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Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, CHAPTER XXI-b

CHAPTER XXI-b

I had once vowed that I would never call her aunt again: I thought it no sin to forget and break that vow now. My fingers had fastened on her hand which lay outside the sheet: had she pressed mine kindly, I should at that moment have experienced true pleasure. But unimpressionable natures are not so soon softened, nor are natural antipathies so readily eradicated. Mrs. Reed took her hand away, and, turning her face rather from me, she remarked that the night was warm. Again she regarded me so icily, I felt at once that her opinion of me—her feeling towards me—was unchanged and unchangeable. I knew by her stony eye—opaque to tenderness, indissoluble to tears—that she was resolved to consider me bad to the last; because to believe me good would give her no generous pleasure: only a sense of mortification. I felt pain, and then I felt ire; and then I felt a determination to subdue her—to be her mistress in spite both of her nature and her will. My tears had risen, just as in childhood: I ordered them back to their source. I brought a chair to the bed-head: I sat down and leaned over the pillow. “You sent for me,” I said, “and I am here; and it is my intention to stay till I see how you get on.” “Oh, of course!

You have seen my daughters?” “Yes.”

“Well, you may tell them I wish you to stay till I can talk some things over with you I have on my mind: to-night it is too late, and I have a difficulty in recalling them. But there was something I wished to say—let me see—” The wandering look and changed utterance told what wreck had taken place in her once vigorous frame. Turning restlessly, she drew the bedclothes round her; my elbow, resting on a corner of the quilt, fixed it down: she was at once irritated. “Sit up!” said she; “don't annoy me with holding the clothes fast. Are you Jane Eyre?” “I am Jane Eyre.”

“I have had more trouble with that child than any one would believe. Such a burden to be left on my hands—and so much annoyance as she caused me, daily and hourly, with her incomprehensible disposition, and her sudden starts of temper, and her continual, unnatural watchings of one's movements! I declare she talked to me once like something mad, or like a fiend—no child ever spoke or looked as she did; I was glad to get her away from the house. What did they do with her at Lowood? The fever broke out there, and many of the pupils died. She, however, did not die: but I said she did—I wish she had died!” “A strange wish, Mrs. Reed; why do you hate her so?” “I had a dislike to her mother always; for she was my husband's only sister, and a great favourite with him: he opposed the family's disowning her when she made her low marriage; and when news came of her death, he wept like a simpleton. He would send for the baby; though I entreated him rather to put it out to nurse and pay for its maintenance. I hated it the first time I set my eyes on it—a sickly, whining, pining thing! It would wail in its cradle all night long—not screaming heartily like any other child, but whimpering and moaning. Reed pitied it; and he used to nurse it and notice it as if it had been his own: more, indeed, than he ever noticed his own at that age. He would try to make my children friendly to the little beggar: the darlings could not bear it, and he was angry with them when they showed their dislike. In his last illness, he had it brought continually to his bedside; and but an hour before he died, he bound me by vow to keep the creature. I would as soon have been charged with a pauper brat out of a workhouse: but he was weak, naturally weak. John does not at all resemble his father, and I am glad of it: John is like me and like my brothers—he is quite a Gibson. Oh, I wish he would cease tormenting me with letters for money? I have no more money to give him: we are getting poor. I must send away half the servants and shut up part of the house; or let it off. I can never submit to do that—yet how are we to get on? Two-thirds of my income goes in paying the interest of mortgages. John gambles dreadfully, and always loses—poor boy! He is beset by sharpers: John is sunk and degraded—his look is frightful—I feel ashamed for him when I see him.” She was getting much excited.

“I think I had better leave her now,” said I to Bessie, who stood on the other side of the bed. “Perhaps you had, Miss: but she often talks in this way towards night—in the morning she is calmer.” I rose.

“Stop!” exclaimed Mrs. Reed, “there is another thing I wished to say. He threatens me—he continually threatens me with his own death, or mine: and I dream sometimes that I see him laid out with a great wound in his throat, or with a swollen and blackened face. I am come to a strange pass: I have heavy troubles. What is to be done? How is the money to be had?” Bessie now endeavoured to persuade her to take a sedative draught: she succeeded with difficulty. Soon after, Mrs. Reed grew more composed, and sank into a dozing state. I then left her. More than ten days elapsed before I had again any conversation with her. She continued either delirious or lethargic; and the doctor forbade everything which could painfully excite her. Meantime, I got on as well as I could with Georgiana and Eliza. They were very cold, indeed, at first. Eliza would sit half the day sewing, reading, or writing, and scarcely utter a word either to me or her sister. Georgiana would chatter nonsense to her canary bird by the hour, and take no notice of me. But I was determined not to seem at a loss for occupation or amusement: I had brought my drawing materials with me, and they served me for both. Provided with a case of pencils, and some sheets of paper, I used to take a seat apart from them, near the window, and busy myself in sketching fancy vignettes, representing any scene that happened momentarily to shape itself in the ever-shifting kaleidoscope of imagination: a glimpse of sea between two rocks; the rising moon, and a ship crossing its disk; a group of reeds and water-flags, and a naiad's head, crowned with lotus-flowers, rising out of them; an elf sitting in a hedge-sparrow's nest, under a wreath of hawthorn-bloom. One morning I fell to sketching a face: what sort of a face it was to be, I did not care or know. I took a soft black pencil, gave it a broad point, and worked away. Soon I had traced on the paper a broad and prominent forehead and a square lower outline of visage: that contour gave me pleasure; my fingers proceeded actively to fill it with features. Strongly-marked horizontal eyebrows must be traced under that brow; then followed, naturally, a well-defined nose, with a straight ridge and full nostrils; then a flexible-looking mouth, by no means narrow; then a firm chin, with a decided cleft down the middle of it: of course, some black whiskers were wanted, and some jetty hair, tufted on the temples, and waved above the forehead. Now for the eyes: I had left them to the last, because they required the most careful working. I drew them large; I shaped them well: the eyelashes I traced long and sombre; the irids lustrous and large. “Good! but not quite the thing,” I thought, as I surveyed the effect: “they want more force and spirit;” and I wrought the shades blacker, that the lights might flash more brilliantly—a happy touch or two secured success. There, I had a friend's face under my gaze; and what did it signify that those young ladies turned their backs on me? I looked at it; I smiled at the speaking likeness: I was absorbed and content. “Is that a portrait of some one you know?” asked Eliza, who had approached me unnoticed. I responded that it was merely a fancy head, and hurried it beneath the other sheets. Of course, I lied: it was, in fact, a very faithful representation of Mr. Rochester. But what was that to her, or to any one but myself? Georgiana also advanced to look. The other drawings pleased her much, but she called that “an ugly man.” They both seemed surprised at my skill. I offered to sketch their portraits; and each, in turn, sat for a pencil outline. Then Georgiana produced her album. I promised to contribute a water-colour drawing: this put her at once into good humour. She proposed a walk in the grounds. Before we had been out two hours, we were deep in a confidential conversation: she had favoured me with a description of the brilliant winter she had spent in London two seasons ago—of the admiration she had there excited—the attention she had received; and I even got hints of the titled conquest she had made. In the course of the afternoon and evening these hints were enlarged on: various soft conversations were reported, and sentimental scenes represented; and, in short, a volume of a novel of fashionable life was that day improvised by her for my benefit. The communications were renewed from day to day: they always ran on the same theme—herself, her loves, and woes. It was strange she never once adverted either to her mother's illness, or her brother's death, or the present gloomy state of the family prospects. Her mind seemed wholly taken up with reminiscences of past gaiety, and aspirations after dissipations to come. She passed about five minutes each day in her mother's sick-room, and no more. Eliza still spoke little: she had evidently no time to talk. I never saw a busier person than she seemed to be; yet it was difficult to say what she did: or rather, to discover any result of her diligence. She had an alarm to call her up early. I know not how she occupied herself before breakfast, but after that meal she divided her time into regular portions, and each hour had its allotted task. Three times a day she studied a little book, which I found, on inspection, was a Common Prayer Book. I asked her once what was the great attraction of that volume, and she said, “the Rubric.” Three hours she gave to stitching, with gold thread, the border of a square crimson cloth, almost large enough for a carpet. In answer to my inquiries after the use of this article, she informed me it was a covering for the altar of a new church lately erected near Gateshead. Two hours she devoted to her diary; two to working by herself in the kitchen-garden; and one to the regulation of her accounts. She seemed to want no company; no conversation. I believe she was happy in her way: this routine sufficed for her; and nothing annoyed her so much as the occurrence of any incident which forced her to vary its clockwork regularity. She told me one evening, when more disposed to be communicative than usual, that John's conduct, and the threatened ruin of the family, had been a source of profound affliction to her: but she had now, she said, settled her mind, and formed her resolution. Her own fortune she had taken care to secure; and when her mother died—and it was wholly improbable, she tranquilly remarked, that she should either recover or linger long—she would execute a long-cherished project: seek a retirement where punctual habits would be permanently secured from disturbance, and place safe barriers between herself and a frivolous world. I asked if Georgiana would accompany her. “Of course not.

Georgiana and she had nothing in common: they never had had. She would not be burdened with her society for any consideration. Georgiana should take her own course; and she, Eliza, would take hers.” Georgiana, when not unburdening her heart to me, spent most of her time in lying on the sofa, fretting about the dulness of the house, and wishing over and over again that her aunt Gibson would send her an invitation up to town. “It would be so much better,” she said, “if she could only get out of the way for a month or two, till all was over.” I did not ask what she meant by “all being over,” but I suppose she referred to the expected decease of her mother and the gloomy sequel of funeral rites. Eliza generally took no more notice of her sister's indolence and complaints than if no such murmuring, lounging object had been before her. One day, however, as she put away her account-book and unfolded her embroidery, she suddenly took her up thus— “Georgiana, a more vain and absurd animal than you was certainly never allowed to cumber the earth. You had no right to be born, for you make no use of life. Instead of living for, in, and with yourself, as a reasonable being ought, you seek only to fasten your feebleness on some other person's strength: if no one can be found willing to burden her or himself with such a fat, weak, puffy, useless thing, you cry out that you are ill-treated, neglected, miserable. Then, too, existence for you must be a scene of continual change and excitement, or else the world is a dungeon: you must be admired, you must be courted, you must be flattered—you must have music, dancing, and society—or you languish, you die away. Have you no sense to devise a system which will make you independent of all efforts, and all wills, but your own? Take one day; share it into sections; to each section apportion its task: leave no stray unemployed quarters of an hour, ten minutes, five minutes—include all; do each piece of business in its turn with method, with rigid regularity. The day will close almost before you are aware it has begun; and you are indebted to no one for helping you to get rid of one vacant moment: you have had to seek no one's company, conversation, sympathy, forbearance; you have lived, in short, as an independent being ought to do. Take this advice: the first and last I shall offer you; then you will not want me or any one else, happen what may. Neglect it—go on as heretofore, craving, whining, and idling—and suffer the results of your idiocy, however bad and insuperable they may be. I tell you this plainly; and listen: for though I shall no more repeat what I am now about to say, I shall steadily act on it. After my mother's death, I wash my hands of you: from the day her coffin is carried to the vault in Gateshead Church, you and I will be as separate as if we had never known each other. You need not think that because we chanced to be born of the same parents, I shall suffer you to fasten me down by even the feeblest claim: I can tell you this—if the whole human race, ourselves excepted, were swept away, and we two stood alone on the earth, I would leave you in the old world, and betake myself to the new.” She closed her lips.

“You might have spared yourself the trouble of delivering that tirade,” answered Georgiana. “Everybody knows you are the most selfish, heartless creature in existence: and I know your spiteful hatred towards me: I have had a specimen of it before in the trick you played me about Lord Edwin Vere: you could not bear me to be raised above you, to have a title, to be received into circles where you dare not show your face, and so you acted the spy and informer, and ruined my prospects for ever.” Georgiana took out her handkerchief and blew her nose for an hour afterwards; Eliza sat cold, impassable, and assiduously industrious. True, generous feeling is made small account of by some, but here were two natures rendered, the one intolerably acrid, the other despicably savourless for the want of it. Feeling without judgment is a washy draught indeed; but judgment untempered by feeling is too bitter and husky a morsel for human deglutition. It was a wet and windy afternoon: Georgiana had fallen asleep on the sofa over the perusal of a novel; Eliza was gone to attend a saint's-day service at the new church—for in matters of religion she was a rigid formalist: no weather ever prevented the punctual discharge of what she considered her devotional duties; fair or foul, she went to church thrice every Sunday, and as often on week-days as there were prayers. I bethought myself to go upstairs and see how the dying woman sped, who lay there almost unheeded: the very servants paid her but a remittent attention: the hired nurse, being little looked after, would slip out of the room whenever she could. Bessie was faithful; but she had her own family to mind, and could only come occasionally to the hall. I found the sick-room unwatched, as I had expected: no nurse was there; the patient lay still, and seemingly lethargic; her livid face sunk in the pillows: the fire was dying in the grate. I renewed the fuel, re-arranged the bedclothes, gazed awhile on her who could not now gaze on me, and then I moved away to the window. The rain beat strongly against the panes, the wind blew tempestuously: “One lies there,” I thought, “who will soon be beyond the war of earthly elements. Whither will that spirit—now struggling to quit its material tenement—flit when at length released?” In pondering the great mystery, I thought of Helen Burns, recalled her dying words—her faith—her doctrine of the equality of disembodied souls. I was still listening in thought to her well-remembered tones—still picturing her pale and spiritual aspect, her wasted face and sublime gaze, as she lay on her placid deathbed, and whispered her longing to be restored to her divine Father's bosom—when a feeble voice murmured from the couch behind: “Who is that?” I knew Mrs. Reed had not spoken for days: was she reviving? I went up to her. “It is I, Aunt Reed.”

“Who—I?” was her answer.

“Who are you?” looking at me with surprise and a sort of alarm, but still not wildly. “You are quite a stranger to me—where is Bessie?” “She is at the lodge, aunt.”

“Aunt,” she repeated.

“Who calls me aunt? You are not one of the Gibsons; and yet I know you—that face, and the eyes and forehead, are quiet familiar to me: you are like—why, you are like Jane Eyre!” I said nothing: I was afraid of occasioning some shock by declaring my identity. “Yet,” said she, “I am afraid it is a mistake: my thoughts deceive me. I wished to see Jane Eyre, and I fancy a likeness where none exists: besides, in eight years she must be so changed.” I now gently assured her that I was the person she supposed and desired me to be: and seeing that I was understood, and that her senses were quite collected, I explained how Bessie had sent her husband to fetch me from Thornfield. “I am very ill, I know,” she said ere long.

“I was trying to turn myself a few minutes since, and find I cannot move a limb. It is as well I should ease my mind before I die: what we think little of in health, burdens us at such an hour as the present is to me. Is the nurse here? or is there no one in the room but you?” I assured her we were alone.

“Well, I have twice done you a wrong which I regret now. One was in breaking the promise which I gave my husband to bring you up as my own child; the other—” she stopped. “After all, it is of no great importance, perhaps,” she murmured to herself: “and then I may get better; and to humble myself so to her is painful.” She made an effort to alter her position, but failed: her face changed; she seemed to experience some inward sensation—the precursor, perhaps, of the last pang. “Well, I must get it over.

Eternity is before me: I had better tell her.—Go to my dressing-case, open it, and take out a letter you will see there.” I obeyed her directions.

“Read the letter,” she said. It was short, and thus conceived:—

“Madam,—Will you have the goodness to send me the address of my niece, Jane Eyre, and to tell me how she is? It is my intention to write shortly and desire her to come to me at Madeira. Providence has blessed my endeavours to secure a competency; and as I am unmarried and childless, I wish to adopt her during my life, and bequeath her at my death whatever I may have to leave.—I am, Madam, &c., &c., “John Eyre, Madeira.” It was dated three years back.

“Why did I never hear of this?” I asked.

“Because I disliked you too fixedly and thoroughly ever to lend a hand in lifting you to prosperity. I could not forget your conduct to me, Jane—the fury with which you once turned on me; the tone in which you declared you abhorred me the worst of anybody in the world; the unchildlike look and voice with which you affirmed that the very thought of me made you sick, and asserted that I had treated you with miserable cruelty. I could not forget my own sensations when you thus started up and poured out the venom of your mind: I felt fear as if an animal that I had struck or pushed had looked up at me with human eyes and cursed me in a man's voice.—Bring me some water! Oh, make haste!” “Dear Mrs. Reed,” said I, as I offered her the draught she required, “think no more of all this, let it pass away from your mind. Forgive me for my passionate language: I was a child then; eight, nine years have passed since that day.” She heeded nothing of what I said; but when she had tasted the water and drawn breath, she went on thus—

“I tell you I could not forget it; and I took my revenge: for you to be adopted by your uncle, and placed in a state of ease and comfort, was what I could not endure. I wrote to him; I said I was sorry for his disappointment, but Jane Eyre was dead: she had died of typhus fever at Lowood. Now act as you please: write and contradict my assertion—expose my falsehood as soon as you like. You were born, I think, to be my torment: my last hour is racked by the recollection of a deed which, but for you, I should never have been tempted to commit.” “If you could but be persuaded to think no more of it, aunt, and to regard me with kindness and forgiveness” “You have a very bad disposition,” said she, “and one to this day I feel it impossible to understand: how for nine years you could be patient and quiescent under any treatment, and in the tenth break out all fire and violence, I can never comprehend.” “My disposition is not so bad as you think: I am passionate, but not vindictive. Many a time, as a little child, I should have been glad to love you if you would have let me; and I long earnestly to be reconciled to you now: kiss me, aunt.” I approached my cheek to her lips: she would not touch it. She said I oppressed her by leaning over the bed, and again demanded water. As I laid her down—for I raised her and supported her on my arm while she drank—I covered her ice-cold and clammy hand with mine: the feeble fingers shrank from my touch—the glazing eyes shunned my gaze. “Love me, then, or hate me, as you will,” I said at last, “you have my full and free forgiveness: ask now for God's, and be at peace.” Poor, suffering woman!

it was too late for her to make now the effort to change her habitual frame of mind: living, she had ever hated me—dying, she must hate me still. The nurse now entered, and Bessie followed.

I yet lingered half-an-hour longer, hoping to see some sign of amity: but she gave none. She was fast relapsing into stupor; nor did her mind again rally: at twelve o'clock that night she died. I was not present to close her eyes, nor were either of her daughters. They came to tell us the next morning that all was over. She was by that time laid out. Eliza and I went to look at her: Georgiana, who had burst out into loud weeping, said she dared not go. There was stretched Sarah Reed's once robust and active frame, rigid and still: her eye of flint was covered with its cold lid; her brow and strong traits wore yet the impress of her inexorable soul. A strange and solemn object was that corpse to me. I gazed on it with gloom and pain: nothing soft, nothing sweet, nothing pitying, or hopeful, or subduing did it inspire; only a grating anguish for her woes—not my loss—and a sombre tearless dismay at the fearfulness of death in such a form. Eliza surveyed her parent calmly.

After a silence of some minutes she observed— “With her constitution she should have lived to a good old age: her life was shortened by trouble.” And then a spasm constricted her mouth for an instant: as it passed away she turned and left the room, and so did I. Neither of us had dropt a tear.

CHAPTER XXI-b CAPÍTULO XXI-b ГЛАВА XXI-б BÖLÜM XXI-b

I had once vowed that I would never call her aunt again: I thought it no sin to forget and break that vow now. J'avais juré une fois de ne plus jamais l'appeler tante: je pensais que ce n'était pas un péché d'oublier et de rompre ce vœu maintenant. My fingers had fastened on her hand which lay outside the sheet: had she pressed mine kindly, I should at that moment have experienced true pleasure. My fingers had fastened on her hand which lay outside the sheet: had she pressed mine kindly, I should at that moment have experienced true pleasure. Mes doigts s'étaient attachés à sa main qui se trouvait à l'extérieur du drap: si elle avait serré les miens avec bonté, j'aurais à ce moment éprouvé un vrai plaisir. But unimpressionable natures are not so soon softened, nor are natural antipathies so readily eradicated. Mais les natures inimpressionnables ne sont pas si vite adoucies, et les antipathies naturelles ne sont pas si facilement éradiquées. Mrs. Reed took her hand away, and, turning her face rather from me, she remarked that the night was warm. Mme Reed a enlevé sa main, et, détournant plutôt son visage de moi, elle a remarqué que la nuit était chaude. Again she regarded me so icily, I felt at once that her opinion of me—her feeling towards me—was unchanged and unchangeable. Elle me regarda à nouveau d'un air si glacial que je sentis tout de suite que son opinion sur moi, ses sentiments à mon égard, étaient inchangés et inaltérables. I knew by her stony eye—opaque to tenderness, indissoluble to tears—that she was resolved to consider me bad to the last; because to believe me good would give her no generous pleasure: only a sense of mortification. Je savais à son œil de pierre - opaque à la tendresse, indissoluble aux larmes - qu'elle était résolue à me considérer comme mauvaise jusqu'au bout; car me croire bon ne lui donnerait aucun plaisir généreux: seulement un sentiment de mortification. I felt pain, and then I felt ire; and then I felt a determination to subdue her—to be her mistress in spite both of her nature and her will. J'ai ressenti de la douleur, puis j'ai ressenti de la colère; et puis j'ai senti une détermination à la soumettre, à être sa maîtresse malgré sa nature et sa volonté. My tears had risen, just as in childhood: I ordered them back to their source. Mes larmes étaient montées, tout comme dans l'enfance: je les ai renvoyées à leur source. I brought a chair to the bed-head: I sat down and leaned over the pillow. J'ai apporté une chaise à la tête du lit : Je me suis assis et me suis penché sur l'oreiller. “You sent for me,” I said, “and I am here; and it is my intention to stay till I see how you get on.” «Vous m'avez fait appeler,» j'ai dit, «et je suis ici; et j'ai l'intention de rester jusqu'à ce que je voie comment tu vas. “Oh, of course!

You have seen my daughters?” “Yes.”

“Well, you may tell them I wish you to stay till I can talk some things over with you I have on my mind: to-night it is too late, and I have a difficulty in recalling them. "Eh bien, vous pouvez leur dire que je souhaite que vous restiez jusqu'à ce que je puisse parler avec vous de certaines choses que j'ai à l'esprit : ce soir, il est trop tard, et j'ai du mal à me les remémorer. But there was something I wished to say—let me see—” Mais il y avait quelque chose que je voulais dire... Voyons voir..." The wandering look and changed utterance told what wreck had taken place in her once vigorous frame. Le regard errant et l'expression changée indiquaient quelle épave s'était produite dans son corps autrefois vigoureux. Turning restlessly, she drew the bedclothes round her; my elbow, resting on a corner of the quilt, fixed it down: she was at once irritated. Se retournant sans cesse, elle tira les draps autour d'elle; mon coude, posé sur un coin de l'édredon, le fixa: elle fut aussitôt irritée. “Sit up!” said she; “don’t annoy me with holding the clothes fast. «Asseyez-vous!» dit-elle; «Ne me dérange pas de tenir les vêtements rapidement. Are you Jane Eyre?” “I am Jane Eyre.”

“I have had more trouble with that child than any one would believe. Such a burden to be left on my hands—and so much annoyance as she caused me, daily and hourly, with her incomprehensible disposition, and her sudden starts of temper, and her continual, unnatural watchings of one’s movements! Un tel fardeau à laisser sur mes mains - et tant de gêne qu'elle me causait, tous les jours et toutes les heures, avec son tempérament incompréhensible, ses sursauts d'humeur et ses constantes observations contre nature de ses mouvements! I declare she talked to me once like something mad, or like a fiend—no child ever spoke or looked as she did; I was glad to get her away from the house. Je déclare qu'elle m'a parlé une fois comme quelque chose de fou, ou comme un démon - aucun enfant n'a jamais parlé ou ressemblé à elle; J'étais content de l'éloigner de la maison. What did they do with her at Lowood? The fever broke out there, and many of the pupils died. La fièvre a éclaté là-bas et de nombreux élèves sont morts. She, however, did not die: but I said she did—I wish she had died!” Elle n'est cependant pas morte: mais j'ai dit qu'elle était morte - j'aurais aimé qu'elle soit morte! “A strange wish, Mrs. Reed; why do you hate her so?” “I had a dislike to her mother always; for she was my husband’s only sister, and a great favourite with him: he opposed the family’s disowning her when she made her low marriage; and when news came of her death, he wept like a simpleton. «J'ai toujours eu une aversion pour sa mère; car elle était la seule sœur de mon mari, et une grande favorite avec lui: il s'opposait à ce que la famille la renie quand elle faisait son bas mariage; et à la nouvelle de sa mort, il pleura comme un imbécile. He would send for the baby; though I entreated him rather to put it out to nurse and pay for its maintenance. Il enverrait chercher le bébé; bien que je le supplie plutôt de l'éteindre en soins infirmiers et de payer son entretien. I hated it the first time I set my eyes on it—a sickly, whining, pining thing! Je l'ai détesté la première fois que j'ai posé mes yeux dessus - un truc maladif, pleurnichard et douloureux! It would wail in its cradle all night long—not screaming heartily like any other child, but whimpering and moaning. Il gémissait dans son berceau toute la nuit, non pas en criant de bon cœur comme n'importe quel autre enfant, mais en pleurnichant et en gémissant. Reed pitied it; and he used to nurse it and notice it as if it had been his own: more, indeed, than he ever noticed his own at that age. Reed en a eu pitié; et il avait l'habitude de le nourrir et de le remarquer comme si c'était le sien: plus, en effet, qu'il n'avait jamais remarqué le sien à cet âge. He would try to make my children friendly to the little beggar: the darlings could not bear it, and he was angry with them when they showed their dislike. Il essaierait de rendre mes enfants amicaux avec le petit mendiant: les chéris ne pouvaient pas le supporter, et il était en colère contre eux quand ils montraient leur aversion. In his last illness, he had it brought continually to his bedside; and but an hour before he died, he bound me by vow to keep the creature. Dans sa dernière maladie, il l'a fait porter continuellement à son chevet; et une heure avant sa mort, il m'engagea par vœu à garder la créature. I would as soon have been charged with a pauper brat out of a workhouse: but he was weak, naturally weak. J'aurais aussitôt été accusé d'un morveux pauvre hors d'un workhouse: mais il était faible, naturellement faible. John does not at all resemble his father, and I am glad of it: John is like me and like my brothers—he is quite a Gibson. John ne ressemble pas du tout à son père, et j'en suis heureux: John est comme moi et comme mes frères - c'est un vrai Gibson. Oh, I wish he would cease tormenting me with letters for money? I have no more money to give him: we are getting poor. I must send away half the servants and shut up part of the house; or let it off. Je dois renvoyer la moitié des serviteurs et fermer une partie de la maison; ou laissez tomber. I can never submit to do that—yet how are we to get on? Je ne peux jamais me soumettre à cela - mais comment allons-nous continuer? Two-thirds of my income goes in paying the interest of mortgages. Deux tiers de mes revenus sont consacrés au paiement des intérêts des prêts hypothécaires. John gambles dreadfully, and always loses—poor boy! He is beset by sharpers: John is sunk and degraded—his look is frightful—I feel ashamed for him when I see him.” Il est assailli par les aiguiseurs: John est coulé et dégradé - son regard est affreux - j'ai honte pour lui quand je le vois. She was getting much excited. Elle devenait très excitée.

“I think I had better leave her now,” said I to Bessie, who stood on the other side of the bed. “Perhaps you had, Miss: but she often talks in this way towards night—in the morning she is calmer.” "Peut-être, Mademoiselle, mais elle parle souvent de cette façon vers la nuit - le matin, elle est plus calme. I rose.

“Stop!” exclaimed Mrs. Reed, “there is another thing I wished to say. He threatens me—he continually threatens me with his own death, or mine: and I dream sometimes that I see him laid out with a great wound in his throat, or with a swollen and blackened face. Il me menace - il me menace continuellement de sa propre mort, ou de la mienne: et je rêve parfois que je le vois étendu avec une grande blessure à la gorge, ou avec un visage enflé et noirci. I am come to a strange pass: I have heavy troubles. J'arrive à un étrange passage: j'ai de gros problèmes. What is to be done? Qu'y a-t-il à faire? How is the money to be had?” Comment obtenir l'argent ?" Bessie now endeavoured to persuade her to take a sedative draught: she succeeded with difficulty. Bessie essaya maintenant de la persuader de prendre un tirage sédatif: elle réussit difficilement. Soon after, Mrs. Reed grew more composed, and sank into a dozing state. I then left her. More than ten days elapsed before I had again any conversation with her. Plus de dix jours se sont écoulés avant que je n'aie à nouveau une conversation avec elle. She continued either delirious or lethargic; and the doctor forbade everything which could painfully excite her. Meantime, I got on as well as I could with Georgiana and Eliza. En attendant, je m'entendais aussi bien que je pouvais avec Georgiana et Eliza. They were very cold, indeed, at first. Eliza would sit half the day sewing, reading, or writing, and scarcely utter a word either to me or her sister. Eliza passait la moitié de la journée à coudre, lire ou écrire, et à peine prononcer un mot ni à moi ni à sa sœur. Georgiana would chatter nonsense to her canary bird by the hour, and take no notice of me. Georgiana bavardait toutes les heures avec son oiseau canari et ne me faisait pas attention. But I was determined not to seem at a loss for occupation or amusement: I had brought my drawing materials with me, and they served me for both. Mais j'étais déterminé à ne pas paraître à court d'occupation ou d'amusement: j'avais apporté mon matériel de dessin avec moi, et ils m'ont servi pour les deux. Provided with a case of pencils, and some sheets of paper, I used to take a seat apart from them, near the window, and busy myself in sketching fancy vignettes, representing any scene that happened momentarily to shape itself in the ever-shifting kaleidoscope of imagination: a glimpse of sea between two rocks; the rising moon, and a ship crossing its disk; a group of reeds and water-flags, and a naiad’s head, crowned with lotus-flowers, rising out of them; an elf sitting in a hedge-sparrow’s nest, under a wreath of hawthorn-bloom. Muni d'un étui de crayons et de quelques feuilles de papier, j'avais l'habitude de m'asseoir à l'écart d'eux, près de la fenêtre, et de m'occuper à dessiner des vignettes fantaisie, représentant toute scène qui se produisait momentanément pour se modeler dans le kaléidoscope toujours changeant d'imagination: un aperçu de la mer entre deux rochers; la lune montante et un navire traversant son disque; un groupe de roseaux et de drapeaux d'eau, et une tête de naïade, couronnée de fleurs de lotus, en sortant; un elfe assis dans un nid de moineau de haie, sous une couronne d'aubépine. One morning I fell to sketching a face: what sort of a face it was to be, I did not care or know. Un matin, je me suis mis à dessiner un visage: quelle sorte de visage cela devait être, je m'en fichais ou ne le savais pas. I took a soft black pencil, gave it a broad point, and worked away. J'ai pris un crayon noir doux, lui ai donné une pointe large et travaillé. Soon I had traced on the paper a broad and prominent forehead and a square lower outline of visage: that contour gave me pleasure; my fingers proceeded actively to fill it with features. Bientôt j'avais tracé sur le papier un front large et proéminent et un contour inférieur carré de visage: ce contour me faisait plaisir; mes doigts ont procédé activement à le remplir de traits. Strongly-marked horizontal eyebrows must be traced under that brow; then followed, naturally, a well-defined nose, with a straight ridge and full nostrils; then a flexible-looking mouth, by no means narrow; then a firm chin, with a decided cleft down the middle of it: of course, some black whiskers were wanted, and some jetty hair, tufted on the temples, and waved above the forehead. Des sourcils horizontaux fortement marqués doivent être tracés sous ce front; puis, naturellement, un nez bien défini, avec une crête droite et des narines pleines; puis une bouche d'apparence souple, nullement étroite; puis un menton ferme, avec une fente prononcée au milieu de celui-ci: bien sûr, il fallait des moustaches noires et des poils de jetée, touffus sur les tempes et ondulés au-dessus du front. Now for the eyes: I had left them to the last, because they required the most careful working. I drew them large; I shaped them well: the eyelashes I traced long and sombre; the irids lustrous and large. Je les ai dessinés en grand; Je les ai bien modelées: les cils que j'ai tracés longs et sombres; les irides lustrés et grands. “Good! but not quite the thing,” I thought, as I surveyed the effect: “they want more force and spirit;” and I wrought the shades blacker, that the lights might flash more brilliantly—a happy touch or two secured success. mais pas tout à fait la chose », ai-je pensé, en examinant l'effet:« ils veulent plus de force et d'esprit; » et j'ai travaillé les nuances plus noires, que les lumières pourraient clignoter plus brillamment - un contact heureux ou deux succès assurés. There, I had a friend’s face under my gaze; and what did it signify that those young ladies turned their backs on me? Là, j'avais le visage d'un ami sous mon regard; et qu'est-ce que cela signifiait que ces jeunes filles me tournaient le dos? I looked at it; I smiled at the speaking likeness: I was absorbed and content. Je l'ai regardé; J'ai souri à la ressemblance parlante: j'étais absorbé et content. “Is that a portrait of some one you know?” asked Eliza, who had approached me unnoticed. "Est-ce le portrait de quelqu'un que vous connaissez?" demanda Eliza, qui m'avait approché sans se faire remarquer. I responded that it was merely a fancy head, and hurried it beneath the other sheets. J'ai répondu que c'était simplement une tête de fantaisie, et je l'ai dépêchée sous les autres draps. Of course, I lied: it was, in fact, a very faithful representation of Mr. Rochester. Bien sûr, j'ai menti : il s'agissait en fait d'une représentation très fidèle de M. Rochester. But what was that to her, or to any one but myself? Georgiana also advanced to look. The other drawings pleased her much, but she called that “an ugly man.” They both seemed surprised at my skill. I offered to sketch their portraits; and each, in turn, sat for a pencil outline. J'ai proposé de dessiner leurs portraits; et chacun, à son tour, s'est assis pour un contour de crayon. Then Georgiana produced her album. Georgiana a ensuite produit son album. I promised to contribute a water-colour drawing: this put her at once into good humour. J'ai promis de contribuer un dessin à l'aquarelle: cela la met aussitôt dans la bonne humeur. She proposed a walk in the grounds. Before we had been out two hours, we were deep in a confidential conversation: she had favoured me with a description of the brilliant winter she had spent in London two seasons ago—of the admiration she had there excited—the attention she had received; and I even got hints of the titled conquest she had made. Avant que nous ne soyons sortis deux heures, nous étions en pleine conversation confidentielle: elle m'avait favorisé avec une description du brillant hiver qu'elle avait passé à Londres il y a deux saisons - de l'admiration qu'elle y avait excitée - de l'attention qu'elle avait reçue; et j'ai même eu des indices de la conquête intitulée qu'elle avait faite. In the course of the afternoon and evening these hints were enlarged on: various soft conversations were reported, and sentimental scenes represented; and, in short, a volume of a novel of fashionable life was that day improvised by her for my benefit. Au cours de l'après-midi et du soir, ces indices ont été développés: diverses conversations douces ont été rapportées et des scènes sentimentales représentées; et, en bref, un volume d'un roman de la vie à la mode fut ce jour-là improvisé par elle à mon profit. The communications were renewed from day to day: they always ran on the same theme—herself, her loves, and woes. Les communications se renouvellent de jour en jour: elles tournent toujours sur le même thème: elle-même, ses amours et ses malheurs. It was strange she never once adverted either to her mother’s illness, or her brother’s death, or the present gloomy state of the family prospects. Il était étrange qu'elle n'ait jamais parlé de la maladie de sa mère, de la mort de son frère ou de l'état sombre actuel des perspectives de la famille. Her mind seemed wholly taken up with reminiscences of past gaiety, and aspirations after dissipations to come. Son esprit semblait entièrement absorbé par les réminiscences de la gaieté du passé et les aspirations après les dissipations à venir. She passed about five minutes each day in her mother’s sick-room, and no more. Eliza still spoke little: she had evidently no time to talk. I never saw a busier person than she seemed to be; yet it was difficult to say what she did: or rather, to discover any result of her diligence. Je n'ai jamais vu une personne plus occupée qu'elle ne semblait l'être; pourtant il était difficile de dire ce qu'elle faisait: ou plutôt de découvrir le résultat de sa diligence. She had an alarm to call her up early. Elle avait une alarme pour l'appeler tôt. I know not how she occupied herself before breakfast, but after that meal she divided her time into regular portions, and each hour had its allotted task. Je ne sais comment elle s'est occupée avant le petit-déjeuner, mais après ce repas, elle a divisé son temps en portions régulières, et chaque heure avait sa tâche. Three times a day she studied a little book, which I found, on inspection, was a Common Prayer Book. Trois fois par jour, elle a étudié un petit livre, que j'ai trouvé, après examen, était un livre de prière commun. I asked her once what was the great attraction of that volume, and she said, “the Rubric.”  Three hours she gave to stitching, with gold thread, the border of a square crimson cloth, almost large enough for a carpet. Je lui ai demandé une fois quelle était la grande attraction de ce volume, et elle a répondu: «la rubrique». Elle consacra trois heures à coudre, avec du fil d'or, la bordure d'un drap carré cramoisi, presque assez grand pour un tapis. In answer to my inquiries after the use of this article, she informed me it was a covering for the altar of a new church lately erected near Gateshead. En réponse à mes questions après l'utilisation de cet article, elle m'a informé qu'il s'agissait d'une couverture pour l'autel d'une nouvelle église récemment érigée près de Gateshead. Two hours she devoted to her diary; two to working by herself in the kitchen-garden; and one to the regulation of her accounts. Elle a consacré deux heures à son journal; deux à travailler seule dans le potager; et un à la réglementation de ses comptes. She seemed to want no company; no conversation. I believe she was happy in her way: this routine sufficed for her; and nothing annoyed her so much as the occurrence of any incident which forced her to vary its clockwork regularity. Je crois qu'elle était heureuse à sa manière: cette routine lui suffisait; et rien ne la gênait autant que la survenue d'un incident qui la forçait à varier sa régularité mécanique. She told me one evening, when more disposed to be communicative than usual, that John’s conduct, and the threatened ruin of the family, had been a source of profound affliction to her: but she had now, she said, settled her mind, and formed her resolution. Elle me dit un soir, plus disposée à communiquer que d'habitude, que la conduite de John et la menace de ruine de la famille avaient été pour elle une source de profonde affliction: mais elle avait maintenant, dit-elle, réglé son esprit, et forma sa résolution. Her own fortune she had taken care to secure; and when her mother died—and it was wholly improbable, she tranquilly remarked, that she should either recover or linger long—she would execute a long-cherished project: seek a retirement where punctual habits would be permanently secured from disturbance, and place safe barriers between herself and a frivolous world. Elle avait pris soin d'assurer sa propre fortune; et quand sa mère mourrait - et il était tout à fait improbable, remarqua-t-elle tranquillement, qu'elle devrait récupérer ou s'attarder longtemps - elle exécuterait un projet longtemps chéri: chercher une retraite où les habitudes ponctuelles seraient en permanence à l'abri des perturbations, et mettre en sécurité barrières entre elle et un monde frivole. I asked if Georgiana would accompany her. “Of course not.

Georgiana and she had nothing in common: they never had had. Georgiana et elle n'avaient rien en commun : elles n'en avaient jamais eu. She would not be burdened with her society for any consideration. Elle ne serait pas accablée par sa société pour aucune considération. Georgiana should take her own course; and she, Eliza, would take hers.” Georgiana devrait suivre son propre cours; et elle, Eliza, prendrait la sienne. Georgiana, when not unburdening her heart to me, spent most of her time in lying on the sofa, fretting about the dulness of the house, and wishing over and over again that her aunt Gibson would send her an invitation up to town. Georgiana, quand elle ne me soulageait pas le cœur, passait la plupart de son temps allongée sur le canapé, s'inquiétant de la morosité de la maison et souhaitant encore et encore que sa tante Gibson lui envoie une invitation en ville. “It would be so much better,” she said, “if she could only get out of the way for a month or two, till all was over.”  I did not ask what she meant by “all being over,” but I suppose she referred to the expected decease of her mother and the gloomy sequel of funeral rites. «Ce serait tellement mieux», a-t-elle dit, «si elle ne pouvait s'éloigner que pendant un mois ou deux, jusqu'à ce que tout soit fini. Je n'ai pas demandé ce qu'elle voulait dire par «tout est fini», mais je suppose qu'elle a évoqué le décès attendu de sa mère et la sombre suite des rites funéraires. Eliza generally took no more notice of her sister’s indolence and complaints than if no such murmuring, lounging object had been before her. Eliza ne faisait généralement pas plus attention à l'indolence et aux plaintes de sa sœur que si aucun objet de ce genre murmurant et allongé n'avait été devant elle. One day, however, as she put away her account-book and unfolded her embroidery, she suddenly took her up thus— Un jour, cependant, alors qu'elle rangeait son livre de comptes et dépliait sa broderie, elle la prit soudain ainsi: “Georgiana, a more vain and absurd animal than you was certainly never allowed to cumber the earth. «Georgiana, une bête plus vaniteuse et absurde que vous n'a certainement jamais été autorisée à encombrer la terre. You had no right to be born, for you make no use of life. Instead of living for, in, and with yourself, as a reasonable being ought, you seek only to fasten your feebleness on some other person’s strength: if no one can be found willing to burden her or himself with such a fat, weak, puffy, useless thing, you cry out that you are ill-treated, neglected, miserable. Au lieu de vivre pour, en et avec vous-même, comme le devrait un être raisonnable, vous ne cherchez qu'à attacher votre faiblesse à la force d'une autre personne: si personne ne peut être trouvé disposé à se charger d'une telle graisse, faible, bouffie. , chose inutile, vous criez que vous êtes maltraité, négligé, misérable. Then, too, existence for you must be a scene of continual change and excitement, or else the world is a dungeon: you must be admired, you must be courted, you must be flattered—you must have music, dancing, and society—or you languish, you die away. Ensuite, aussi, l'existence pour vous doit être une scène de changement et d'excitation continus, ou bien le monde est un donjon: vous devez être admiré, vous devez être courtisé, vous devez être flatté - vous devez avoir la musique, la danse et la société ... ou vous languissez, vous mourez. Have you no sense to devise a system which will make you independent of all efforts, and all wills, but your own? N'avez-vous pas le sens de concevoir un système qui vous rendra indépendant de tout effort et de toute volonté, sauf le vôtre? Take one day; share it into sections; to each section apportion its task: leave no stray unemployed quarters of an hour, ten minutes, five minutes—include all; do each piece of business in its turn with method, with rigid regularity. Prenez un jour; partagez-le en sections; à chaque section répartir sa tâche: ne pas laisser au chômage un quart d'heure, dix minutes, cinq minutes - inclure tout le monde; faites chaque affaire à son tour avec méthode, avec une rigoureuse régularité. The day will close almost before you are aware it has begun; and you are indebted to no one for helping you to get rid of one vacant moment: you have had to seek no one’s company, conversation, sympathy, forbearance; you have lived, in short, as an independent being ought to do. La journée se terminera presque avant que vous vous rendiez compte qu'elle a commencé; et vous n'êtes redevable à personne de vous avoir aidé à vous débarrasser d'un moment vacant: vous n'avez eu à chercher à personne la compagnie, la conversation, la sympathie, la patience; vous avez vécu, en somme, comme devrait le faire un être indépendant. Take this advice: the first and last I shall offer you; then you will not want me or any one else, happen what may. Prenez ce conseil: le premier et le dernier je vous offrirai; alors vous ne voudrez plus de moi ni de personne d'autre, quoi qu'il arrive. Neglect it—go on as heretofore, craving, whining, and idling—and suffer the results of your idiocy, however bad and insuperable they may be. Négligez-le - continuez comme jusqu'à présent, avide, pleurnichant et oisif - et souffrez les résultats de votre idiotie, aussi mauvais et insurmontables qu'ils soient. I tell you this plainly; and listen: for though I shall no more repeat what I am now about to say, I shall steadily act on it. Je vous le dis clairement; et écoutez: car si je ne répéterai plus ce que je vais dire maintenant, j'agirai régulièrement en conséquence. After my mother’s death, I wash my hands of you: from the day her coffin is carried to the vault in Gateshead Church, you and I will be as separate as if we had never known each other. Après la mort de ma mère, je me lave les mains: à partir du jour où son cercueil sera porté au caveau de l'église Gateshead, vous et moi serons aussi séparés que si nous ne nous étions jamais connus. You need not think that because we chanced to be born of the same parents, I shall suffer you to fasten me down by even the feeblest claim: I can tell you this—if the whole human race, ourselves excepted, were swept away, and we two stood alone on the earth, I would leave you in the old world, and betake myself to the new.” Tu n'as pas besoin de penser que parce que nous sommes nés des mêmes parents, je souffrirai que tu m'attaches même par la plus faible revendication: je peux te dire ceci - si toute la race humaine, à l'exception de nous-mêmes, a été emportée, et nous étions tous les deux seuls sur la terre, je vous laisserais dans l'ancien monde, et je me dirigerais vers le nouveau. She closed her lips.

“You might have spared yourself the trouble of delivering that tirade,” answered Georgiana. «Vous vous êtes peut-être épargné la peine de livrer cette tirade», répondit Georgiana. “Everybody knows you are the most selfish, heartless creature in existence: and I know your spiteful hatred towards me: I have had a specimen of it before in the trick you played me about Lord Edwin Vere: you could not bear me to be raised above you, to have a title, to be received into circles where you dare not show your face, and so you acted the spy and informer, and ruined my prospects for ever.”  Georgiana took out her handkerchief and blew her nose for an hour afterwards; Eliza sat cold, impassable, and assiduously industrious. «Tout le monde sait que vous êtes la créature la plus égoïste et sans cœur qui existe: et je connais votre haine méchante envers moi: j'en ai déjà eu un spécimen dans le tour que vous m'avez joué à propos de Lord Edwin Vere: vous ne pouviez pas me supporter d'être élevé. au-dessus de vous, pour avoir un titre, pour être reçu dans des cercles où vous n'osez pas montrer votre visage, et ainsi vous avez agi l'espion et l'informateur, et ruiné mes perspectives à jamais. Georgiana sortit son mouchoir et se moucha pendant une heure après; Eliza était assise froide, infranchissable et assidûment industrieuse. True, generous feeling is made small account of by some, but here were two natures rendered, the one intolerably acrid, the other despicably savourless for the want of it. Certes, le sentiment généreux est peu rendu compte par certains, mais voici deux natures rendues, l'une intolérablement âcre, l'autre désespérément sans saveur à défaut. Feeling without judgment is a washy draught indeed; but judgment untempered by feeling is too bitter and husky a morsel for human deglutition. Se sentir sans jugement est en effet une ébauche délicate; mais le jugement non tempéré par le sentiment est un morceau trop amer et rauque pour la déglutition humaine. It was a wet and windy afternoon: Georgiana had fallen asleep on the sofa over the perusal of a novel; Eliza was gone to attend a saint’s-day service at the new church—for in matters of religion she was a rigid formalist: no weather ever prevented the punctual discharge of what she considered her devotional duties; fair or foul, she went to church thrice every Sunday, and as often on week-days as there were prayers. C'était un après-midi humide et venteux: Georgiana s'était endormie sur le canapé à la lecture d'un roman; Eliza était allée assister à un service du jour de la sainte dans la nouvelle église - car en matière de religion, elle était un formaliste rigide: aucun temps n'empêchait jamais l'accomplissement ponctuel de ce qu'elle considérait comme ses devoirs de dévotion; belle ou fétide, elle allait à l'église trois fois chaque dimanche, et aussi souvent en semaine qu'il y avait des prières. I bethought myself to go upstairs and see how the dying woman sped, who lay there almost unheeded: the very servants paid her but a remittent attention: the hired nurse, being little looked after, would slip out of the room whenever she could. Je songeai à monter à l'étage et à voir comment la mourante filait, qui restait là presque sans être écoutée: les domestiques mêmes ne lui prêtaient qu'une attention réfractaire: l'infirmière embauchée, peu soignée, se glissait hors de la chambre chaque fois qu'elle le pouvait. Bessie was faithful; but she had her own family to mind, and could only come occasionally to the hall. Bessie était fidèle, mais elle devait s'occuper de sa propre famille et ne pouvait venir qu'occasionnellement à la salle. I found the sick-room unwatched, as I had expected: no nurse was there; the patient lay still, and seemingly lethargic; her livid face sunk in the pillows: the fire was dying in the grate. Je trouvai la chambre du malade sans surveillance, comme je m'y attendais: il n'y avait pas d'infirmière; le patient était immobile et apparemment léthargique; son visage livide s'enfonçait dans les oreillers: le feu mourait dans la grille. I renewed the fuel, re-arranged the bedclothes, gazed awhile on her who could not now gaze on me, and then I moved away to the window. J'ai renouvelé le carburant, réarrangé les draps, regardé un moment sur elle qui ne pouvait plus me regarder, puis je me suis éloigné vers la fenêtre. The rain beat strongly against the panes, the wind blew tempestuously: “One lies there,” I thought, “who will soon be beyond the war of earthly elements. La pluie battait fortement les vitres, le vent soufflait avec tempête: «On est là, pensai-je, qui sera bientôt au-delà de la guerre des éléments terrestres. Whither will that spirit—now struggling to quit its material tenement—flit when at length released?” Où cet esprit - qui lutte maintenant pour quitter son immeuble matériel - va-t-il voler lorsqu'il est enfin libéré? In pondering the great mystery, I thought of Helen Burns, recalled her dying words—her faith—her doctrine of the equality of disembodied souls. En méditant sur le grand mystère, j'ai pensé à Helen Burns, rappelé ses dernières paroles - sa foi - sa doctrine de l'égalité des âmes désincarnées. I was still listening in thought to her well-remembered tones—still picturing her pale and spiritual aspect, her wasted face and sublime gaze, as she lay on her placid deathbed, and whispered her longing to be restored to her divine Father’s bosom—when a feeble voice murmured from the couch behind: “Who is that?” J'écoutais toujours dans mes pensées ses tons dont on se souvenait - toujours en imaginant son aspect pâle et spirituel, son visage perdu et son regard sublime, alors qu'elle était allongée sur son lit de mort placide, et murmurait son désir d'être restaurée dans le sein de son divin Père - quand une voix faible murmura du canapé derrière: «Qui est-ce? I knew Mrs. Reed had not spoken for days: was she reviving? I went up to her. Je suis allé vers elle. “It is I, Aunt Reed.”

“Who—I?” was her answer.

“Who are you?” looking at me with surprise and a sort of alarm, but still not wildly. "Qui êtes vous?" me regardant avec surprise et une sorte d'alarme, mais toujours pas follement. “You are quite a stranger to me—where is Bessie?” “She is at the lodge, aunt.”

“Aunt,” she repeated.

“Who calls me aunt? You are not one of the Gibsons; and yet I know you—that face, and the eyes and forehead, are quiet familiar to me: you are like—why, you are like Jane Eyre!” I said nothing: I was afraid of occasioning some shock by declaring my identity. “Yet,” said she, “I am afraid it is a mistake: my thoughts deceive me. «Pourtant, dit-elle, j'ai peur que ce soit une erreur: mes pensées me trompent. I wished to see Jane Eyre, and I fancy a likeness where none exists: besides, in eight years she must be so changed.”  I now gently assured her that I was the person she supposed and desired me to be: and seeing that I was understood, and that her senses were quite collected, I explained how Bessie had sent her husband to fetch me from Thornfield. J'ai souhaité voir Jane Eyre, et j'ai envie d'une ressemblance là où il n'y en a pas: d'ailleurs, dans huit ans, elle doit être tellement changée. Je l'assurais maintenant doucement que j'étais la personne qu'elle supposait et voulait que je sois: et voyant que j'étais compris et que ses sens étaient bien rassemblés, j'expliquai comment Bessie avait envoyé son mari me chercher à Thornfield. “I am very ill, I know,” she said ere long. "Je suis très malade, je le sais", dit-elle bientôt.

“I was trying to turn myself a few minutes since, and find I cannot move a limb. «J'essayais de me retourner quelques minutes depuis, et je ne peux pas bouger un membre. It is as well I should ease my mind before I die: what we think little of in health, burdens us at such an hour as the present is to me. C'est ainsi que je devrais apaiser mon esprit avant de mourir: ce à quoi nous pensons peu en santé nous pèse à une heure telle que le présent est pour moi. Is the nurse here? or is there no one in the room but you?” I assured her we were alone.

“Well, I have twice done you a wrong which I regret now. «Eh bien, je vous ai fait deux fois un tort que je regrette maintenant. One was in breaking the promise which I gave my husband to bring you up as my own child; the other—” she stopped. L'une était de rompre la promesse que j'avais faite à mon mari de t'élever comme mon propre enfant ; l'autre..." elle s'arrêta. “After all, it is of no great importance, perhaps,” she murmured to herself: “and then I may get better; and to humble myself so to her is painful.” «Après tout, cela n'a peut-être pas une grande importance», se murmura-t-elle: «et alors je pourrais aller mieux; et m'humilier ainsi pour elle est douloureux. She made an effort to alter her position, but failed: her face changed; she seemed to experience some inward sensation—the precursor, perhaps, of the last pang. Elle fit un effort pour changer sa position, mais échoua: son visage changea; elle semblait éprouver une sensation intérieure - le précurseur, peut-être, de la dernière douleur. “Well, I must get it over. «Eh bien, je dois m'en remettre.

Eternity is before me: I had better tell her.—Go to my dressing-case, open it, and take out a letter you will see there.” L'éternité est devant moi: je ferais mieux de lui dire. - Va dans ma mallette, ouvre-la et prends une lettre que tu y verras. I obeyed her directions.

“Read the letter,” she said. It was short, and thus conceived:—

“Madam,—Will you have the goodness to send me the address of my niece, Jane Eyre, and to tell me how she is? It is my intention to write shortly and desire her to come to me at Madeira. Providence has blessed my endeavours to secure a competency; and as I am unmarried and childless, I wish to adopt her during my life, and bequeath her at my death whatever I may have to leave.—I am, Madam, &c., &c., La Providence a béni mes efforts pour garantir une compétence; et comme je suis célibataire et sans enfant, je désire l'adopter pendant ma vie, et lui léguer à ma mort tout ce que je pourrais avoir à laisser. - Je le suis, Madame, etc., etc., “John Eyre, Madeira.” It was dated three years back.

“Why did I never hear of this?” I asked.

“Because I disliked you too fixedly and thoroughly ever to lend a hand in lifting you to prosperity. «Parce que je ne vous ai pas aimé trop fermement et trop profondément pour vous aider à vous élever vers la prospérité. I could not forget your conduct to me, Jane—the fury with which you once turned on me; the tone in which you declared you abhorred me the worst of anybody in the world; the unchildlike look and voice with which you affirmed that the very thought of me made you sick, and asserted that I had treated you with miserable cruelty. Je ne pouvais pas m'oublier votre conduite, Jane, la fureur avec laquelle vous vous êtes jadis retournée contre moi; le ton avec lequel vous avez déclaré que vous me détestiez le pire de quiconque au monde; le regard et la voix peu enfantins avec lesquels vous affirmiez que la seule pensée de moi vous rendait malade, et affirmiez que je vous avais traité avec une misérable cruauté. I could not forget my own sensations when you thus started up and poured out the venom of your mind: I felt fear as if an animal that I had struck or pushed had looked up at me with human eyes and cursed me in a man’s voice.—Bring me some water! I could not forget my own sensations when you thus started up and poured out the venom of your mind: I felt fear as if an animal that I had struck or pushed had looked up at me with human eyes and cursed me in a man's voice.—Bring me some water! Je ne pouvais pas oublier mes propres sensations lorsque vous vous êtes ainsi mis en marche et avez déversé le venin de votre esprit: j'avais peur comme si un animal que j'avais frappé ou poussé m'avait regardé avec des yeux humains et m'avait maudit d'une voix d'homme. - Apportez-moi de l'eau! Oh, make haste!” “Dear Mrs. Reed,” said I, as I offered her the draught she required, “think no more of all this, let it pass away from your mind. «Chère Mme Reed,» dis-je en lui offrant le brouillon dont elle avait besoin, «ne pensez plus à tout cela, laissez-le passer loin de votre esprit. Forgive me for my passionate language: I was a child then; eight, nine years have passed since that day.” She heeded nothing of what I said; but when she had tasted the water and drawn breath, she went on thus— Elle n'a pas tenu compte de ce que j'ai dit; mais quand elle eut goûté l'eau et pris son souffle, elle continua ainsi:

“I tell you I could not forget it; and I took my revenge: for you to be adopted by your uncle, and placed in a state of ease and comfort, was what I could not endure. «Je vous dis que je ne pourrais pas l'oublier; et je me suis vengé: être adopté par votre oncle et placé dans un état d'aisance et de confort, c'était ce que je ne pouvais pas supporter. I wrote to him; I said I was sorry for his disappointment, but Jane Eyre was dead: she had died of typhus fever at Lowood. Now act as you please: write and contradict my assertion—expose my falsehood as soon as you like. Maintenant agissez à votre guise: écrivez et contredisez mon affirmation - exposez ma fausseté dès que vous voudrez. You were born, I think, to be my torment: my last hour is racked by the recollection of a deed which, but for you, I should never have been tempted to commit.” Tu es né, je pense, pour être mon tourment: ma dernière heure est troublée par le souvenir d'un acte que, sans toi, je n'aurais jamais été tenté de commettre. “If you could but be persuaded to think no more of it, aunt, and to regard me with kindness and forgiveness” "Si tu pouvais être persuadé de ne plus y penser, tante, et de me considérer avec gentillesse et pardon" “You have a very bad disposition,” said she, “and one to this day I feel it impossible to understand: how for nine years you could be patient and quiescent under any treatment, and in the tenth break out all fire and violence, I can never comprehend.” «Vous avez un très mauvais caractère,» dit-elle, «et encore aujourd'hui, je me sens impossible à comprendre: comment pendant neuf ans vous pourriez être patient et tranquille sous n'importe quel traitement, et dans le dixième éclater tout feu et violence, Je ne peux jamais comprendre. “My disposition is not so bad as you think: I am passionate, but not vindictive. «Mon tempérament n'est pas si mauvais que vous le pensez: je suis passionné, mais pas vindicatif. Many a time, as a little child, I should have been glad to love you if you would have let me; and I long earnestly to be reconciled to you now: kiss me, aunt.” Bien souvent, en tant que petit enfant, j'aurais été heureux de vous aimer si vous m'aviez laissé faire; et je désire ardemment être réconcilié avec vous maintenant: embrasse-moi, tante. I approached my cheek to her lips: she would not touch it. She said I oppressed her by leaning over the bed, and again demanded water. Elle a dit que je l'opprimais en me penchant sur le lit et a de nouveau demandé de l'eau. As I laid her down—for I raised her and supported her on my arm while she drank—I covered her ice-cold and clammy hand with mine: the feeble fingers shrank from my touch—the glazing eyes shunned my gaze. Tandis que je la couchais - car je la soulevais et la soutenais sur mon bras pendant qu'elle buvait - je couvris sa main glacée et moite de la mienne: les doigts faibles se rétrécissaient sous mon toucher - les yeux vitreux évitaient mon regard. “Love me, then, or hate me, as you will,” I said at last, “you have my full and free forgiveness: ask now for God’s, and be at peace.” "Aimez-moi donc, ou haïssez-moi, comme vous voudrez, dis-je enfin, vous avez mon pardon total et gratuit ; demandez maintenant celui de Dieu, et soyez en paix. Poor, suffering woman!

it was too late for her to make now the effort to change her habitual frame of mind: living, she had ever hated me—dying, she must hate me still. il était trop tard pour elle pour faire maintenant l'effort de changer son état d'esprit habituel: vivant, elle ne m'avait jamais détesté - mourant, elle devait encore me détester. The nurse now entered, and Bessie followed.

I yet lingered half-an-hour longer, hoping to see some sign of amity: but she gave none. Je m'attardai encore une demi-heure, espérant voir quelque signe d'amitié: mais elle n'en donna pas. She was fast relapsing into stupor; nor did her mind again rally: at twelve o’clock that night she died. Elle retombait rapidement dans la stupeur; son esprit ne se rallia pas non plus: à midi cette nuit-là, elle mourut. I was not present to close her eyes, nor were either of her daughters. They came to tell us the next morning that all was over. Ils sont venus nous dire le lendemain matin que tout était fini. She was by that time laid out. Elle était à ce moment là. Eliza and I went to look at her: Georgiana, who had burst out into loud weeping, said she dared not go. Eliza et moi sommes allées la regarder: Georgiana, qui avait éclaté de larmes, a dit qu'elle n'osait pas partir. There was stretched Sarah Reed’s once robust and active frame, rigid and still: her eye of flint was covered with its cold lid; her brow and strong traits wore yet the impress of her inexorable soul. Il y avait la monture étirée autrefois robuste et active de Sarah Reed, rigide et immobile: son œil de silex était couvert de son couvercle froid; son front et ses traits forts portaient encore l'empreinte de son âme inexorable. A strange and solemn object was that corpse to me. Un objet étrange et solennel était ce cadavre pour moi. I gazed on it with gloom and pain: nothing soft, nothing sweet, nothing pitying, or hopeful, or subduing did it inspire; only a grating anguish for her woes—not my loss—and a sombre tearless dismay at the fearfulness of death in such a form. Je la regardais avec tristesse et douleur: rien de doux, rien de doux, rien de pitié, ni d'espoir, ni de soumission ne m'inspirait; seulement une angoisse grinçante pour ses malheurs - pas ma perte - et une sombre consternation sans larmes devant la peur de la mort sous une telle forme. Eliza surveyed her parent calmly. Eliza regarda calmement son parent.

After a silence of some minutes she observed— “With her constitution she should have lived to a good old age: her life was shortened by trouble.”  And then a spasm constricted her mouth for an instant: as it passed away she turned and left the room, and so did I.  Neither of us had dropt a tear. «Avec sa constitution, elle aurait dû vivre jusqu'à un bon âge: sa vie a été écourtée par les ennuis. Et puis un spasme lui serra la bouche un instant: à la mort, elle se retourna et quitta la pièce, et moi aussi. Aucun de nous n'avait laissé couler une larme.