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Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, CHAPTER XXIX

CHAPTER XXIX

The recollection of about three days and nights succeeding this is very dim in my mind. I can recall some sensations felt in that interval; but few thoughts framed, and no actions performed. I knew I was in a small room and in a narrow bed. To that bed I seemed to have grown; I lay on it motionless as a stone; and to have torn me from it would have been almost to kill me. I took no note of the lapse of time—of the change from morning to noon, from noon to evening. I observed when any one entered or left the apartment: I could even tell who they were; I could understand what was said when the speaker stood near to me; but I could not answer; to open my lips or move my limbs was equally impossible. Hannah, the servant, was my most frequent visitor. Her coming disturbed me. I had a feeling that she wished me away: that she did not understand me or my circumstances; that she was prejudiced against me. Diana and Mary appeared in the chamber once or twice a day. They would whisper sentences of this sort at my bedside— “It is very well we took her in.”

“Yes; she would certainly have been found dead at the door in the morning had she been left out all night. I wonder what she has gone through?” “Strange hardships, I imagine—poor, emaciated, pallid wanderer?” “She is not an uneducated person, I should think, by her manner of speaking; her accent was quite pure; and the clothes she took off, though splashed and wet, were little worn and fine.” “She has a peculiar face; fleshless and haggard as it is, I rather like it; and when in good health and animated, I can fancy her physiognomy would be agreeable.” Never once in their dialogues did I hear a syllable of regret at the hospitality they had extended to me, or of suspicion of, or aversion to, myself. I was comforted. Mr.

St.

John came but once: he looked at me, and said my state of lethargy was the result of reaction from excessive and protracted fatigue. He pronounced it needless to send for a doctor: nature, he was sure, would manage best, left to herself. He said every nerve had been overstrained in some way, and the whole system must sleep torpid a while. There was no disease. He imagined my recovery would be rapid enough when once commenced. These opinions he delivered in a few words, in a quiet, low voice; and added, after a pause, in the tone of a man little accustomed to expansive comment, “Rather an unusual physiognomy; certainly, not indicative of vulgarity or degradation.” “Far otherwise,” responded Diana.

“To speak truth, St. John, my heart rather warms to the poor little soul. I wish we may be able to benefit her permanently.” “That is hardly likely,” was the reply.

“You will find she is some young lady who has had a misunderstanding with her friends, and has probably injudiciously left them. We may, perhaps, succeed in restoring her to them, if she is not obstinate: but I trace lines of force in her face which make me sceptical of her tractability.” He stood considering me some minutes; then added, “She looks sensible, but not at all handsome.” “She is so ill, St.

John.” “Ill or well, she would always be plain.

The grace and harmony of beauty are quite wanting in those features.” On the third day I was better; on the fourth, I could speak, move, rise in bed, and turn. Hannah had brought me some gruel and dry toast, about, as I supposed, the dinner-hour. I had eaten with relish: the food was good—void of the feverish flavour which had hitherto poisoned what I had swallowed. When she left me, I felt comparatively strong and revived: ere long satiety of repose and desire for action stirred me. I wished to rise; but what could I put on? Only my damp and bemired apparel; in which I had slept on the ground and fallen in the marsh. I felt ashamed to appear before my benefactors so clad. I was spared the humiliation. On a chair by the bedside were all my own things, clean and dry. My black silk frock hung against the wall. The traces of the bog were removed from it; the creases left by the wet smoothed out: it was quite decent. My very shoes and stockings were purified and rendered presentable. There were the means of washing in the room, and a comb and brush to smooth my hair. After a weary process, and resting every five minutes, I succeeded in dressing myself. My clothes hung loose on me; for I was much wasted, but I covered deficiencies with a shawl, and once more, clean and respectable looking—no speck of the dirt, no trace of the disorder I so hated, and which seemed so to degrade me, left—I crept down a stone staircase with the aid of the banisters, to a narrow low passage, and found my way presently to the kitchen. It was full of the fragrance of new bread and the warmth of a generous fire. Hannah was baking. Prejudices, it is well known, are most difficult to eradicate from the heart whose soil has never been loosened or fertilised by education: they grow there, firm as weeds among stones. Hannah had been cold and stiff, indeed, at the first: latterly she had begun to relent a little; and when she saw me come in tidy and well-dressed, she even smiled. “What, you have got up!” she said.

“You are better, then. You may sit you down in my chair on the hearthstone, if you will.” She pointed to the rocking-chair: I took it.

She bustled about, examining me every now and then with the corner of her eye. Turning to me, as she took some loaves from the oven, she asked bluntly— “Did you ever go a-begging afore you came here?” I was indignant for a moment; but remembering that anger was out of the question, and that I had indeed appeared as a beggar to her, I answered quietly, but still not without a certain marked firmness— “You are mistaken in supposing me a beggar.

I am no beggar; any more than yourself or your young ladies.” After a pause she said, “I dunnut understand that: you've like no house, nor no brass, I guess?” “The want of house or brass (by which I suppose you mean money) does not make a beggar in your sense of the word.” “Are you book-learned?” she inquired presently. “Yes, very.”

“But you've never been to a boarding-school?” “I was at a boarding-school eight years.”

She opened her eyes wide.

“Whatever cannot ye keep yourself for, then?” “I have kept myself; and, I trust, shall keep myself again. What are you going to do with these gooseberries?” I inquired, as she brought out a basket of the fruit. “Mak' 'em into pies.”

“Give them to me and I'll pick them.”

“Nay; I dunnut want ye to do nought.”

“But I must do something.

Let me have them.” She consented; and she even brought me a clean towel to spread over my dress, “lest,” as she said, “I should mucky it.” “Ye've not been used to sarvant's wark, I see by your hands,” she remarked. “Happen ye've been a dressmaker?” “No, you are wrong.

And now, never mind what I have been: don't trouble your head further about me; but tell me the name of the house where we are.” “Some calls it Marsh End, and some calls it Moor House.” “And the gentleman who lives here is called Mr. St.

John?” “Nay; he doesn't live here: he is only staying a while. When he is at home, he is in his own parish at Morton.” “That village a few miles off?

“Aye.”

“And what is he?”

“He is a parson.”

I remembered the answer of the old housekeeper at the parsonage, when I had asked to see the clergyman. “This, then, was his father's residence?” “Aye; old Mr. Rivers lived here, and his father, and grandfather, and gurt (great) grandfather afore him.” “The name, then, of that gentleman, is Mr. St.

John Rivers?” “Aye; St.

John is like his kirstened name.” “And his sisters are called Diana and Mary Rivers?” “Yes.”

“Their father is dead?”

“Dead three weeks sin' of a stroke.”

“They have no mother?”

“The mistress has been dead this mony a year.”

“Have you lived with the family long?”

“I've lived here thirty year.

I nursed them all three.” “That proves you must have been an honest and faithful servant. I will say so much for you, though you have had the incivility to call me a beggar.” She again regarded me with a surprised stare.

“I believe,” she said, “I was quite mista'en in my thoughts of you: but there is so mony cheats goes about, you mun forgie me.” “And though,” I continued, rather severely, “you wished to turn me from the door, on a night when you should not have shut out a dog.” “Well, it was hard: but what can a body do?

I thought more o' th' childer nor of mysel: poor things! They've like nobody to tak' care on 'em but me. I'm like to look sharpish.” I maintained a grave silence for some minutes.

“You munnut think too hardly of me,” she again remarked. “But I do think hardly of you,” I said; “and I'll tell you why—not so much because you refused to give me shelter, or regarded me as an impostor, as because you just now made it a species of reproach that I had no ‘brass' and no house. Some of the best people that ever lived have been as destitute as I am; and if you are a Christian, you ought not to consider poverty a crime.” “No more I ought,” said she: “Mr.

St.

John tells me so too; and I see I wor wrang—but I've clear a different notion on you now to what I had. You look a raight down dacent little crater.” “That will do—I forgive you now.

Shake hands.” She put her floury and horny hand into mine; another and heartier smile illumined her rough face, and from that moment we were friends. Hannah was evidently fond of talking.

While I picked the fruit, and she made the paste for the pies, she proceeded to give me sundry details about her deceased master and mistress, and “the childer,” as she called the young people. Old Mr. Rivers, she said, was a plain man enough, but a gentleman, and of as ancient a family as could be found. Marsh End had belonged to the Rivers ever since it was a house: and it was, she affirmed, “aboon two hundred year old—for all it looked but a small, humble place, naught to compare wi' Mr. Oliver's grand hall down i' Morton Vale. But she could remember Bill Oliver's father a journeyman needlemaker; and th' Rivers wor gentry i' th' owd days o' th' Henrys, as onybody might see by looking into th' registers i' Morton Church vestry.” Still, she allowed, “the owd maister was like other folk—naught mich out o' t' common way: stark mad o' shooting, and farming, and sich like.” The mistress was different. She was a great reader, and studied a deal; and the “bairns” had taken after her. There was nothing like them in these parts, nor ever had been; they had liked learning, all three, almost from the time they could speak; and they had always been “of a mak' of their own.” Mr. St. John, when he grew up, would go to college and be a parson; and the girls, as soon as they left school, would seek places as governesses: for they had told her their father had some years ago lost a great deal of money by a man he had trusted turning bankrupt; and as he was now not rich enough to give them fortunes, they must provide for themselves. They had lived very little at home for a long while, and were only come now to stay a few weeks on account of their father's death; but they did so like Marsh End and Morton, and all these moors and hills about. They had been in London, and many other grand towns; but they always said there was no place like home; and then they were so agreeable with each other—never fell out nor “threaped.” She did not know where there was such a family for being united. Having finished my task of gooseberry picking, I asked where the two ladies and their brother were now. “Gone over to Morton for a walk; but they would be back in half-an-hour to tea.” They returned within the time Hannah had allotted them: they entered by the kitchen door. Mr. St.

John, when he saw me, merely bowed and passed through; the two ladies stopped: Mary, in a few words, kindly and calmly expressed the pleasure she felt in seeing me well enough to be able to come down; Diana took my hand: she shook her head at me. “You should have waited for my leave to descend,” she said. “You still look very pale—and so thin! Poor child!—poor girl!” Diana had a voice toned, to my ear, like the cooing of a dove. She possessed eyes whose gaze I delighted to encounter. Her whole face seemed to me full of charm. Mary's countenance was equally intelligent—her features equally pretty; but her expression was more reserved, and her manners, though gentle, more distant. Diana looked and spoke with a certain authority: she had a will, evidently. It was my nature to feel pleasure in yielding to an authority supported like hers, and to bend, where my conscience and self-respect permitted, to an active will. “And what business have you here?” she continued. “It is not your place. Mary and I sit in the kitchen sometimes, because at home we like to be free, even to license—but you are a visitor, and must go into the parlour.” “I am very well here.”

“Not at all, with Hannah bustling about and covering you with flour.”

“Besides, the fire is too hot for you,” interposed Mary.

“To be sure,” added her sister.

“Come, you must be obedient.” And still holding my hand she made me rise, and led me into the inner room. “Sit there,” she said, placing me on the sofa, “while we take our things off and get the tea ready; it is another privilege we exercise in our little moorland home—to prepare our own meals when we are so inclined, or when Hannah is baking, brewing, washing, or ironing.” She closed the door, leaving me solus with Mr. St.

John, who sat opposite, a book or newspaper in his hand. I examined first, the parlour, and then its occupant. The parlour was rather a small room, very plainly furnished, yet comfortable, because clean and neat. The old-fashioned chairs were very bright, and the walnut-wood table was like a looking-glass. A few strange, antique portraits of the men and women of other days decorated the stained walls; a cupboard with glass doors contained some books and an ancient set of china. There was no superfluous ornament in the room—not one modern piece of furniture, save a brace of workboxes and a lady's desk in rosewood, which stood on a side-table: everything—including the carpet and curtains—looked at once well worn and well saved. Mr.

St.

John—sitting as still as one of the dusty pictures on the walls, keeping his eyes fixed on the page he perused, and his lips mutely sealed—was easy enough to examine. Had he been a statue instead of a man, he could not have been easier. He was young—perhaps from twenty-eight to thirty—tall, slender; his face riveted the eye; it was like a Greek face, very pure in outline: quite a straight, classic nose; quite an Athenian mouth and chin. It is seldom, indeed, an English face comes so near the antique models as did his. He might well be a little shocked at the irregularity of my lineaments, his own being so harmonious. His eyes were large and blue, with brown lashes; his high forehead, colourless as ivory, was partially streaked over by careless locks of fair hair. This is a gentle delineation, is it not, reader?

Yet he whom it describes scarcely impressed one with the idea of a gentle, a yielding, an impressible, or even of a placid nature. Quiescent as he now sat, there was something about his nostril, his mouth, his brow, which, to my perceptions, indicated elements within either restless, or hard, or eager. He did not speak to me one word, nor even direct to me one glance, till his sisters returned. Diana, as she passed in and out, in the course of preparing tea, brought me a little cake, baked on the top of the oven. “Eat that now,” she said: “you must be hungry. Hannah says you have had nothing but some gruel since breakfast.” I did not refuse it, for my appetite was awakened and keen. Mr. Rivers now closed his book, approached the table, and, as he took a seat, fixed his blue pictorial-looking eyes full on me. There was an unceremonious directness, a searching, decided steadfastness in his gaze now, which told that intention, and not diffidence, had hitherto kept it averted from the stranger. “You are very hungry,” he said.

“I am, sir.” It is my way—it always was my way, by instinct—ever to meet the brief with brevity, the direct with plainness. “It is well for you that a low fever has forced you to abstain for the last three days: there would have been danger in yielding to the cravings of your appetite at first. Now you may eat, though still not immoderately.” “I trust I shall not eat long at your expense, sir,” was my very clumsily-contrived, unpolished answer. “No,” he said coolly: “when you have indicated to us the residence of your friends, we can write to them, and you may be restored to home.” “That, I must plainly tell you, is out of my power to do; being absolutely without home and friends.” The three looked at me, but not distrustfully; I felt there was no suspicion in their glances: there was more of curiosity. I speak particularly of the young ladies. St.

John's eyes, though clear enough in a literal sense, in a figurative one were difficult to fathom. He seemed to use them rather as instruments to search other people's thoughts, than as agents to reveal his own: the which combination of keenness and reserve was considerably more calculated to embarrass than to encourage. “Do you mean to say,” he asked, “that you are completely isolated from every connection?” “I do.

Not a tie links me to any living thing: not a claim do I possess to admittance under any roof in England.” “A most singular position at your age!”

Here I saw his glance directed to my hands, which were folded on the table before me. I wondered what he sought there: his words soon explained the quest. “You have never been married?

You are a spinster?” Diana laughed.

“Why, she can't be above seventeen or eighteen years old, St. John,” said she. “I am near nineteen: but I am not married.

No.” I felt a burning glow mount to my face; for bitter and agitating recollections were awakened by the allusion to marriage. They all saw the embarrassment and the emotion. Diana and Mary relieved me by turning their eyes elsewhere than to my crimsoned visage; but the colder and sterner brother continued to gaze, till the trouble he had excited forced out tears as well as colour. “Where did you last reside?” he now asked.

“You are too inquisitive, St.

John,” murmured Mary in a low voice; but he leaned over the table and required an answer by a second firm and piercing look. “The name of the place where, and of the person with whom I lived, is my secret,” I replied concisely. “Which, if you like, you have, in my opinion, a right to keep, both from St.

John and every other questioner,” remarked Diana. “Yet if I know nothing about you or your history, I cannot help you,” he said. “And you need help, do you not?” “I need it, and I seek it so far, sir, that some true philanthropist will put me in the way of getting work which I can do, and the remuneration for which will keep me, if but in the barest necessaries of life.” “I know not whether I am a true philanthropist; yet I am willing to aid you to the utmost of my power in a purpose so honest. First, then, tell me what you have been accustomed to do, and what you can do.” I had now swallowed my tea.

I was mightily refreshed by the beverage; as much so as a giant with wine: it gave new tone to my unstrung nerves, and enabled me to address this penetrating young judge steadily. “Mr.

Rivers,” I said, turning to him, and looking at him, as he looked at me, openly and without diffidence, “you and your sisters have done me a great service—the greatest man can do his fellow-being; you have rescued me, by your noble hospitality, from death. This benefit conferred gives you an unlimited claim on my gratitude, and a claim, to a certain extent, on my confidence. I will tell you as much of the history of the wanderer you have harboured, as I can tell without compromising my own peace of mind—my own security, moral and physical, and that of others. “I am an orphan, the daughter of a clergyman.

My parents died before I could know them. I was brought up a dependant; educated in a charitable institution. I will even tell you the name of the establishment, where I passed six years as a pupil, and two as a teacher—Lowood Orphan Asylum, ---shire: you will have heard of it, Mr. Rivers?—the Rev. Robert Brocklehurst is the treasurer.” “I have heard of Mr. Brocklehurst, and I have seen the school.” “I left Lowood nearly a year since to become a private governess. I obtained a good situation, and was happy. This place I was obliged to leave four days before I came here. The reason of my departure I cannot and ought not to explain: it would be useless, dangerous, and would sound incredible. No blame attached to me: I am as free from culpability as any one of you three. Miserable I am, and must be for a time; for the catastrophe which drove me from a house I had found a paradise was of a strange and direful nature. I observed but two points in planning my departure—speed, secrecy: to secure these, I had to leave behind me everything I possessed except a small parcel; which, in my hurry and trouble of mind, I forgot to take out of the coach that brought me to Whitcross. To this neighbourhood, then, I came, quite destitute. I slept two nights in the open air, and wandered about two days without crossing a threshold: but twice in that space of time did I taste food; and it was when brought by hunger, exhaustion, and despair almost to the last gasp, that you, Mr. Rivers, forbade me to perish of want at your door, and took me under the shelter of your roof. I know all your sisters have done for me since—for I have not been insensible during my seeming torpor—and I owe to their spontaneous, genuine, genial compassion as large a debt as to your evangelical charity.” “Don't make her talk any more now, St.

John,” said Diana, as I paused; “she is evidently not yet fit for excitement. Come to the sofa and sit down now, Miss Elliott.” I gave an involuntary half start at hearing the alias : I had forgotten my new name. Mr. Rivers, whom nothing seemed to escape, noticed it at once. “You said your name was Jane Elliott?” he observed. “I did say so; and it is the name by which I think it expedient to be called at present, but it is not my real name, and when I hear it, it sounds strange to me.” “Your real name you will not give?”

“No: I fear discovery above all things; and whatever disclosure would lead to it, I avoid.” “You are quite right, I am sure,” said Diana. “Now do, brother, let her be at peace a while.” But when St.

John had mused a few moments he recommenced as imperturbably and with as much acumen as ever. “You would not like to be long dependent on our hospitality—you would wish, I see, to dispense as soon as may be with my sisters' compassion, and, above all, with my charity (I am quite sensible of the distinction drawn, nor do I resent it—it is just): you desire to be independent of us?” “I do: I have already said so.

Show me how to work, or how to seek work: that is all I now ask; then let me go, if it be but to the meanest cottage; but till then, allow me to stay here: I dread another essay of the horrors of homeless destitution.” “Indeed you shall stay here,” said Diana, putting her white hand on my head. “You shall ,” repeated Mary, in the tone of undemonstrative sincerity which seemed natural to her. “My sisters, you see, have a pleasure in keeping you,” said Mr. St. John, “as they would have a pleasure in keeping and cherishing a half-frozen bird, some wintry wind might have driven through their casement. I feel more inclination to put you in the way of keeping yourself, and shall endeavour to do so; but observe, my sphere is narrow. I am but the incumbent of a poor country parish: my aid must be of the humblest sort. And if you are inclined to despise the day of small things, seek some more efficient succour than such as I can offer.” “She has already said that she is willing to do anything honest she can do,” answered Diana for me; “and you know, St. John, she has no choice of helpers: she is forced to put up with such crusty people as you.” “I will be a dressmaker; I will be a plain-workwoman; I will be a servant, a nurse-girl, if I can be no better,” I answered. “Right,” said Mr. St.

John, quite coolly. “If such is your spirit, I promise to aid you, in my own time and way.” He now resumed the book with which he had been occupied before tea.

I soon withdrew, for I had talked as much, and sat up as long, as my present strength would permit.

CHAPTER XXIX CAPÍTULO XXIX

The recollection of about three days and nights succeeding this is very dim in my mind. The recollection of about three days and nights succeeding this is very dim in my mind. Le souvenir d'environ trois jours et trois nuits qui ont réussi cela est très sombre dans mon esprit. I can recall some sensations felt in that interval; but few thoughts framed, and no actions performed. Je peux me souvenir de quelques sensations ressenties dans cet intervalle; mais peu de pensées encadrées et aucune action effectuée. I knew I was in a small room and in a narrow bed. To that bed I seemed to have grown; I lay on it motionless as a stone; and to have torn me from it would have been almost to kill me. Dans ce lit, je semblais avoir grandi; Je m'étendis dessus immobile comme une pierre; et m'en avoir arraché aurait été presque me tuer. I took no note of the lapse of time—of the change from morning to noon, from noon to evening. Je n'ai pas pris note du temps écoulé, du changement du matin à midi, de midi au soir. I observed when any one entered or left the apartment: I could even tell who they were; I could understand what was said when the speaker stood near to me; but I could not answer; to open my lips or move my limbs was equally impossible. J'observais quand quelqu'un entrait ou sortait de l'appartement : Je pouvais même dire qui ils étaient ; je pouvais comprendre ce qui était dit quand l'orateur se tenait près de moi ; mais je ne pouvais pas répondre ; ouvrir mes lèvres ou bouger mes membres était tout aussi impossible. Hannah, the servant, was my most frequent visitor. Her coming disturbed me. Sa venue m'a perturbé. I had a feeling that she wished me away: that she did not understand me or my circumstances; that she was prejudiced against me. J'avais le sentiment qu'elle me souhaitait de partir: qu'elle ne me comprenait ni ne me comprenait ni ma situation; qu'elle avait des préjugés contre moi. Diana and Mary appeared in the chamber once or twice a day. They would whisper sentences of this sort at my bedside— “It is very well we took her in.” «C'est très bien que nous l'avons accueillie.»

“Yes; she would certainly have been found dead at the door in the morning had she been left out all night. "Oui, on l'aurait certainement trouvée morte à la porte le matin si elle était restée dehors toute la nuit. I wonder what she has gone through?” Je me demande ce qu'elle a traversé? “Strange hardships, I imagine—poor, emaciated, pallid wanderer?” «Etranges épreuves, j'imagine - pauvre vagabond émacié et pâle? “She is not an uneducated person, I should think, by her manner of speaking; her accent was quite pure; and the clothes she took off, though splashed and wet, were little worn and fine.” «Ce n'est pas une personne sans instruction, je devrais penser, par sa manière de parler; son accent était assez pur; et les vêtements qu'elle a enlevés, bien qu'éclaboussés et mouillés, étaient peu usés et fins. “She has a peculiar face; fleshless and haggard as it is, I rather like it; and when in good health and animated, I can fancy her physiognomy would be agreeable.” «Elle a un visage particulier; décharné et hagard comme il est, je l'aime plutôt; et lorsqu'elle est en bonne santé et animée, je peux imaginer que sa physionomie serait agréable. Never once in their dialogues did I hear a syllable of regret at the hospitality they had extended to me, or of suspicion of, or aversion to, myself. Never once in their dialogues did I hear a syllable of regret at the hospitality they had extended to me, or of suspicion of, or aversion to, myself. Jamais une seule fois dans leurs dialogues je n'ai entendu une syllabe de regret de l'hospitalité qu'ils m'avaient offerte, ni de suspicion ou d'aversion envers moi-même. I was comforted. J'étais réconforté. Mr.

St.

John came but once: he looked at me, and said my state of lethargy was the result of reaction from excessive and protracted fatigue. John came but once: he looked at me, and said my state of lethargy was the result of reaction from excessive and protracted fatigue. John n'est venu qu'une fois: il m'a regardé et a dit que mon état de léthargie était le résultat d'une réaction de fatigue excessive et prolongée. He pronounced it needless to send for a doctor: nature, he was sure, would manage best, left to herself. He pronounced it needless to send for a doctor: nature, he was sure, would manage best, left to herself. Il jugea inutile d'envoyer chercher un médecin : la nature, il en était sûr, se débrouillerait mieux si elle était laissée à elle-même. He said every nerve had been overstrained in some way, and the whole system must sleep torpid a while. He said every nerve had been overstrained in some way, and the whole system must sleep torpid a while. Il a dit que chaque nerf avait été surmené d'une manière ou d'une autre et que tout le système devait dormir torpillé un moment. There was no disease. He imagined my recovery would be rapid enough when once commenced. Il pensait que ma guérison serait assez rapide une fois commencée. These opinions he delivered in a few words, in a quiet, low voice; and added, after a pause, in the tone of a man little accustomed to expansive comment, “Rather an unusual physiognomy; certainly, not indicative of vulgarity or degradation.” These opinions he delivered in a few words, in a quiet, low voice; and added, after a pause, in the tone of a man little accustomed to expansive comment, “Rather an unusual physiognomy; certainly, not indicative of vulgarity or degradation.” Il prononça ces opinions en quelques mots, à voix basse et silencieuse; et ajouta, après une pause, sur le ton d'un homme peu habitué aux commentaires expansifs: «Plutôt une physionomie inhabituelle; certainement, pas indicatif de vulgarité ou de dégradation. » “Far otherwise,” responded Diana. “Far otherwise,” responded Diana. «Loin du contraire», répondit Diana.

“To speak truth, St. John, my heart rather warms to the poor little soul. John, mon cœur se réchauffe plutôt pour cette pauvre petite âme. I wish we may be able to benefit her permanently.” Je souhaite que nous puissions lui profiter de manière permanente. “That is hardly likely,” was the reply. «C'est peu probable», fut la réponse.

“You will find she is some young lady who has had a misunderstanding with her friends, and has probably injudiciously left them. «Vous découvrirez que c'est une jeune femme qui a eu un malentendu avec ses amis et qui les a probablement abandonnées par inadvertance. We may, perhaps, succeed in restoring her to them, if she is not obstinate: but I trace lines of force in her face which make me sceptical of her tractability.”  He stood considering me some minutes; then added, “She looks sensible, but not at all handsome.” Nous pourrons peut-être réussir à la leur rendre, si elle n'est pas obstinée: mais je trace sur son visage des lignes de force qui me rendent sceptique quant à sa traitabilité. Il resta debout à me considérer quelques minutes; puis a ajouté: "Elle a l'air sensée, mais pas du tout belle." “She is so ill, St.

John.” “Ill or well, she would always be plain. «Mal ou bien, elle serait toujours simple.

The grace and harmony of beauty are quite wanting in those features.” The grace and harmony of beauty are quite wanting in those features.” La grâce et l'harmonie de la beauté font vraiment défaut dans ces caractéristiques. On the third day I was better; on the fourth, I could speak, move, rise in bed, and turn. Hannah had brought me some gruel and dry toast, about, as I supposed, the dinner-hour. Hannah had brought me some gruel and dry toast, about, as I supposed, the dinner-hour. Hannah m'avait apporté du gruau et des toasts secs, à peu près, comme je le supposais, l'heure du dîner. I had eaten with relish: the food was good—void of the feverish flavour which had hitherto poisoned what I had swallowed. I had eaten with relish: the food was good—void of the feverish flavour which had hitherto poisoned what I had swallowed. J'avais mangé avec goût: la nourriture était bonne, sans la saveur fiévreuse qui avait jusque-là empoisonné ce que j'avais avalé. When she left me, I felt comparatively strong and revived: ere long satiety of repose and desire for action stirred me. When she left me, I felt comparatively strong and revived: ere long satiety of repose and desire for action stirred me. Quand elle m'a quitté, je me suis senti relativement fort et ressuscité: avant une longue satiété de repos et le désir d'action m'ont remué. I wished to rise; but what could I put on? Je voulais me lever; mais que pourrais-je mettre? Only my damp and bemired apparel; in which I had slept on the ground and fallen in the marsh. Seulement mes vêtements humides et troublés; dans lequel j'avais dormi par terre et tombé dans le marais. I felt ashamed to appear before my benefactors so clad. J'avais honte de me présenter devant mes bienfaiteurs si vêtus. I was spared the humiliation. J'ai été épargné par l'humiliation. On a chair by the bedside were all my own things, clean and dry. Sur une chaise à côté du lit se trouvaient toutes mes affaires, propres et sèches. My black silk frock hung against the wall. Ma robe de soie noire était accrochée au mur. The traces of the bog were removed from it; the creases left by the wet smoothed out: it was quite decent. Les traces de la tourbière en ont été enlevées; les plis laissés par l'humidité se sont lissés: c'était assez correct. My very shoes and stockings were purified and rendered presentable. My very shoes and stockings were purified and rendered presentable. There were the means of washing in the room, and a comb and brush to smooth my hair. There were the means of washing in the room, and a comb and brush to smooth my hair. Il y avait des moyens de laver dans la chambre, un peigne et une brosse pour lisser mes cheveux. After a weary process, and resting every five minutes, I succeeded in dressing myself. After a weary process, and resting every five minutes, I succeeded in dressing myself. Après un processus fatigant, et en me reposant toutes les cinq minutes, j'ai réussi à m'habiller. My clothes hung loose on me; for I was much wasted, but I covered deficiencies with a shawl, and once more, clean and respectable looking—no speck of the dirt, no trace of the disorder I so hated, and which seemed so to degrade me, left—I crept down a stone staircase with the aid of the banisters, to a narrow low passage, and found my way presently to the kitchen. Mes vêtements pendaient sur moi; car j'étais bien gaspillé, mais je couvrais les carences avec un châle, et une fois de plus, un aspect propre et respectable - aucune tache de saleté, aucune trace du désordre que je détestais tant, et qui paraissait me dégrader, je suis parti - j'ai rampé descendant un escalier de pierre à l'aide des rampes, jusqu'à un étroit passage bas, et trouvai bientôt mon chemin vers la cuisine. It was full of the fragrance of new bread and the warmth of a generous fire. Il était plein du parfum du pain neuf et de la chaleur d'un feu généreux. Hannah was baking. Prejudices, it is well known, are most difficult to eradicate from the heart whose soil has never been loosened or fertilised by education: they grow there, firm as weeds among stones. Les préjugés, on le sait, sont les plus difficiles à éradiquer du cœur dont la terre n'a jamais été ameublie ou fertilisée par l'éducation: ils y poussent, fermes comme des mauvaises herbes parmi les pierres. Hannah had been cold and stiff, indeed, at the first: latterly she had begun to relent a little; and when she saw me come in tidy and well-dressed, she even smiled. Hannah avait été froide et raide, en effet, au début: dernièrement, elle avait commencé à céder un peu; et quand elle m'a vu arriver bien rangé et bien habillé, elle a même souri. “What, you have got up!” she said. «Quoi, tu t'es levé!» dit-elle.

“You are better, then. You may sit you down in my chair on the hearthstone, if you will.” She pointed to the rocking-chair: I took it.

She bustled about, examining me every now and then with the corner of her eye. Elle s'affairait, m'examinant de temps en temps du coin de l'œil. Turning to me, as she took some loaves from the oven, she asked bluntly— “Did you ever go a-begging afore you came here?” «Avez-vous déjà mendié avant de venir ici? I was indignant for a moment; but remembering that anger was out of the question, and that I had indeed appeared as a beggar to her, I answered quietly, but still not without a certain marked firmness— J'ai été indigné un instant, mais me rappelant qu'il n'était pas question de se fâcher et que j'étais effectivement apparu comme un mendiant à ses yeux, j'ai répondu tranquillement, mais non sans une certaine fermeté marquée... “You are mistaken in supposing me a beggar.

I am no beggar; any more than yourself or your young ladies.” Je ne suis pas un mendiant; pas plus que vous ou vos demoiselles. After a pause she said, “I dunnut understand that: you’ve like no house, nor no brass, I guess?” Après une pause, elle dit: «Je ne comprends pas cela: vous n'aimez ni maison, ni laiton, je suppose? “The want of house or brass (by which I suppose you mean money) does not make a beggar in your sense of the word.” "Le manque de maison ou d'argent (je suppose que vous entendez par là de l'argent) ne fait pas d'une personne un mendiant au sens où vous l'entendez. “Are you book-learned?” she inquired presently. «Êtes-vous un livre?» s'enquit-elle tout de suite. “Yes, very.”

“But you’ve never been to a boarding-school?” «Mais vous n'êtes jamais allé dans un internat? “I was at a boarding-school eight years.”

She opened her eyes wide.

“Whatever cannot ye keep yourself for, then?” «Pourquoi ne pouvez-vous pas vous garder, alors? “I have kept myself; and, I trust, shall keep myself again. «Je me suis gardé; et, j'espère, je me garderai de nouveau. What are you going to do with these gooseberries?” I inquired, as she brought out a basket of the fruit. What are you going to do with these gooseberries?” I inquired, as she brought out a basket of the fruit. Qu'allez-vous faire de ces groseilles à maquereau ? demandai-je, alors qu'elle sortait un panier de fruits. “Mak' 'em into pies.”

“Give them to me and I’ll pick them.”

“Nay; I dunnut want ye to do nought.” "Non; Je ne veux pas que vous fassiez rien.

“But I must do something.

Let me have them.” She consented; and she even brought me a clean towel to spread over my dress, “lest,” as she said, “I should mucky it.” She consented; and she even brought me a clean towel to spread over my dress, “lest,” as she said, “I should mucky it.” Elle a consenti; et elle m'a même apporté une serviette propre à étaler sur ma robe, "de peur", comme elle l'a dit, "je devrais la salir." “Ye’ve not been used to sarvant’s wark, I see by your hands,” she remarked. "Je vois à vos mains que vous n'avez pas l'habitude de travailler avec des sarvants", remarqua-t-elle. “Happen ye’ve been a dressmaker?” "Vous avez été couturière ?" “No, you are wrong.

And now, never mind what I have been: don’t trouble your head further about me; but tell me the name of the house where we are.” “Some calls it Marsh End, and some calls it Moor House.” “And the gentleman who lives here is called Mr. St.

John?” “Nay; he doesn’t live here: he is only staying a while. When he is at home, he is in his own parish at Morton.” Lorsqu'il est chez lui, il est dans sa propre paroisse à Morton". “That village a few miles off?

“Aye.”

“And what is he?”

“He is a parson.”

I remembered the answer of the old housekeeper at the parsonage, when I had asked to see the clergyman. I remembered the answer of the old housekeeper at the parsonage, when I had asked to see the clergyman. Je me suis souvenu de la réponse de la vieille gouvernante du presbytère, quand j'avais demandé à voir le pasteur. “This, then, was his father’s residence?” «C'était donc la résidence de son père? “Aye; old Mr. Rivers lived here, and his father, and grandfather, and gurt (great) grandfather afore him.” "Toujours; le vieux M. Rivers vivait ici, ainsi que son père, son grand-père et son (arrière) grand-père avant lui. “The name, then, of that gentleman, is Mr. St.

John Rivers?” “Aye; St.

John is like his kirstened name.” John est comme son prénom. “And his sisters are called Diana and Mary Rivers?” “Yes.”

“Their father is dead?”

“Dead three weeks sin' of a stroke.” «Mort trois semaines après un accident vasculaire cérébral.

“They have no mother?”

“The mistress has been dead this mony a year.” «La maîtresse est morte cet argent depuis un an.

“Have you lived with the family long?”

“I’ve lived here thirty year.

I nursed them all three.” “That proves you must have been an honest and faithful servant. "Cela prouve que tu as été un serviteur honnête et fidèle. I will say so much for you, though you have had the incivility to call me a beggar.” Je vais en dire beaucoup pour vous, même si vous avez eu l’incivilité de me traiter de mendiant. She again regarded me with a surprised stare.

“I believe,” she said, “I was quite mista’en in my thoughts of you: but there is so mony cheats goes about, you mun forgie me.” "Je crois, dit-elle, que je me suis trompée en pensant à vous, mais il y a tant de tromperies que vous devez m'oublier. “And though,” I continued, rather severely, “you wished to turn me from the door, on a night when you should not have shut out a dog.” «Et pourtant, continuai-je assez sévèrement, vous vouliez me détourner de la porte, une nuit où vous n'auriez pas dû exclure un chien. “Well, it was hard: but what can a body do? "C'était difficile, mais qu'est-ce qu'un corps peut faire ?

I thought more o' th' childer nor of mysel: poor things! Je pensais plus aux enfants qu'à moi-même : les pauvres ! They’ve like nobody to tak' care on 'em but me. Ils n'ont personne d'autre que moi pour s'occuper d'eux. I’m like to look sharpish.” J'aime avoir l'air vif. I maintained a grave silence for some minutes.

“You munnut think too hardly of me,” she again remarked. «Vous ne pensez pas trop à moi», remarqua-t-elle de nouveau. “But I do think hardly of you,” I said; “and I’ll tell you why—not so much because you refused to give me shelter, or regarded me as an impostor, as because you just now made it a species of reproach that I had no ‘brass' and no house. “But I do think hardly of you,” I said; “and I'll tell you why—not so much because you refused to give me shelter, or regarded me as an impostor, as because you just now made it a species of reproach that I had no ‘brass' and no house. «Mais je ne pense guère à vous», dis-je; «Et je vais vous dire pourquoi - pas tant parce que vous avez refusé de me donner un abri, ou que vous me considérez comme un imposteur, que parce que vous venez de faire une espèce de reproche que je n'avais ni« laiton »ni maison. Some of the best people that ever lived have been as destitute as I am; and if you are a Christian, you ought not to consider poverty a crime.” Some of the best people that ever lived have been as destitute as I am; and if you are a Christian, you ought not to consider poverty a crime.” Certaines des meilleures personnes qui aient jamais vécu ont été aussi démunies que moi; et si vous êtes chrétien, vous ne devez pas considérer la pauvreté comme un crime. “No more I ought,” said she: “Mr. «Je ne devrais plus», dit-elle: «M.

St.

John tells me so too; and I see I wor wrang—but I’ve clear a different notion on you now to what I had. John tells me so too; and I see I wor wrang—but I've clear a different notion on you now to what I had. John me l'a dit aussi ; et je vois que je me suis trompé, mais je n'ai plus du tout la même idée de toi que celle que j'avais. You look a raight down dacent little crater.” Vous regardez un peu le long d'un petit cratère dacent. “That will do—I forgive you now.

Shake hands.” She put her floury and horny hand into mine; another and heartier smile illumined her rough face, and from that moment we were friends. She put her floury and horny hand into mine; another and heartier smile illumined her rough face, and from that moment we were friends. Elle a mis sa main farineuse et cornée dans la mienne; un autre sourire plus chaleureux illumina son visage rude, et à partir de ce moment, nous étions amis. Hannah was evidently fond of talking.

While I picked the fruit, and she made the paste for the pies, she proceeded to give me sundry details about her deceased master and mistress, and “the childer,” as she called the young people. While I picked the fruit, and she made the paste for the pies, she proceeded to give me sundry details about her deceased master and mistress, and “the childer,” as she called the young people. Pendant que je cueillais le fruit et qu'elle préparait la pâte pour les tartes, elle a continué à me donner divers détails sur son maître et sa maîtresse décédés, et «l'enfant», comme elle l'appelait les jeunes. Old Mr. Rivers, she said, was a plain man enough, but a gentleman, and of as ancient a family as could be found. Old Mr. Rivers, she said, was a plain man enough, but a gentleman, and of as ancient a family as could be found. Le vieux M. Rivers, disait-elle, était un homme assez simple, mais un gentleman, et d'une famille aussi ancienne qu'on puisse en trouver. Marsh End had belonged to the Rivers ever since it was a house: and it was, she affirmed, “aboon two hundred year old—for all it looked but a small, humble place, naught to compare wi' Mr. Oliver’s grand hall down i' Morton Vale. Marsh End had belonged to the Rivers ever since it was a house: and it was, she affirmed, “aboon two hundred year old—for all it looked but a small, humble place, naught to compare wi' Mr. Oliver's grand hall down i' Morton Vale. Marsh End appartenait aux rivières depuis que c'était une maison: et elle était, affirma-t-elle, «vieille de deux cents ans - pour tout cela n'avait l'air qu'un petit et humble endroit, rien de comparable avec le grand hall de M. Je suis Morton Vale. But she could remember Bill Oliver’s father a journeyman needlemaker; and th' Rivers wor gentry i' th' owd days o' th' Henrys, as onybody might see by looking into th' registers i' Morton Church vestry.”  Still, she allowed, “the owd maister was like other folk—naught mich out o' t' common way: stark mad o' shooting, and farming, and sich like.”  The mistress was different. Mais elle pouvait se souvenir du père de Bill Oliver, un compagnon aiguilleteur; et les rivières s'inquiètent des jours o les Henrys, comme on pourrait le voir en regardant dans les registres de la sacristie de l'église de Morton. Pourtant, admit-elle, «le owd maister était comme les autres gens - rien de tout cela de la façon la plus courante: le tir, l'agriculture, et ce genre de choses. La maîtresse était différente. She was a great reader, and studied a deal; and the “bairns” had taken after her. Elle était une grande lectrice et étudiait beaucoup; et les «bairns» l'avaient prise. There was nothing like them in these parts, nor ever had been; they had liked learning, all three, almost from the time they could speak; and they had always been “of a mak' of their own.”  Mr. St. Il n'y avait rien de semblable dans ces régions, ni jamais; ils avaient aimé apprendre tous les trois presque à partir du moment où ils pouvaient parler; et ils avaient toujours été «de leur propre chef». M. St. John, when he grew up, would go to college and be a parson; and the girls, as soon as they left school, would seek places as governesses: for they had told her their father had some years ago lost a great deal of money by a man he had trusted turning bankrupt; and as he was now not rich enough to give them fortunes, they must provide for themselves. John, quand il grandit, irait à l'université et serait pasteur; et les filles, dès qu'elles quittaient l'école, cherchaient des places comme gouvernantes: car elles lui avaient dit que leur père avait perdu, il y a quelques années, beaucoup d'argent par un homme en qui il avait confiance en faillite; et comme il n'était pas assez riche maintenant pour leur donner des fortunes, ils devaient subvenir à leurs besoins. They had lived very little at home for a long while, and were only come now to stay a few weeks on account of their father’s death; but they did so like Marsh End and Morton, and all these moors and hills about. They had lived very little at home for a long while, and were only come now to stay a few weeks on account of their father's death; but they did so like Marsh End and Morton, and all these moors and hills about. Ils avaient très peu vécu à la maison depuis longtemps, et n'étaient venus que pour quelques semaines à cause de la mort de leur père; mais ils l'ont fait comme Marsh End et Morton, et toutes ces landes et collines alentour. They had been in London, and many other grand towns; but they always said there was no place like home; and then they were so agreeable with each other—never fell out nor “threaped.”  She did not know where there was such a family for being united. They had been in London, and many other grand towns; but they always said there was no place like home; and then they were so agreeable with each other—never fell out nor “threaped.” She did not know where there was such a family for being united. Ils avaient été à Londres et dans de nombreuses autres grandes villes; mais ils ont toujours dit qu'il n'y avait pas d'endroit comme la maison; et puis ils étaient si agréables les uns avec les autres - ils ne sont jamais tombés ni «sautés». Elle ne savait pas où se trouvait une telle famille pour être unie. Having finished my task of gooseberry picking, I asked where the two ladies and their brother were now. Having finished my task of gooseberry picking, I asked where the two ladies and their brother were now. “Gone over to Morton for a walk; but they would be back in half-an-hour to tea.” They returned within the time Hannah had allotted them: they entered by the kitchen door. Mr. St.

John, when he saw me, merely bowed and passed through; the two ladies stopped: Mary, in a few words, kindly and calmly expressed the pleasure she felt in seeing me well enough to be able to come down; Diana took my hand: she shook her head at me. John, when he saw me, merely bowed and passed through; the two ladies stopped: Mary, in a few words, kindly and calmly expressed the pleasure she felt in seeing me well enough to be able to come down; Diana took my hand: she shook her head at me. John, en me voyant, s'est contenté de s'incliner et de passer ; les deux dames se sont arrêtées : Mary, en quelques mots, exprima gentiment et calmement le plaisir qu'elle éprouvait à me voir assez bien pour pouvoir descendre ; Diana me prit la main : elle me secoua la tête. “You should have waited for my leave to descend,” she said. «Vous auriez dû attendre ma permission pour descendre», dit-elle. “You still look very pale—and so thin! Poor child!—poor girl!” Diana had a voice toned, to my ear, like the cooing of a dove. Diana avait une voix tonique, à mon oreille, comme le roucoulement d'une colombe. She possessed eyes whose gaze I delighted to encounter. Elle possédait des yeux dont je me réjouissais de rencontrer. Her whole face seemed to me full of charm. Mary’s countenance was equally intelligent—her features equally pretty; but her expression was more reserved, and her manners, though gentle, more distant. Mary's countenance was equally intelligent—her features equally pretty; but her expression was more reserved, and her manners, though gentle, more distant. Le visage de Mary était tout aussi intelligent, ses traits tout aussi jolis, mais son expression était plus réservée et ses manières, bien que douces, plus distantes. Diana looked and spoke with a certain authority: she had a will, evidently. Diana regardait et parlait avec une certaine autorité: elle avait une volonté, évidemment. It was my nature to feel pleasure in yielding to an authority supported like hers, and to bend, where my conscience and self-respect permitted, to an active will. It was my nature to feel pleasure in yielding to an authority supported like hers, and to bend, where my conscience and self-respect permitted, to an active will. C'était ma nature de ressentir du plaisir à céder à une autorité soutenue comme la sienne, et de me plier, là où ma conscience et mon amour-propre le permettaient, à une volonté active. “And what business have you here?” she continued. «Et quelles affaires avez-vous ici?» elle a continué. “It is not your place. Mary and I sit in the kitchen sometimes, because at home we like to be free, even to license—but you are a visitor, and must go into the parlour.” Mary et moi nous asseyons parfois dans la cuisine, car à la maison, nous aimons être libres, même pour obtenir une licence - mais vous êtes un visiteur et devez entrer dans le salon. “I am very well here.”

“Not at all, with Hannah bustling about and covering you with flour.”

“Besides, the fire is too hot for you,” interposed Mary.

“To be sure,” added her sister.

“Come, you must be obedient.”  And still holding my hand she made me rise, and led me into the inner room. “Sit there,” she said, placing me on the sofa, “while we take our things off and get the tea ready; it is another privilege we exercise in our little moorland home—to prepare our own meals when we are so inclined, or when Hannah is baking, brewing, washing, or ironing.” «Asseyez-vous là», dit-elle en me plaçant sur le canapé, «pendant que nous enlevons nos affaires et préparons le thé; c'est un autre privilège que nous exerçons dans notre petite maison de landes - de préparer nos propres repas quand nous sommes si enclins, ou quand Hannah cuit, prépare, lave ou repasse. She closed the door, leaving me solus with Mr. St. Elle ferma la porte, me laissant solus avec M. St.

John, who sat opposite, a book or newspaper in his hand. I examined first, the parlour, and then its occupant. The parlour was rather a small room, very plainly furnished, yet comfortable, because clean and neat. The old-fashioned chairs were very bright, and the walnut-wood table was like a looking-glass. Les chaises à l'ancienne étaient très lumineuses et la table en bois de noyer ressemblait à un miroir. A few strange, antique portraits of the men and women of other days decorated the stained walls; a cupboard with glass doors contained some books and an ancient set of china. Quelques étranges portraits antiques d'hommes et de femmes d'autrefois ornaient les murs tachés; une armoire à portes vitrées contenait des livres et un ensemble ancien de porcelaine. There was no superfluous ornament in the room—not one modern piece of furniture, save a brace of workboxes and a lady’s desk in rosewood, which stood on a side-table: everything—including the carpet and curtains—looked at once well worn and well saved. Il n'y avait pas d'ornement superflu dans la pièce - pas un seul meuble moderne, à l'exception d'un renfort de boîtes de travail et d'un bureau de dame en palissandre, posé sur une table d'appoint: tout - y compris le tapis et les rideaux - avait l'air à la fois bien usé et bien sauvé. Mr.

St.

John—sitting as still as one of the dusty pictures on the walls, keeping his eyes fixed on the page he perused, and his lips mutely sealed—was easy enough to examine. John - assis aussi immobile que l'une des images poussiéreuses sur les murs, gardant les yeux fixés sur la page qu'il parcourait et les lèvres mutuellement scellées - était assez facile à examiner. Had he been a statue instead of a man, he could not have been easier. S'il avait été une statue au lieu d'un homme, il n'aurait pas pu être plus facile. He was young—perhaps from twenty-eight to thirty—tall, slender; his face riveted the eye; it was like a Greek face, very pure in outline: quite a straight, classic nose; quite an Athenian mouth and chin. Il était jeune - peut-être de vingt-huit à trente ans - grand, mince; son visage rivait sur l'œil; c'était comme un visage grec, aux contours très purs: un nez assez droit et classique; une bouche et un menton assez athéniens. It is seldom, indeed, an English face comes so near the antique models as did his. Il est rare, en effet, qu'un visage anglais se rapproche autant des modèles antiques que le sien. He might well be a little shocked at the irregularity of my lineaments, his own being so harmonious. Il pourrait bien être un peu choqué par l'irrégularité de mes lignes, les siennes étant si harmonieuses. His eyes were large and blue, with brown lashes; his high forehead, colourless as ivory, was partially streaked over by careless locks of fair hair. Ses yeux étaient grands et bleus, avec des cils bruns; son front haut, incolore comme l'ivoire, était partiellement strié de mèches négligentes de cheveux blonds. This is a gentle delineation, is it not, reader? C'est une délimitation douce, n'est-ce pas, lecteur?

Yet he whom it describes scarcely impressed one with the idea of a gentle, a yielding, an impressible, or even of a placid nature. Pourtant, celui qu'il décrit n'impressionnait guère l'idée d'une nature douce, souple, impressionnable ou même placide. Quiescent as he now sat, there was something about his nostril, his mouth, his brow, which, to my perceptions, indicated elements within either restless, or hard, or eager. Quiescent as he now sat, there was something about his nostril, his mouth, his brow, which, to my perceptions, indicated elements within either restless, or hard, or eager. Au repos alors qu'il était maintenant assis, il y avait quelque chose dans sa narine, sa bouche, son front, qui, à ma perception, indiquait des éléments agités, durs ou impatients. He did not speak to me one word, nor even direct to me one glance, till his sisters returned. Diana, as she passed in and out, in the course of preparing tea, brought me a little cake, baked on the top of the oven. Diana, en passant, en préparant le thé, m'apporta un petit gâteau cuit sur le dessus du four. “Eat that now,” she said: “you must be hungry. Hannah says you have had nothing but some gruel since breakfast.” I did not refuse it, for my appetite was awakened and keen. Mr. Rivers now closed his book, approached the table, and, as he took a seat, fixed his blue pictorial-looking eyes full on me. There was an unceremonious directness, a searching, decided steadfastness in his gaze now, which told that intention, and not diffidence, had hitherto kept it averted from the stranger. Il y avait une franchise sans cérémonie, une recherche, une fermeté décidée dans son regard maintenant, qui indiquait que l'intention, et non la méfiance, l'avait jusqu'alors écartée de l'étranger. “You are very hungry,” he said.

“I am, sir.”  It is my way—it always was my way, by instinct—ever to meet the brief with brevity, the direct with plainness. “I am, sir.” It is my way—it always was my way, by instinct—ever to meet the brief with brevity, the direct with plainness. «Je le suis, monsieur. C'est ma façon - ça a toujours été ma façon, par instinct - de toujours rencontrer le bref avec brièveté, le direct avec simplicité. “It is well for you that a low fever has forced you to abstain for the last three days: there would have been danger in yielding to the cravings of your appetite at first. «Il est bon pour vous qu'une fièvre basse vous ait obligé à vous abstenir depuis trois jours: il y aurait eu danger de céder aux envies de votre appétit au début. Now you may eat, though still not immoderately.” Maintenant, vous pouvez manger, mais sans excès". “I trust I shall not eat long at your expense, sir,” was my very clumsily-contrived, unpolished answer. “I trust I shall not eat long at your expense, sir,” was my very clumsily-contrived, unpolished answer. «J'espère que je ne mangerai pas longtemps à vos dépens, monsieur», fut ma réponse très maladroite et impolie. “No,” he said coolly: “when you have indicated to us the residence of your friends, we can write to them, and you may be restored to home.” “No,” he said coolly: “when you have indicated to us the residence of your friends, we can write to them, and you may be restored to home.” «Non», dit-il froidement: «lorsque vous nous aurez indiqué la résidence de vos amis, nous pourrons leur écrire, et vous pourrez être ramené à la maison.» “That, I must plainly tell you, is out of my power to do; being absolutely without home and friends.” “That, I must plainly tell you, is out of my power to do; being absolutely without home and friends.” «Cela, je dois vous le dire clairement, est hors de mon pouvoir de le faire; étant absolument sans maison ni amis. The three looked at me, but not distrustfully; I felt there was no suspicion in their glances: there was more of curiosity. The three looked at me, but not distrustfully; I felt there was no suspicion in their glances: there was more of curiosity. Les trois me regardèrent, mais pas avec méfiance; Je sentais qu'il n'y avait aucun soupçon dans leurs regards: il y avait plus de curiosité. I speak particularly of the young ladies. St.

John’s eyes, though clear enough in a literal sense, in a figurative one were difficult to fathom. Les yeux de John, bien que suffisamment clairs au sens littéral du terme, au sens figuré étaient difficiles à appréhender. He seemed to use them rather as instruments to search other people’s thoughts, than as agents to reveal his own: the which combination of keenness and reserve was considerably more calculated to embarrass than to encourage. He seemed to use them rather as instruments to search other people's thoughts, than as agents to reveal his own: the which combination of keenness and reserve was considerably more calculated to embarrass than to encourage. Il semblait les utiliser plutôt comme des instruments pour sonder les pensées des autres que comme des agents pour révéler les siennes: quelle combinaison d'acuité et de réserve était beaucoup plus propre à embarrasser qu'à encourager. “Do you mean to say,” he asked, “that you are completely isolated from every connection?” «Voulez-vous dire,» a-t-il demandé, «que vous êtes complètement isolé de toute connexion?» “I do.

Not a tie links me to any living thing: not a claim do I possess to admittance under any roof in England.” Aucun lien ne me lie à un être vivant: je ne prétends pas être admis sous aucun toit en Angleterre. “A most singular position at your age!”

Here I saw his glance directed to my hands, which were folded on the table before me. Ici, j'ai vu son regard se diriger vers mes mains, qui étaient pliées sur la table devant moi. I wondered what he sought there: his words soon explained the quest. Je me suis demandé ce qu'il y cherchait: ses paroles expliquaient bientôt la quête. “You have never been married?

You are a spinster?” Diana laughed.

“Why, she can’t be above seventeen or eighteen years old, St. «Eh bien, elle ne peut pas avoir plus de dix-sept ou dix-huit ans, St. John,” said she. “I am near nineteen: but I am not married.

No.” I felt a burning glow mount to my face; for bitter and agitating recollections were awakened by the allusion to marriage. They all saw the embarrassment and the emotion. Diana and Mary relieved me by turning their eyes elsewhere than to my crimsoned visage; but the colder and sterner brother continued to gaze, till the trouble he had excited forced out tears as well as colour. Diana and Mary relieved me by turning their eyes elsewhere than to my crimsoned visage; but the colder and sterner brother continued to gaze, till the trouble he had excited forced out tears as well as colour. Diana et Mary me soulagèrent en tournant les yeux ailleurs que sur mon visage cramoisi; mais le frère le plus froid et le plus sévère continua de regarder, jusqu'à ce que le trouble qu'il avait excité fit couler des larmes aussi bien que de la couleur. “Where did you last reside?” he now asked.

“You are too inquisitive, St.

John,” murmured Mary in a low voice; but he leaned over the table and required an answer by a second firm and piercing look. John", murmura Marie à voix basse ; mais il se pencha sur la table et exigea une réponse par un second regard ferme et perçant. “The name of the place where, and of the person with whom I lived, is my secret,” I replied concisely. "Le nom de l'endroit et de la personne avec qui j'ai vécu est mon secret", ai-je répondu de manière concise. “Which, if you like, you have, in my opinion, a right to keep, both from St. «Ce qui, si vous voulez, vous avez, à mon avis, le droit de garder, à la fois de St.

John and every other questioner,” remarked Diana. John et toutes les autres personnes qui posent des questions", remarque Diana. “Yet if I know nothing about you or your history, I cannot help you,” he said. “And you need help, do you not?” “I need it, and I seek it so far, sir, that some true philanthropist will put me in the way of getting work which I can do, and the remuneration for which will keep me, if but in the barest necessaries of life.” «J'en ai besoin, et je le cherche si loin, monsieur, qu'un vrai philanthrope me mettra dans la manière d'obtenir un travail que je peux faire et dont la rémunération me gardera, ne serait-ce que dans le strict nécessaire de la vie. " “I know not whether I am a true philanthropist; yet I am willing to aid you to the utmost of my power in a purpose so honest. “I know not whether I am a true philanthropist; yet I am willing to aid you to the utmost of my power in a purpose so honest. «Je ne sais pas si je suis un vrai philanthrope; pourtant je suis prêt à vous aider au maximum de ma puissance dans un but si honnête. First, then, tell me what you have been accustomed to do, and what you can do.” I had now swallowed my tea.

I was mightily refreshed by the beverage; as much so as a giant with wine: it gave new tone to my unstrung nerves, and enabled me to address this penetrating young judge steadily. I was mightily refreshed by the beverage; as much so as a giant with wine: it gave new tone to my unstrung nerves, and enabled me to address this penetrating young judge steadily. J'ai été puissamment rafraîchie par la boisson; autant qu'un géant avec du vin: cela donnait un ton nouveau à mes nerfs débridés, et me permettait de m'adresser régulièrement à ce jeune juge pénétrant. “Mr.

Rivers,” I said, turning to him, and looking at him, as he looked at me, openly and without diffidence, “you and your sisters have done me a great service—the greatest man can do his fellow-being; you have rescued me, by your noble hospitality, from death. Rivers,” I said, turning to him, and looking at him, as he looked at me, openly and without diffidence, “you and your sisters have done me a great service—the greatest man can do his fellow-being; you have rescued me, by your noble hospitality, from death. Rivers, dis-je en me tournant vers lui et en le regardant, comme il me regardait, ouvertement et sans hésitation, vous et vos sœurs m'avez rendu un grand service - le plus grand homme peut rendre son prochain; vous m'avez sauvé, par votre noble hospitalité, de la mort. This benefit conferred gives you an unlimited claim on my gratitude, and a claim, to a certain extent, on my confidence. Cet avantage conféré vous donne une revendication illimitée sur ma gratitude et une revendication, dans une certaine mesure, sur ma confiance. I will tell you as much of the history of the wanderer you have harboured, as I can tell without compromising my own peace of mind—my own security, moral and physical, and that of others. I will tell you as much of the history of the wanderer you have harboured, as I can tell without compromising my own peace of mind—my own security, moral and physical, and that of others. Je vous raconterai l'histoire du vagabond que vous avez hébergé, autant que je pourrai le faire sans compromettre ma tranquillité d'esprit, ma sécurité morale et physique, et celle des autres. “I am an orphan, the daughter of a clergyman.

My parents died before I could know them. I was brought up a dependant; educated in a charitable institution. I will even tell you the name of the establishment, where I passed six years as a pupil, and two as a teacher—Lowood Orphan Asylum, ---shire: you will have heard of it, Mr. Rivers?—the Rev. I will even tell you the name of the establishment, where I passed six years as a pupil, and two as a teacher—Lowood Orphan Asylum, ---shire: you will have heard of it, Mr. Rivers?—the Rev. Robert Brocklehurst is the treasurer.” “I have heard of Mr. Brocklehurst, and I have seen the school.” “I left Lowood nearly a year since to become a private governess. I obtained a good situation, and was happy. This place I was obliged to leave four days before I came here. The reason of my departure I cannot and ought not to explain: it would be useless, dangerous, and would sound incredible. Je ne peux et ne dois pas expliquer la raison de mon départ: ce serait inutile, dangereux et semblerait incroyable. No blame attached to me: I am as free from culpability as any one of you three. No blame attached to me: I am as free from culpability as any one of you three. Aucun blâme ne m'est attaché: je suis aussi libre de toute culpabilité que n'importe lequel de vous trois. Miserable I am, and must be for a time; for the catastrophe which drove me from a house I had found a paradise was of a strange and direful nature. Miserable I am, and must be for a time; for the catastrophe which drove me from a house I had found a paradise was of a strange and direful nature. Misérable je suis, et doit être pour un temps; car la catastrophe qui me chassa d'une maison où j'avais trouvé un paradis était d'une nature étrange et terrible. I observed but two points in planning my departure—speed, secrecy: to secure these, I had to leave behind me everything I possessed except a small parcel; which, in my hurry and trouble of mind, I forgot to take out of the coach that brought me to Whitcross. Je n'ai observé que deux points dans la planification de mon départ: la rapidité, le secret: pour les sécuriser, je devais laisser derrière moi tout ce que je possédais sauf un petit colis; que, dans ma hâte et mon trouble d'esprit, j'ai oublié de sortir de l'entraîneur qui m'amena à Whitcross. To this neighbourhood, then, I came, quite destitute. C'est donc dans ce quartier que je suis arrivé, sans le moindre sou. I slept two nights in the open air, and wandered about two days without crossing a threshold: but twice in that space of time did I taste food; and it was when brought by hunger, exhaustion, and despair almost to the last gasp, that you, Mr. Rivers, forbade me to perish of want at your door, and took me under the shelter of your roof. I slept two nights in the open air, and wandered about two days without crossing a threshold: but twice in that space of time did I taste food; and it was when brought by hunger, exhaustion, and despair almost to the last gasp, that you, Mr. Rivers, forbade me to perish of want at your door, and took me under the shelter of your roof. J'ai dormi deux nuits en plein air, et j'ai erré environ deux jours sans franchir un seuil: mais deux fois dans cet espace de temps j'ai goûté la nourriture; et c'est quand la faim, l'épuisement et le désespoir ont poussé jusqu'au dernier souffle, que vous, monsieur Rivers, m'avez défendu de périr de misère à votre porte, et m'avez pris sous l'abri de votre toit. I know all your sisters have done for me since—for I have not been insensible during my seeming torpor—and I owe to their spontaneous, genuine, genial compassion as large a debt as to your evangelical charity.” I know all your sisters have done for me since—for I have not been insensible during my seeming torpor—and I owe to their spontaneous, genuine, genial compassion as large a debt as to your evangelical charity.” Je sais que toutes vos sœurs ont fait pour moi depuis - car je n'ai pas été insensible pendant mon apparente torpeur - et je dois à leur compassion spontanée, authentique et généreuse une dette aussi grande que votre charité évangélique. “Don’t make her talk any more now, St. "Ne la fais plus parler maintenant, St.

John,” said Diana, as I paused; “she is evidently not yet fit for excitement. John, dit Diana en m'arrêtant; «Elle n'est évidemment pas encore apte à l'excitation. Come to the sofa and sit down now, Miss Elliott.” I gave an involuntary half start at hearing the alias : I had forgotten my new name. J'ai eu un sursaut involontaire en entendant le pseudonyme : j'avais oublié mon nouveau nom. Mr. Rivers, whom nothing seemed to escape, noticed it at once. “You said your name was Jane Elliott?” he observed. “I did say so; and it is the name by which I think it expedient to be called at present, but it is not my real name, and when I hear it, it sounds strange to me.” "C'est ce que j'ai dit, et c'est le nom par lequel je pense qu'il est opportun d'être appelé pour le moment, mais ce n'est pas mon vrai nom, et quand je l'entends, il me semble étrange. “Your real name you will not give?”

“No: I fear discovery above all things; and whatever disclosure would lead to it, I avoid.” «Non: je crains avant tout la découverte; et quelle que soit la divulgation qui y conduirait, j'évite. “You are quite right, I am sure,” said Diana. “Now do, brother, let her be at peace a while.” But when St.

John had mused a few moments he recommenced as imperturbably and with as much acumen as ever. John avait réfléchi quelques instants qu'il recommençait aussi imperturbablement et avec autant de perspicacité que jamais. “You would not like to be long dependent on our hospitality—you would wish, I see, to dispense as soon as may be with my sisters' compassion, and, above all, with my charity (I am quite sensible of the distinction drawn, nor do I resent it—it is just): you desire to be independent of us?” «Vous ne voudriez pas être longtemps dépendant de notre hospitalité - vous voudriez, je vois, vous dispenser le plus tôt possible de la compassion de mes sœurs, et surtout de ma charité (je suis tout à fait sensible à la distinction , je n'en veux pas non plus - c'est juste): tu désires être indépendant de nous? “I do: I have already said so.

Show me how to work, or how to seek work: that is all I now ask; then let me go, if it be but to the meanest cottage; but till then, allow me to stay here: I dread another essay of the horrors of homeless destitution.” Show me how to work, or how to seek work: that is all I now ask; then let me go, if it be but to the meanest cottage; but till then, allow me to stay here: I dread another essay of the horrors of homeless destitution.” Montrez-moi comment travailler, ou comment chercher du travail: c'est tout ce que je demande maintenant; alors laissez-moi aller, si ce n'est que dans la plus vilaine chaumière; mais d'ici là, permettez-moi de rester ici: je redoute un autre essai sur les horreurs de la misère des sans-abri. “Indeed you shall stay here,” said Diana, putting her white hand on my head. “You shall ,” repeated Mary, in the tone of undemonstrative sincerity which seemed natural to her. “My sisters, you see, have a pleasure in keeping you,” said Mr. St. John, “as they would have a pleasure in keeping and cherishing a half-frozen bird, some wintry wind might have driven through their casement. John, «comme ils auraient un plaisir à garder et à chérir un oiseau à moitié gelé, un vent hivernal aurait pu traverser leur battant. I feel more inclination to put you in the way of keeping yourself, and shall endeavour to do so; but observe, my sphere is narrow. Je me sens plus enclin à vous mettre en état de vous garder et je m'efforcerai de le faire; mais observez, ma sphère est étroite. I am but the incumbent of a poor country parish: my aid must be of the humblest sort. Je ne suis que le titulaire d'une paroisse de campagne pauvre: mon aide doit être de la plus humble sorte. And if you are inclined to despise the day of small things, seek some more efficient succour than such as I can offer.” Et si vous êtes enclin à mépriser le jour des petites choses, cherchez un secours plus efficace que ce que je peux offrir. “She has already said that she is willing to do anything honest she can do,” answered Diana for me; “and you know, St. John, she has no choice of helpers: she is forced to put up with such crusty people as you.” John, elle n'a pas le choix des aides: elle est forcée de supporter des gens aussi croustillants que vous. “I will be a dressmaker; I will be a plain-workwoman; I will be a servant, a nurse-girl, if I can be no better,” I answered. «Je serai couturière; Je serai une simple ouvrière; Je serai une servante, une infirmière, si je ne peux pas être meilleure, répondis-je. “Right,” said Mr. St.

John, quite coolly. John, très froidement. “If such is your spirit, I promise to aid you, in my own time and way.” «Si tel est votre esprit, je promets de vous aider, à mon rythme et à ma manière.» He now resumed the book with which he had been occupied before tea.

I soon withdrew, for I had talked as much, and sat up as long, as my present strength would permit. Je me retirai bientôt, car j'avais parlé autant et j'étais resté assis aussi longtemps que mes forces actuelles me le permettaient.