In this notebook I extract passages, where Jane Eyre and Mr. Rochester look at each other from the selected passages of Jane Eyre. Sandra and I (Tomek) marked up these passages in XML, giving them a number of different tags based on the dominant character and direction of gaze in each passage. In some passages no significant gaze is involved, but it contains important information about the physical appearance of the main characters.
Jane_looking_at_Rochester
Rochester_looking_at_Jane
Jane_reflecting_on_Rochesters_appearance
*as in memories, dreams, visions*
Rochester_on_Janes_appearance
*mostly expressed directly towards her*
Jane_reflecting_on_her_appearance
Rochester_on_himself
*appearance but also “character” (including his voice and wealth)*
Others_on_Janes_appearance
Others_on_Rochesters_appearance
Jane_imagining_Rochester_looking_at_her
*anticipating meeting; Sehnsuchtvs. anxiety; this tag has not been used in all such cases and it remaina diputable whether such instances should not be classified as Rochester_looking_at_Jane*
Jane_imagining_looking_at_Rochester
*mostly as in recalling + anticipating; imaginative; the tag has not been used in all such cases, as above*
On_Janes_appearance
At the end of the notebook, passages are arranged according to tags given to them.
http://lxml.de/Here I create a spreadsheet, with two columns: one column with tags, the other with corresponding passages, which I had identified. It is based on Steve's code to create a list of lists, where each of the smaller lists has two elements -- a tag and a passage.
from lxml import etree
import re, textwrap
def extract_passages(file_name):
extracted_passages = []
tree = etree.parse(file_name)
f = open('extracted_passages_TC.csv', 'w')
f.close()
f = open('extracted_passages_TC.csv', 'a')
for span in tree.xpath('//span'):
f.write(span.get('type')+'|'+re.sub('\s+', ' ', span.text).strip()+'\n')
for span in tree.xpath('//span'):
extracted_passages.append([span.get('type'), re.sub('\s+', ' ', span.text).strip()])
#print
#print '\t', span.get('type')
#print
#print re.sub('\s+', ' ', span.text).strip()
return extracted_passages
all_extracted_passages = extract_passages('Bronte_Jane_Eyre+TC.xml')
#all_extracted_passages += extract_passages('sweb-annot_Bronte_Jane_Eyre.xml')
print all_extracted_passages[:5]
[['Jane_looking_at_Rochester', 'I could see without being seen'], ['Jane_looking_at_Rochester', 'the third was Mr. Rochester'], ['Jane_reflecting_on_her_appearance', 'but as I began to look very grave'], ['Jane_reflecting_on_Rochesters_appearance', 'distinguishable above all, though not loud, was the sonorous voice of the master of Thornfield Hall, welcoming his fair and gallant guests under its roof'], ['Jane_looking_at_Rochester', '"look how she leans her head towards him as if she were conversing confidentially; I wish I could see her face; I have never had a glimpse of it yet."']]
After creating the spreadsheet I manually added two columns, one for for giving each passage a classification of the gaze involved according to the categories (1-4) established by Professor Tatlock (or Jan.app./Roch.app. signifying that the passage involves no significant gaze, but has important information about main characters' appearance), and another column for comments regarding any problems with classification of a given passage.
Below I append Sandra's tags and passages to the spreadsheet.
def extract_passages_2(file_name):
extracted_passages_2 = []
tree = etree.parse(file_name)
f = open('extracted_passages_JE_notes.csv', 'a')
for span in tree.xpath('//span'):
f.write(''+'|'+''+'|'+span.get('type')+'|'+re.sub('\s+', ' ', span.text).strip()+'\n')
for span in tree.xpath('//span'):
extracted_passages_2.append([span.get('type'), re.sub('\s+', ' ', span.text).strip()])
#print
#print '\t', span.get('type')
#print
#print re.sub('\s+', ' ', span.text).strip()
return extracted_passages_2
all_extracted_passage_3s = extract_passages_2('sweb-annot_Bronte_Jane_Eyre.xml')
print all_extracted_passages_3[:5]
[['Jane_reflecting_on_her_appearance_to_others', 'to the eyes of others, usually even to my own, I appeared a disciplined and subdued character.'], ['On_Janes_appearance', '"You\'re not grown so very tall, Miss Jane, nor so very stout," continued Mrs. Leaven. "I dare say they\'ve not kept you too well at school: Miss Reed is the head and shoulders taller than you are; and Miss Georgiana would make two of you in breadth."'], ['Jane_reflecting_on_her_appearance_to_others', '"I am afraid you are disappointed in me, Bessie." I said this laughing: I perceived that Bessie\'s glance, though it expressed regard, did in no shape denote admiration.'], ['Others_on_Janes_appearance', '"No, Miss Jane, not exactly: you are genteel enough; you look like a lady, and it is as much as ever I expected of you: you were no beauty as a child."'], ['Jane_looking_at_Rochester', 'The horse followed, -- a tall steed, and on its back a rider. The man, the human being, broke the spell at once. Nothing ever rode the Gytrash: it was always alone; and goblins, to my notions, though they might tenant the dumb carcasses of beasts, could scarce covet shelter in the commonplace human form. No Gytrash was this, -- only a traveller taking the short cut to Millcote.']]
Below is Steve's code, which arranges all of our passages according to the types of tags assigned to them.
from collections import defaultdict
passages_collected_by_type = defaultdict(list)
def extract_passages_3(file_name):
extracted_passages_3 = []
tree = etree.parse(file_name)
for span in tree.xpath('//span'):
extracted_passages_3.append([span.get('type'), re.sub('\s+', ' ', span.text).strip()])
#print
#print '\t', span.get('type')
#print
#print re.sub('\s+', ' ', span.text).strip()
return extracted_passages_3
all_extracted_passages_3 = extract_passages('Bronte_Jane_Eyre+TC.xml')
all_extracted_passages_3 += extract_passages('sweb-annot_Bronte_Jane_Eyre.xml')
for passage in all_extracted_passages_3:
passages_collected_by_type[passage[0]].append(passage[1])
#print passages_collected_by_type
for passage_type, passage_texts in passages_collected_by_type.iteritems():
print
print '******', passage_type
for passage_text in passage_texts:
print
print '\n'.join(textwrap.wrap(passage_text, width=70))
****** Others_on_Janes_appearance she looks too stupid for any game of the sort." "No, Miss Jane, not exactly: you are genteel enough; you look like a lady, and it is as much as ever I expected of you: you were no beauty as a child." "Qu' avez-vous, mademoiselle?" said she. "Vos doigts tremblent comme la feuille, et vos joues sont rouges: mais, rouges comme des cerises!" "You must want your tea," said the good lady, as I joined her; "you ate so little at dinner. I am afraid," she continued, "you are not well to-day: you look flushed and feverish." She surveyed my whole person: in her eyes I read that they had there found no charm powerful enough to solve the enigma. "No: you are very well; and much improved of late; and Mr. Rochester, I daresay, is fond of you. I have always noticed that you were a sort of pet of his. There are times when, for your sake, I have been a little uneasy at his marked preference, and have wished to put you on your guard: but I did not like to suggest even the possibility of wrong. I knew such an idea would shock, perhaps offend you; and you were so discreet, and so thoroughly modest and sensible, I hoped you might be trusted to protect yourself. Last night I cannot tell you what I suffered when I sought all over the house, and could find you nowhere, nor the master either; and then, at twelve o'clock, saw you come in with him." "She is far better as she is," concluded Adele, after musing some time: "besides, she would get tired of living with only you in the moon. If I were mademoiselle, I would never consent to go with you." ****** Rochester_looking_at_Jane let Mr. Rochester see you are there and then slip away -- nobody will notice you he, holding my hand, and looking down on my face, surveyed me with eyes that revealed a heart full and eager to overflow; in whose emotions I had a part. I feared -- or should I say, hoped? -- the allusion to me would make Mr. Rochester glance my way; and I involuntarily shrank farther into the shade: but he never turned his eyes. He looked at me for a minute "But I affirm that you are: so much depressed that a few more words would bring tears to your eyes -- indeed, they are there now, shining and swimming; and a bead has slipped from the lash and fallen on to the flag. He looked at me: I happened to be near him, as I had been fastening the clasp of Mrs. Dent's bracelet, which had got loose. No," she continued, "it is in the face: on the forehead, about the eyes, in the lines of the mouth. Kneel, and lift up your head." "Ah! now you are coming to reality," I said, as I obeyed her. "I shall begin to put some faith in you presently." I knelt within half a yard of her. She stirred the fire, so that a ripple of light broke from the disturbed coal: the glare, however, as she sat, only threw her face into deeper shadow: mine, it illumined. "I wonder with what feelings you came to me to-night," she said, when she had examined me a while. "I wonder what thoughts are busy in your heart during all the hours you sit in yonder room with the fine people flitting before you like shapes in a magic-lantern: just as little sympathetic communion passing between you and them as if they were really mere shadows of human forms, and not the actual substance." "The flame flickers in the eye; the eye shines like dew; it looks soft and full of feeling; it smiles at my jargon: it is susceptible; impression follows impression through its clear sphere; where it ceases to smile, it is sad; an unconscious lassitude weighs on the lid: that signifies melancholy resulting from loneliness. It turns from me; it will not suffer further scrutiny; it seems to deny, by a mocking glance, the truth of the discoveries I have already made, -- to disown the charge both of sensibility and chagrin: its pride and reserve only confirm me in my opinion. The eye is favourable. "As to the mouth, it delights at times in laughter; it is disposed to impart all that the brain conceives; though I daresay it would be silent on much the heart experiences. Mobile and flexible, it was never intended to be compressed in the eternal silence of solitude: it is a mouth which should speak much and smile often, and have human affection for its interlocutor. That feature too is propitious. "I see no enemy to a fortunate issue but in the brow; and that brow professes to say, -- 'I can live alone, if self-respect, and circumstances require me so to do. I need not sell my soul to buy bliss. I have an inward treasure born with me, which can keep me alive if all extraneous delights should be withheld, or offered only at a price I cannot afford to give.' The forehead declares, 'Reason sits firm and holds the reins, and she will not let the feelings burst away and hurry her to wild chasms. The passions may rage furiously, like true heathens, as they are; and the desires may imagine all sorts of vain things: but judgment shall still have the last word in every argument, and the casting vote in every decision. Strong wind, earthquake-shock, and fire may pass by: but I shall follow the guiding of that still small voice which interprets the dictates of conscience.' He sat down, and made me sit beside him. Holding my hand in both his own, he chafed it; gazing on me, at the same time, with the most troubled and dreary look. Mr. Rochester put the now bloody sponge into my hand, and I proceeded to use it as he had done. He watched me a second, then saying, "Remember! -- No conversation," he left the room. "The glamour of inexperience is over your eyes," "And it has made you look pale -- were you afraid when I left you alone with Mason?" I see genuine contentment in your gait and mien, your eye and face, when you are helping me and pleasing me -- working for me, and with me, in, as you characteristically say, 'ALL THAT IS RIGHT:' for if I bid you do what you thought wrong, there would be no light-footed running, no neat-handed alacrity, no lively glance and animated complexion. My friend would then turn to me, quiet and pale, and would say, 'No, sir; that is impossible: I cannot do it, because it is wrong;' and would become immutable as a fixed star. I'll put a case to you, which you must endeavour to suppose your own: but first, look at me, and tell me you are at ease, and not fearing that I err in detaining you, or that you err in staying." He paused: the birds went on carolling, the leaves lightly rustling. I almost wondered they did not check their songs and whispers to catch the suspended revelation; but they would have had to wait many minutes -- so long was the silence protracted. At last I looked up at the tardy speaker: he was looking eagerly at me. "Jane, Jane," said he, stopping before me, "you are quite pale with your vigils: don't you curse me for disturbing your rest?" He looked at me when I said this; he had hardly turned his eyes in my direction before. "You are not a servant at the hall, of course. You are -- " He stopped, ran his eye over my dress, which, as usual, was quite simple: a black merino cloak, a black beaver bonnet; neither of them half fine enough for a lady's-maid. He seemed puzzled to decide what I was; I helped him. The traveller waited and watched for some time, and at last he laughed. "Did you expect a present, Miss Eyre? Are you fond of presents?" and he searched my face with eyes that I saw were dark, irate, and piercing. -- you" (glancing at me) "resume your seat, and answer my questions. I perceive those pictures were done by one hand: was that hand yours?" "Yes." "And when did you find time to do them? They have taken much time, and some thought." "I did them in the last two vacations I spent at Lowood, when I had no other occupation." "Where did you get your copies?" "Out of my head." "That head I see now on your shoulders?" "Yes, sir." "Has it other furniture of the same kind within?" "I should think it may have: I should hope -- better." "Is Miss Eyre there?" now demanded the master, half rising from his seat to look round to the door, near which I still stood. Miss Eyre, draw your chair still a little farther forward: you are yet too far back; I cannot see you without disturbing my position in this comfortable chair, which I have no mind to do." I did as I was bid, though I would much rather have remained somewhat in the shade; but Mr. Rochester had such a direct way of giving orders, it seemed a matter of course to obey him promptly. He had been looking two minutes at the fire, and I had been looking the same length of time at him, when, turning suddenly, he caught my gaze fastened on his physiognomy. I was dumb still. He bent his head a little towards me, and with a single hasty glance seemed to dive into my eyes. "Stubborn?" he said, "and annoyed. Ah! it is consistent. I put my request in an absurd, almost insolent form. Miss Eyre, I beg your pardon. The fact is, once for all, I don't wish to treat you like an inferior: that is" (correcting himself), "I claim only such superiority as must result from twenty years' difference in age and a century's advance in experience. This is legitimate, et j'y tiens, as Adele would say; and it is by virtue of this superiority, and this alone, that I desire you to have the goodness to talk to me a little now, and divert my thoughts, which are galled with dwelling on one point -- cankering as a rusty nail." "The smile is very well," said he, catching instantly the passing expression; "but speak too." he seemed to read the glance, answering as if its import had been spoken as well as imagined - You seem to doubt me; I don't doubt myself: I know what my aim is, what my motives are; and at this moment I pass a law, unalterable as that of the Medes and Persians, that both are right." I almost expected a rebuff for this hardly well-timed question, but, on the contrary, waking out of his scowling abstraction, he turned his eyes towards me, and the shade seemed to clear off his brow. "Oh, I had forgotten Celine! Well, to resume. When I saw my charmer thus come in accompanied by a cavalier, I seemed to hear a hiss, and the green snake of jealousy, rising on undulating coils from the moonlit balcony, glided within my waistcoat, and ate its way in two minutes to my heart's core. Strange!" he exclaimed, suddenly starting again from the point. He paused; gazed at me: words almost visible trembled on his lips,- -but his voice was checked. It does not signify if I knew twenty ways; for he has seen me. "Hillo!" he cries; and he puts up his book and his pencil. "There you are! Come on, if you please." Mr. Rochester had sometimes read my unspoken thoughts with an acumen to me incomprehensible: in the present instance he took no notice of my abrupt vocal response; but he smiled at me with a certain smile he had of his own, and which he used but on rare occasions. He seemed to think it too good for common purposes: it was the real sunshine of feeling -- he shed it over me now. but when, as we thus sat, Mr. Rochester entered, unannounced, and looking at us, seemed to take pleasure in the spectacle of a group so amicable -- when he said he supposed the old lady was all right now that she had got her adopted daughter back again, and added that he saw Adele was I walked a while on the pavement; but a subtle, well-known scent -- that of a cigar -- stole from some window; I saw the library casement open a handbreadth; I knew I might be watched thence; so I went apart into the orchard. No nook in the grounds more sheltered and more Eden- like; it was full of trees, it bloomed with flowers: a very high wall shut it out from the court, on one side; on the other, a beech avenue screened it from the lawn. At the bottom was a sunk fence; its sole separation from lonely fields: a winding walk, bordered with laurels and terminating in a giant horse-chestnut, circled at the base by a seat, led down to the fence. Here one could wander unseen. While such honey-dew fell, such silence reigned, such gloaming gathered, I felt as if I could haunt such shade for ever; but in threading the flower and fruit parterres at the upper part of the enclosure, enticed there by the light the now rising moon cast on this more open quarter, my step is stayed -- not by sound, not by sight, but once more by a warning fragrance. well, as I was saying -- listen to me, Jane! You're not turning your head to look after more moths, are you? That was only a lady-clock, child, 'flying away home.' I wish to remind you that it was you who first said to me, with that discretion I respect in you -- with that foresight, prudence, and humility which befit your responsible and dependent position -- that in case I married Miss Ingram, both you and little Adele had better trot forthwith. I pass over the sort of slur conveyed in this suggestion on the character of my beloved; indeed, when you are far away, Janet, I'll try to forget it: I shall notice only its wisdom; which is such that I have made it my law of action. Adele must go to school; and you, Miss Eyre, must get a new situation." Mr. Rochester sat quiet, looking at me gently and seriously. Some time passed before he spoke; he at last said - "Oh, Jane, you torture me!" he exclaimed. "With that searching and yet faithful and generous look, you torture me!" Why do you smile, Jane? What does that inexplicable, that uncanny turn of countenance mean?" "Speak! But if you look up and smile with that countenance, I shall swear concession before I know to what, and that will make a fool of me." "If that will be YOUR married look, I, as a Christian, will soon give up the notion of consorting with a mere sprite or salamander. But what had you to ask, thing, -- out with it?" looked down, smiling at me, and stroked my hair, as if well pleased at seeing a danger averted. "I think I may confess," he continued, "even although I should make you a little indignant, Jane -- and I have seen what a fire-spirit you can be when you are indignant. You glowed in the cool moonlight last night, when you mutinied against fate, and claimed your rank as my equal. Janet, by-the-bye, it was you who made me the offer." I was about mechanically to obey him, without further remonstrance; but as he helped me into the carriage, he looked at my face. "What is the matter?" he asked; "all the sunshine is gone. Do you really wish the bairn to go? Will it annoy you if she is left behind?" which most pertinaciously sought mine, though I averted both face and gaze. He smiled; and I thought his smile was such as a sultan might, in a blissful and fond moment, bestow on a slave his gold and gems had enriched: I crushed his hand, which was ever hunting mine, vigorously, and thrust it back to him red with the passionate pressure. It is your time now, little tyrant, but it will be mine presently; and when once I have fairly seized you, to have and to hold, I'll just -- figuratively speaking -- attach you to a chain like this" (touching his watch-guard). "Yes, bonny wee thing, I'll wear you in my bosom, lest my jewel I should tyne." For caresses, too, I now got grimaces; for a pressure of the hand, a pinch on the arm; for a kiss on the cheek, a severe tweak of the ear. It was all right: at present I decidedly preferred these fierce favours to anything more tender. ****** Others_on_Rochesters_appearance Gentlemen especially are often in request on such occasions; and Mr. Rochester is so talented and so lively in society, that I believe he is a general favourite: the ladies are very fond of him; though you would not think his appearance calculated to recommend him particularly in their eyes: but I suppose his acquirements and abilities, perhaps his wealth and good blood, make amends for any little fault of look." eyes rather like Mr. Rochester's: large and black, and as brilliant as her jewels. "Oh! he has a fine bass voice, and an excellent taste for music." ****** Jane_imagining_looking_at_Rochester But what is so headstrong as youth? What so blind as inexperience? These affirmed that it was pleasure enough to have the privilege of again looking on Mr. Rochester, whether he looked on me or not; and they added -- "Hasten! hasten! be with him while you may: but a few more days or weeks, at most, and you are parted from him for ever!" And then I strangled a new-born agony -- a deformed thing which I could not persuade myself to own and rear -- and ran on. As I rose and dressed, I thought over what had happened, and wondered if it were a dream. I could not be certain of the reality till I had seen Mr. Rochester again, and heard him renew his words of love and promise. ****** Jane_on_Rochesters_look his look of native pith and genuine power? ****** Jane_reflecting_on_her_appearance_to_others to the eyes of others, usually even to my own, I appeared a disciplined and subdued character. "I am afraid you are disappointed in me, Bessie." I said this laughing: I perceived that Bessie's glance, though it expressed regard, did in no shape denote admiration. ****** Jane_imagining_Rochester_looking_at_her The question followed, "Where was I to go?" I dreamt of Miss Ingram all the night: in a vivid morning dream I saw her closing the gates of Thornfield against me and pointing me out another road; and Mr. Rochester looked on with his arms folded -- smiling sardonically, as it seemed, at both her and me. I had often been unwilling to look at my master, because I feared he could not be pleased at my look; but I was sure I might lift my face to his now, and not cool his affection by its expression. "It would, indeed, be a relief," I thought, "if I had ever so small an independency; I never can bear being dressed like a doll by Mr. Rochester, or sitting like a second Danae with the golden shower falling daily round me. ****** Jane_reflecting_on_her_appearance but as I began to look very grave This I quickly was: my best dress (the silver-grey one, purchased for Miss Temple's wedding, and never worn since) was soon put on; my hair was soon smoothed; my sole ornament, the pearl brooch, soon assumed and having ascertained that I was myself in my usual Quaker trim, where there was nothing to retouch -- all being too close and plain, braided locks included, to admit of disarrangement -- we descended, So happy, so gratified did I become with this new interest added to life, that I ceased to pine after kindred: my thin crescent-destiny seemed to enlarge; the blanks of existence were filled up; my bodily health improved; I gathered flesh and strength. Yet," suggested the secret voice which talks to us in our own hearts, "you are not beautiful either, and perhaps Mr. Rochester approves you: at any rate, you have often felt as if he did; and last night -- remember his words; remember his look; remember his voice!" I hastened to drive from my mind the hateful notion I had been conceiving respecting Grace Poole; it disgusted me. I compared myself with her, and found we were different. Bessie Leaven had said I was quite a lady; and she spoke truth -- I was a lady. And now I looked much better than I did when Bessie saw me; I had more colour and more flesh, more life, more vivacity, because I had brighter hopes and keener enjoyments. "Listen, then, Jane Eyre, to your sentence: tomorrow, place the glass before you, and draw in chalk your own picture, faithfully, without softening one defect; omit no harsh line, smooth away no displeasing irregularity; write under it, 'Portrait of a Governess, disconnected, poor, and plain.' "Whenever, in future, you should chance to fancy Mr. Rochester thinks well of you, take out these two pictures and compare them: say, 'Mr. Rochester might probably win that noble lady's love, if he chose to strive for it; is it likely he would waste a serious thought on this indigent and insignificant plebeian?'" It looked a lovely face enough, and when compared with the real head in chalk, the contrast was as great as self-control could desire. I derived benefit from the task: it had kept my head and hands employed, and had given force and fixedness to the new impressions I wished to stamp indelibly on my heart. I suppose I do come on; though in what fashion I know not; being scarcely cognisant of my movements, and solicitous only to appear calm; and, above all, to control the working muscles of my face -- which I feel rebel insolently against my will, and struggle to express what I had resolved to conceal. But I have a veil -- it is down: I may make shift yet to behave with decent composure. Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong! -- I have as much soul as you, -- and full as much heart! And if God had gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it is now for me to leave you. I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh; -- it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God's feet, equal, -- as we are!" While arranging my hair, I looked at my face in the glass, and felt it was no longer plain: there was hope in its aspect and life in its colour; and my eyes seemed as if they had beheld the fount of fruition, and borrowed beams from the lustrous ripple. I took a plain but clean and light summer dress from my drawer and put it on: it seemed no attire had ever so well become me, because none had I ever worn in so blissful a mood. "Oh, sir! -- never rain jewels! I don't like to hear them spoken of. Jewels for Jane Eyre sounds unnatural and strange: I would rather not have them." "No, no, sir! think of other subjects, and speak of other things, and in another strain. Don't address me as if I were a beauty; I am your plain, Quakerish governess." "Puny and insignificant, you mean. You are dreaming, sir, -- or you are sneering. For God's sake don't be ironical!" I laughed at him as he said this. "I am not an angel," I asserted; "and I will not be one till I die: I will be myself. Mr. Rochester, you must neither expect nor exact anything celestial of me -- for you will not get it, any more than I shall get it of you: which I do not at all anticipate." "Not at all, sir; I ask only this: don't send for the jewels, and don't crown me with roses: you might as well put a border of gold lace round that plain pocket handkerchief you have there." "Why? -- am I a monster?" I said: "is it impossible that Mr. Rochester should have a sincere affection for me?" ****** Jane_reflecting_on_Rochesters_appearance distinguishable above all, though not loud, was the sonorous voice of the master of Thornfield Hall, welcoming his fair and gallant guests under its roof His dark eyes and swarthy skin and Paynim features suited the costume exactly: he looked the very model of an Eastern emir, an agent or a victim of the bowstring I compared him with Mr. Rochester. I think (with deference be it spoken) the contrast could not be much greater between a sleek gander and a fierce falcon: between a meek sheep and the rough-coated keen- eyed dog, its guardian. The new face, too, was like a new picture introduced to the gallery of memory; and it was dissimilar to all the others hanging there: firstly, because it was masculine; and, secondly, because it was dark, strong, and stern. I had it still before me when I entered Hay, and slipped the letter into the post- office; I saw it as I walked fast down-hill all the way home. He lifted up the sable waves of hair which lay horizontally over his brow, and showed a solid enough mass of intellectual organs, but an abrupt deficiency where the suave sign of benevolence should have risen. He thought himself her idol, ugly as he was: he believed, as he said, that she preferred his "taille d'athlete" to the elegance of the Apollo Belvidere. but there was something decidedly strange in the paroxysm of emotion which had suddenly seized him when he was in the act of expressing the present contentment of his mood, and his newly revived pleasure in the old hall and its environs. I meditated wonderingly on this incident; but gradually quitting it, as I found it for the present inexplicable, I turned to the consideration of my master's manner to myself. The confidence he had thought fit to repose in me seemed a tribute to my discretion: I regarded and accepted it as such. His deportment had now for some weeks been more uniform towards me than at the first. I never seemed in his way; he did not take fits of chilling hauteur: when he met me unexpectedly, the encounter seemed welcome; he had always a word and sometimes a smile for me: when summoned by formal invitation to his presence, I was honoured by a cordiality of reception that made me feel I really possessed the power to amuse him, and that these evening conferences were sought as much for his pleasure as for my benefit. And was Mr. Rochester now ugly in my eyes? No, reader: gratitude, and many associations, all pleasurable and genial, made his face the object I best liked to see; his presence in a room was more cheering than the brightest fire. Yet I had not forgotten his faults; indeed, I could not, for he brought them frequently before me. He was proud, sardonic, harsh to inferiority of every description: in my secret soul I knew that his great kindness to me was balanced by unjust severity to many others. He was moody, too; unaccountably so; I more than once, when sent for to read to him, found him sitting in his library alone, with his head bent on his folded arms; and, when he looked up, a morose, almost a malignant, scowl blackened his features. But I believed that his moodiness, his harshness, and his former faults of morality (I say FORMER, for now he seemed corrected of them) had their source in some cruel cross of fate. I believed he was naturally a man of better tendencies, higher principles, and purer tastes than such as circumstances had developed, education instilled, or destiny encouraged. I thought there were excellent materials in him; though for the present they hung together somewhat spoiled and tangled. I cannot deny that I grieved for his grief, whatever that was, and would have given much to assuage it. Though I had now extinguished my candle and was laid down in bed, I could not sleep for thinking of his look when he paused in the avenue, and told how his destiny had risen up before him, and dared him to be happy at Thornfield. the oriental eye; -- What! you revert to Mr. Rochester as a model! Order! No snivel! -- no sentiment! "It would be past the power of magic, sir;" and, in thought, I added, "A loving eye is all the charm needed: to such you are handsome enough; or rather your sternness has a power beyond beauty." I used to look at my master's face to see if it were sad or fierce; but I could not remember the time when it had been so uniformly clear of clouds or evil feelings. If, in the moments I and my pupil spent with him, I lacked spirits and sank into inevitable dejection, he became even gay. Never had he called me more frequently to his presence; never been kinder to me when there -- and, alas! never had I loved him so well. I would as soon see you, Mr. Rochester, tricked out in stage- trappings, as myself clad in a court-lady's robe; and I don't call you handsome, sir, though I love you most dearly: far too dearly to flatter you. Don't flatter me." Mr. Rochester looks as young, and is as young, as some men at five- and-twenty." He was quite peremptory, both in look and voice. The chill of Mrs. Fairfax's warnings, and the damp of her doubts were upon me: something of unsubstantiality and uncertainty had beset my hopes. I half lost the sense of power over him. I remembered his fine voice; I knew he liked to sing -- good singers generally do. I was no vocalist myself, and, in his fastidious judgment, no musician, either; but I delighted in listening when the performance was good. ****** Jane_looking_at_Rochester I could see without being seen the third was Mr. Rochester "look how she leans her head towards him as if she were conversing confidentially; I wish I could see her face; I have never had a glimpse of it yet." I am not looking at the arch, yet I see him enter. I try to concentrate my attention on those netting-needles, on the meshes of the purse I am forming -- I wish to think only of the work I have in my hands, to see only the silver beads and silk threads that lie in my lap; whereas, I distinctly behold his figure, and I inevitably recall the moment when I last saw it; just after I had rendered him I did not wonder, when, without looking at me, he took a seat at the other side of the room, and began conversing with some of the ladies. Most true is it that "beauty is in the eye of the gazer." My master's colourless, olive face, square, massive brow, broad and jetty eyebrows, deep eyes, strong features, firm, grim mouth, -- all energy, decision, will, -- were not beautiful, according to rule; but they were more than beautiful to me; they were full of an interest, an influence that quite mastered me, -- that took my feelings from my own power and fettered them in his. I had not intended to love him; the reader knows I had wrought hard to extirpate from my soul the germs of love there detected; and now, at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously arrived, green and strong! He made me love him without looking at me. I saw Mr. Rochester smile:- his stern features softened; his eye grew both brilliant and gentle, its ray both searching and sweet. He was talking, at the moment, to Louisa and Amy Eshton. Amidst this sordid scene, sat a man with his clenched hands resting on his knees, and his eyes bent on the ground. I knew Mr. Rochester; though the begrimed face, the disordered dress (his coat hanging loose from one arm, as if it had been almost torn from his back in a scuffle), the desperate and scowling countenance, the rough, bristling hair might well have disguised him. As he moved, a chain clanked; to his wrists were attached fetters. Now, Dent," continued Mr. Rochester, "it is your turn." And as the other party withdrew, he and his band took the vacated seats. Miss Ingram placed herself at her leader's right hand; the other diviners filled the chairs on each side of him and her. I did not now watch the actors; I no longer waited with interest for the curtain to rise; my attention was absorbed by the spectators; my eyes, erewhile fixed on the arch, were now irresistibly attracted to the semicircle of chairs. What charade Colonel Dent and his party played, what word they chose, how they acquitted themselves, I no longer remember; but I still see the consultation which followed each scene: I see Mr. Rochester turn to Miss Ingram, and Miss Ingram to him; I see her incline her head towards him, till the jetty curls almost touch his shoulder and wave against his cheek; I hear their mutual whisperings; I recall their interchanged glances; and something even of the feeling roused by the spectacle returns in memory at this moment. because I saw all his attentions appropriated by a great lady, who scorned to touch me with the hem of her robes as she passed; who, if ever her dark and imperious eye fell on me by chance, would withdraw it instantly as from an object too mean to merit observation. I could not unlove him, because I felt sure he would soon marry this very lady -- because I read daily in her a proud security in his intentions respecting her -- because I witnessed hourly in him a style of courtship which, if careless and choosing rather to be sought than to seek, was yet, in its very carelessness, captivating, and in its very pride, irresistible "yes; Mr. Rochester has sat by the hour, his ear inclined to the fascinating lips that took such delight in their task of communicating; and Mr. Rochester was so willing to receive and looked so grateful for the pastime given him; you have noticed this?" "You have seen love: have you not? -- and, looking forward, you have seen him married, and beheld his bride happy?" The old woman's voice had changed: her accent, her gesture, and all were familiar to me as my own face in a glass -- as the speech of my own tongue. I got up, but did not go. I looked; I stirred the fire, and I looked again: but she drew her bonnet and her bandage closer about her face, and again beckoned me to depart. The flame illuminated her hand stretched out: roused now, and on the alert for discoveries, I at once noticed that hand. It was no more the withered limb of eld than my own; it was a rounded supple member, with smooth fingers, symmetrically turned; a broad ring flashed on the little finger, and stooping forward, I looked at it, and saw a gem I had seen a hundred times before. Again I looked at the face; which was no longer turned from me -- on the contrary, the bonnet was doffed, the bandage displaced, the head advanced. the smile on his lips froze: apparently a spasm caught his breath whiter than ashes: he hardly seemed to know what he was doing Mr. Rochester's extreme pallor had disappeared, and he looked once more firm and stern. And dangerous he looked: his black eyes darted sparks. I saw Mr. Rochester shudder: a singularly marked expression of disgust, horror, hatred, warped his countenance almost to distortion "Little friend," said he, in quite a changed tone -- while his face changed too, losing all its softness and gravity, and becoming harsh and sarcastic -- "you have noticed my tender penchant for Miss Ingram: don't you think if I married her she would regenerate me with a vengeance?" The horse followed, -- a tall steed, and on its back a rider. The man, the human being, broke the spell at once. Nothing ever rode the Gytrash: it was always alone; and goblins, to my notions, though they might tenant the dumb carcasses of beasts, could scarce covet shelter in the commonplace human form. No Gytrash was this, -- only a traveller taking the short cut to Millcote. The traveller now, stooping, felt his foot and leg, as if trying whether they were sound; apparently something ailed them, for he halted to the stile whence I had just risen, and sat down. I could see him plainly. His figure was enveloped in a riding cloak, fur collared and steel clasped; its details were not apparent, but I traced the general points of middle height and considerable breadth of chest. He had a dark face, with stern features and a heavy brow; his eyes and gathered eyebrows looked ireful and thwarted just now; he was past youth, but had not reached middle-age; perhaps he might be thirty-five. I felt no fear of him, and but little shyness. Had he been a handsome, heroic-looking young gentleman, I should not have dared to stand thus questioning him against his will, and offering my services unasked. I had hardly ever seen a handsome youth; never in my life spoken to one. I had a theoretical reverence and homage for beauty, elegance, gallantry, fascination; but had I met those qualities incarnate in masculine shape, I should have known instinctively that they neither had nor could have sympathy with anything in me, and should have shunned them as one would fire, lightning, or anything else that is bright but antipathetic. Half reclined on a couch appeared Mr. Rochester, his foot supported by the cushion; he was looking at Adele and the dog: the fire shone full on his face. I knew my traveller with his broad and jetty eyebrows; his square forehead, made squarer by the horizontal sweep of his black hair. I recognised his decisive nose, more remarkable for character than beauty; his full nostrils, denoting, I thought, choler; his grim mouth, chin, and jaw -- yes, all three were very grim, and no mistake. His shape, now divested of cloak, I perceived harmonised in squareness with his physiognomy: I suppose it was a good figure in the athletic sense of the term -- broad chested and thin flanked, though neither tall nor graceful. Mr. Rochester, as he sat in his damask-covered chair, looked different to what I had seen him look before; not quite so stern -- much less gloomy. There was a smile on his lips, and his eyes sparkled, whether with wine or not, I am not sure; but I think it very probable. He was, in short, in his after-dinner mood; more expanded and genial, and also more self-indulgent than the frigid and rigid temper of the morning; still he looked preciously grim, cushioning his massive head against the swelling back of his chair, and receiving the light of the fire on his granite-hewn features, and in his great, dark eyes; for he had great, dark eyes, and very fine eyes, too -- not without a certain change in their depths sometimes, which, if it was not softness, reminded you, at least, of that feeling. With this announcement he rose from his chair, and stood, leaning his arm on the marble mantelpiece: in that attitude his shape was seen plainly as well as his face; his unusual breadth of chest, disproportionate almost to his length of limb. I am sure most people would have thought him an ugly man; yet there was so much unconscious pride in his port; so much ease in his demeanour; such a look of complete indifference to his own external appearance; so haughty a reliance on the power of other qualities, intrinsic or adventitious, to atone for the lack of mere personal attractiveness, that, in looking at him, one inevitably shared the indifference, and, even in a blind, imperfect sense, put faith in the confidence. "And so may you," I thought. My eye met his as the idea crossed my mind: He said this as if he spoke to a vision, viewless to any eye but his own; then, folding his arms, which he had half extended, on his chest, he seemed to enclose in their embrace the invisible being. Here ensued a pause, filled up by the producing and lighting of a cigar; having placed it to his lips and breathed a trail of Havannah incense on the freezing and sunless air, he went on - He ground his teeth and was silent: he arrested his step and struck his boot against the hard ground. Some hated thought seemed to have him in its grip, and to hold him so tightly that he could not advance. We were ascending the avenue when he thus paused; the hall was before us. Lifting his eye to its battlements, he cast over them a glare such as I never saw before or since. Pain, shame, ire, impatience, disgust, detestation, seemed momentarily to hold a quivering conflict in the large pupil dilating under his ebon eyebrow. Wild was the wrestle which should be paramount; but another feeling rose and triumphed: something hard and cynical: self-willed and resolute: it settled his passion and petrified his countenance: he went on - He listened very gravely; his face, as I went on, expressed more concern than astonishment; he did not immediately speak when I had concluded. He re-entered, pale and very gloomy. "I have found it all out," said he, setting his candle down on the washstand; "it is as I thought." "How, sir?" He made no reply, but stood with his arms folded, looking on the ground. At the end of a few minutes he inquired in rather a peculiar tone - Strange energy was in his voice, strange fire in his look. How full the hedges are of roses! But I have no time to gather any; I want to be at the house. I passed a tall briar, shooting leafy and flowery branches across the path; I see the narrow stile with stone steps; and I see -- Mr. Rochester sitting there, a book and a pencil in his hand; he is writing. Well, he is not a ghost; yet every nerve I have is unstrung: for a moment I am beyond my own mastery. What does it mean? I did not think I should tremble in this way when I saw him, or lose my voice or the power of motion in his presence. I will go back as soon as I can stir: I need not make an absolute fool of myself. I know another way to the house. I knew there would be pleasure in meeting my master again, even though broken by the fear that he was so soon to cease to be my master, and by the knowledge that I was nothing to him: but there was ever in Mr. Rochester (so at least I thought) such a wealth of the power of communicating happiness, that to taste but of the crumbs he scattered to stray and stranger birds like me, was to feast genially. His last words were balm: they seemed to imply that it imported something to him whether I forgot him or not. And he had spoken of Thornfield as my home -- would that it were my home! Sweet-briar and southernwood, jasmine, pink, and rose have long been yielding their evening sacrifice of incense: this new scent is neither of shrub nor flower; it is -- I know it well -- it is Mr. Rochester's cigar. I look round and I listen. I see trees laden with ripening fruit. I hear a nightingale warbling in a wood half a mile off; no moving form is visible, no coming step audible; but that perfume increases: I must flee. I make for the wicket leading to the shrubbery, and I see Mr. Rochester entering. I step aside into the ivy recess; he will not stay long: he will soon return whence he came, and if I sit still he will never see me. I followed with lagging step, and thoughts busily bent on discovering a means of extrication; but he himself looked so composed and so grave also, I became ashamed of feeling any confusion: the evil -- if evil existent or prospective there was -- seemed to lie with me only; his mind was unconscious and quiet. He rose, and with a stride reached me. "My bride is here," he said, again drawing me to him, "What, me!" I ejaculated, beginning in his earnestness -- and especially in his incivility -- to credit his sincerity: "me who have not a friend in the world but you -- if you are my friend: not a shilling but what you have given me?" "Mr. Rochester, let me look at your face: turn to the moonlight." "Why?" "Because I want to read your countenance -- turn!" "There! you will find it scarcely more legible than a crumpled, scratched page. Read on: only make haste, for I suffer." His face was very much agitated and very much flushed, and there were strong workings in the features, and strange gleams in the eyes And if I had loved him less I should have thought his accent and look of exultation savage; but, sitting by him, roused from the nightmare of parting -- called to the paradise of union -- I thought only of the bliss given me to drink in so abundant a flow. Again and again he said, "Are you happy, Jane?" And again and again I answered, "Yes." But what had befallen the night? The moon was not yet set, and we were all in shadow: I could scarcely see my master's face, near as I was. And what ailed the chestnut tree? it writhed and groaned; while wind roared in the laurel walk, and came sweeping over us. He looked disturbed. "What? what?" he said hastily. "Curiosity is a dangerous petition: it is well I have not taken a vow to accord every request -- " "Is it, sir? You soon give in. How stern you look now! Your eyebrows have become as thick as my finger, and your forehead resembles what, in some very astonishing poetry, I once saw styled, 'a blue-piled thunderloft.' That will be your married look, sir, I suppose?" "Is that all? Thank God it is no worse!" And now he unknit his black brows; The carriage was ready: they were bringing it round to the front, and my master was on the pavement, Pilot following him backwards and forwards. With anxiety I watched his eye rove over the gay stores: he fixed on a rich silk of the most brilliant amethyst dye, and a superb pink satin. I told him in a new series of whispers, that he might as well buy me a gold gown and a silver bonnet at once: I should certainly never venture to wear his choice. With infinite difficulty, for he was stubborn as a stone, I persuaded him to make an exchange in favour of a sober black satin and pearl-grey silk. I ventured once more to meet my master's and lover's eye, "I would have no mercy, Mr. Rochester, if you supplicated for it with an eye like that. While you looked so, I should be certain that whatever charter you might grant under coercion, your first act, when released, would be to violate its conditions." He rose and came towards me, and I saw his face all kindled, and his full falcon-eye flashing, and tenderness and passion in every lineament. I quailed momentarily -- then I rallied. Soft scene, daring demonstration, I would not have; and I stood in peril of both: a weapon of defence must be prepared -- I whetted my tongue: as he reached me, I asked with asperity, "whom he was going to marry now?" He was kept, to be sure, rather cross and crusty; but on the whole I could see he was excellently entertained, and that a lamb-like submission and turtle-dove sensibility, while fostering his despotism more, would have pleased his judgment, satisfied his common-sense, and even suited his taste less. Yet after all my task was not an easy one; often I would rather have pleased than teased him. My future husband was becoming to me my whole world; and more than the world: almost my hope of heaven. He stood between me and every thought of religion, as an eclipse intervenes between man and the broad sun. I could not, in those days, see God for His creature: of whom I had made an idol. ****** Jane_Rochester_looking_at_each_other I stood face to face with him: it was Mr. Rochester ****** Rochester_on_himself especially Celine, who even waxed rather brilliant on my personal defects -- deformities she termed them. Now it had been her custom to launch out into fervent admiration of what she called my 'beaute male:' wherein she differed diametrically from you, who told me point- blank, at the second interview, that you did not think me handsome. The contrast struck me at the time and -- " Tell me now, fairy as you are -- can't you give me a charm, or a philter, or something of that sort, to make me a handsome man?" "Do you suppose I eat like an ogre or a ghoul, that you dread being the companion of my repast?" ****** Rochester_on_Janes_appearance Monsieur a parle de vous: il m'a demande le nom de ma gouvernante, et si elle n'etait pas une petite personne, assez mince et un peu pale. J'ai dit qu'oui: car c'est vrai, n'est-ce pas, mademoiselle?" No wonder you have rather the look of another world. I marvelled where you had got that sort of face. When you came on me in Hay Lane last night, I thought unaccountably of fairy tales, and had half a mind to demand whether you had bewitched my horse: I am not sure yet. Who are your parents?" It is a point difficult to fix where the features and countenance are so much at variance as in your case. "Ah! By my word! there is something singular about you," said he: "you have the air of a little nonnette; quaint, quiet, grave, and simple, as you sit with your hands before you, and your eyes generally bent on the carpet (except, by-the-bye, when they are directed piercingly to my face; as just now, for instance); and when one asks you a question, or makes a remark to which you are obliged to reply, you rap out a round rejoinder, which, if not blunt, is at least brusque. What do you mean by it?" "You looked very much puzzled, Miss Eyre; and though you are not pretty any more than I am handsome, yet a puzzled air becomes you; besides, it is convenient, for it keeps those searching eyes of yours away from my physiognomy, and busies them with the worsted flowers of the rug; so puzzle on. Young lady, I am disposed to be gregarious and communicative to-night." But I don't mean to flatter you: if you are cast in a different mould to the majority, it is no merit of yours: Nature did it. And then, after all, I go too fast in my conclusions: for what I yet know, you may be no better than the rest; you may have intolerable defects to counterbalance your few good points." How very serious -- how very solemn you look: and you are as ignorant of the matter as this cameo head" (taking one from the mantelpiece). "You have no right to preach to me, you neophyte, that have not passed the porch of life, and are absolutely unacquainted with its mysteries." "If you did, it would be in such a grave, quiet manner, I should mistake it for sense. Do you never laugh, Miss Eyre? Don't trouble yourself to answer -- I see you laugh rarely; but you can laugh very merrily: believe me, you are not naturally austere, any more than I am naturally vicious. The Lowood constraint still clings to you somewhat; controlling your features, muffling your voice, and restricting your limbs; and you fear in the presence of a man and a brother -- or father, or master, or what you will -- to smile too gaily, speak too freely, or move too quickly: but, in time, I think you will learn to be natural with me, as I find it impossible to be conventional with you; and then your looks and movements will have more vivacity and variety than they dare offer now. I see at intervals the glance of a curious sort of bird through the close-set bars of a cage: a vivid, restless, resolute captive is there; were it but free, it would soar cloud-high. You are still bent on going?" I have been green, too, Miss Eyre, -- ay, grass green: not a more vernal tint freshens you now than once freshened me. "I knew," he continued, "you would do me good in some way, at some time; -- I saw it in your eyes when I first beheld you: their expression and smile did not" -- (again he stopped) -- "did not" (he proceeded hastily) "strike delight to my very inmost heart so for nothing. People talk of natural sympathies; I have heard of good genii: there are grains of truth in the wildest fable. My cherished preserver, goodnight!" "You must see the carriage, Jane, and tell me if you don't think it will suit Mrs. Rochester exactly; and whether she won't look like Queen Boadicea, leaning back against those purple cushions. I wish, Jane, I were a trifle better adapted to match with her externally. "Jane, be still a few moments: you are over-excited: I will be still too." "because my equal is here, and my likeness. Jane, will you marry me?" You -- you strange, you almost unearthly thing! -- I love as my own flesh. You -- poor and obscure, and small and plain as you are -- I entreat to accept me as a husband." "Jane, you look blooming, and smiling, and pretty," said he: "truly pretty this morning. Is this my pale, little elf? Is this my mustard- seed? This little sunny-faced girl with the dimpled cheek and rosy lips; the satin-smooth hazel hair, and the radiant hazel eyes?" "You blushed, and now you are white, Jane: what is that for?" "I will myself put the diamond chain round your neck, and the circlet on your forehead, -- which it will become: for nature, at least, has stamped her patent of nobility on this brow, Jane; and I will clasp the bracelets on these fine wrists, and load these fairy-like fingers with rings." "You are a beauty in my eyes, and a beauty just after the desire of my heart, -- delicate and aerial." "I will make the world acknowledge you a beauty, too," he went on, while I really became uneasy at the strain he had adopted, because I felt he was either deluding himself or trying to delude me. "I will attire my Jane in satin and lace, and she shall have roses in her hair; and I will cover the head I love best with a priceless veil." she shall taste, too, of the life of cities; and she shall learn to value herself by just comparison with others." wherever I stamped my hoof, your sylph's foot shall step also. Ten years since, I flew through Europe half mad; with disgust, hate, and rage as my companions: now I shall revisit it healed and cleansed, with a very angel as my comforter." "To women who please me only by their faces, I am the very devil when I find out they have neither souls nor hearts -- when they open to me a perspective of flatness, triviality, and perhaps imbecility, coarseness, and ill-temper: but to the clear eye and eloquent tongue, to the soul made of fire, and the character that bends but does not break -- at once supple and stable, tractable and consistent -- I am ever tender and true." "I never met your likeness. Jane, you please me, and you master me -- you seem to submit, and I like the sense of pliancy you impart; and while I am twining the soft, silken skein round my finger, it sends a thrill up my arm to my heart. I am influenced -- conquered; and the influence is sweeter than I can express; and the conquest I undergo has a witchery beyond any triumph I can win. "Mademoiselle is a fairy," he said, whispering mysteriously. "It might pass for the present," he said; "but he would yet see me glittering like a parterre." He chuckled; he rubbed his hands. "Oh, it is rich to see and hear her?" he exclaimed. "Is she original? Is she piquant? I would not exchange this one little English girl for the Grand Turk's whole seraglio, gazelle-eyes, houri forms, and all!" He continued to send for me punctually the moment the clock struck seven; though when I appeared before him now, he had no such honeyed terms as "love" and "darling" on his lips: the best words at my service were "provoking puppet," "malicious elf," "sprite," "changeling," &c. ****** On_Janes_appearance "You're not grown so very tall, Miss Jane, nor so very stout," continued Mrs. Leaven. "I dare say they've not kept you too well at school: Miss Reed is the head and shoulders taller than you are; and Miss Georgiana would make two of you in breadth." (I had green eyes, reader; but you must excuse the mistake: for him they were new-dyed, I suppose.)