，是一个守护神注视着他所监护的灵魂的目光，一切有才能的人，无论有无感情，无论是狂热者、还是追求者，抑或暴君——只要是诚恳的——在征服和统治期间都有令人崇敬的时刻。我崇敬圣.约翰——那么五体投地，结果所产生的冲击力一下子把我推到了我久久回避的那一点上。我很想停止同他搏斗——很想让他意志的洪流急速注入他生活的海峡，与我的水乳交融。现在我被他所困扰，几乎就象当初我受到另一个人的不同方式的困扰一样，两次我都做了傻瓜，在当时让步会是原则上的错误；而现在让步就会犯判断的错误。所以此时此刻我想，当我透过时间的平静中介，回头去看那危机时，当初我并没有意识到自己的愚蠢。

我一动不动地站着，受着我的圣师的触摸。我忘却了拒绝——克服了恐惧——停止了搏斗。不可能的事——也就是我与圣.约翰的婚姻——很快要成为可能了。猛地一阵风过，全都变了样。宗教在呼唤——天使在招手——上帝在指挥——生命被卷起，好像书卷——死亡之门打开了，露出了彼岸的永恒。后来，为了那里的安全和幸福，顷刻之间这里什么都可以牺牲。阴暗的房间里充满了幻象。

“你现在就能决定吗？”传教士问。这问活的语调很温柔，他同样温柔地把我拉向他。呵，那么温柔！它比强迫要有力得多！我能抵御圣.约翰的愤怒，但面对他的和善，我便像芦苇一般柔顺了。但我始终很清楚，要是我现在让步，有一天我照样会对我以前的叛逆感到懊悔。他的本性并不因为一小时的庄严析祷而改变，只不过升华了而已。

“只要有把握，我就能决定，”我回答：“只要能说服我嫁给你确实是上帝的意志，那我此时此刻就可以发誓嫁给你——不管以后会发生什么？”

“我的祈祷应验了！”圣.约翰失声叫道。他的手在我头上压得更紧了，仿佛他己经把我要去了。他用胳膊搂住我，几乎像是爱着我（我说“几乎”——我知道这中间的差别——因为我曾感受过被爱的滋味。但是像他一样，我已把爱置之度外，想的只是职守了）。我在疑云翻滚的内心同不明朗的态度斗争着。我诚恳地、深深地、热切地期望去做对的事情，也只做对的事情。“给我指点一下——给我指点一下道路吧？”我祈求上苍。我从来没有像现在那么激动过。至于后来发生的事情是不是激动的结果，读者自可判断。

整座房子寂静无声。因为我相信，除了圣.约翰和我自己，所有的人都安息了。那一根蜡烛幽幽将灭，室内洒满了月光。我的心砰砰乱跳，我听见了它的搏动声。突然一种难以言表的感觉使我的心为之震颤，并立即涌向我的头脑和四肢，我的心随之停止了跳动。这种感觉不象一阵电击，但它一样地尖锐，一样地古怪，一样地惊人。它作用于我的感官，仿佛它们在这之前的最活跃时刻也只不过处于麻木状态。而现在它们受到了召唤，被弄醒了。它们起来了，充满了期待，眼睛和耳朵等候着，而肌肉在骨头上哆嗦。

整座房子寂静无声。因为我相信，除了圣.约翰和我自己，所有的人都安息了。那一根蜡烛幽幽将灭，室内洒满了月光。我的心砰砰乱跳，我听见了它的搏动声。突然一种难以言表的感觉使我的心为之震颤，并立即涌向我的头脑和四肢，我的心随之停止了跳动。这种感觉不象一阵电击，但它一样地尖锐，一样地古怪，一样地惊人。它作用于我的感官，仿佛它们在这之前的最活跃时刻也只不过处于麻木状态。而现在它们受到了召唤，被弄醒了。它们起来了，充满了期待，眼睛和耳朵等候着，而肌肉在骨头上哆嗦。

“你听到了什么啦？你看见什么了吗？”圣.约翰问。我什么也没有看到，可是我听见一个声音在什么地方叫唤着——

“简！简！简！”随后什么也听不到了。

“呵，上帝呀！那是什么声音？”我喘息着。

我本该说“这声音是从哪里来的？”因为它似乎不在房间里——也不在屋子里——也不在花园里。它不是来自空中——也不是来自地下——也不是来自头顶。我已经听到了这声音——从何而来，或者为何而来，那是永远无法知道的！而这是一个声音——一个熟悉、亲切、记忆犹新的声音——爱德华.费尔法克斯.罗切斯特的声音。这声音痛苦而悲哀——显得狂乱、怪异和急切。

“我来了！”我叫道。“等我一下！呵，我会来的！”我飞也似地走到门边，向走廊里窥视着，那时一灯漆黑，我冲进花园，里边空空如也。

“你在哪儿？”我喊道。

沼泽谷另一边的山峦隐隐约约地把回答传了过来——“你在哪儿？”我倾听着。风在冷杉中低吟着，一切只有荒原的孤独和午夜的沉寂。

“去你的迷信！”那幽灵黑魈魈地在门外紫杉木旁边出现时我说道。“这不是你的骗局，也不是你的巫术，而是大自然的功劳。她苏醒了，虽然没有创造奇迹，却尽了最大的努力。”

我挣脱了跟着我并想留住我的圣.约翰。该轮到我处于支配地位了。我的力量在起作用，在发挥威力了。我告诉他不要再提问题，或是再发议论了。我希望他离开我。我必须而且也宁愿一个人呆着。他立刻听从了。只要有魄力下命令，别人总是听话的。我上楼回卧室，把自己锁在房里，跪了下来，以我的方式祈祷着——不同于圣.约翰的方式，他自有其效果，我似乎已进入了一颗伟大的心灵，我的灵魂感激地冲出去来到他脚边。我从感恩中站起来——下了决心——随后躺了下来，并不觉得害怕，却受到了启发——急切地盼着白昼的来临。