Chapter-11
All the guests enjoyed themselves every evening at Thornfield Hall. They played different indoor games, talked to one another and cut jokes from time to time. Jane Eyre, too, was seen with them. Mr Rochester, as usual, was the life and soul of the entire gathering. His absence was noticed and his re-entrance always gave a fresh impetus to the conversation.
On one such evening, all the guests including Jane Eyre were busy chatting with one another. Mr Rochester was not at home. All of a sudden, the sound of a horse approaching was heard outside. There was a knock at the gate. The servant opened the gate. A man by the name of Mr Mason entered the drawing room. He introduced himself to lady Ingram saying, “Madam! I am a friend of Mr Rochester. We both travelled to far- off countries. I think Mr Rochester is not in town. But I have arrived here after a long journey. I would like to stay here till Mr Rochester returns.”
In the meantime, there was another knock at the gate. Mrs Fairfax went to open the gate. When she opened the gate, there stood a gypsy woman who had come from a nearby gypsy camp. She came in pushing aside Mrs Fairfax. She had come there to tell the ladies their fortunes. When Mrs Fairfax tried to drive her out, the ladies stopped Mrs Fairfax doing so. Thus the gypsy woman was led into a library.
All the ladies were to visit her one by one. Within an interval of an hour or so each of them visited the gypsy woman to know about her fortune. Some of the ladies returned displeased and dissatisfied. There were some who returned quite happy and excited. Now, it was the turn of Jane Eyre. She went to the library and saw the gypsy woman sitting in an armchair. The gypsy woman was wearing a cloak. No sooner did the gypsy woman see Jane than she got up from her chair and came up to Jane. She said to Jane, “I see, you have come to me to know about your fortune. Am I right?”
Jane replied, “I don’t care about it as I have no faith in predictions.”
“It is like your impudence to say so; I expected it of you. I heard it in your step as you crossed the threshold,” said the gypsy woman.
“Did you? You have a quick ear,” stated Jane.
“I have; and a quick eye and a quick brain,” said the gypsy woman.
“You need them all in you trade,” Jane stated.
“I do; especially when I have customers like you to deal with. Why don’t you tremble?” said the gypsy woman.
“I am not cold,” retorted Jane.
“Why don’t you turn pale?” said the woman.
“I am not sick,” stated Jane.
Why don’t you consult my art?” asked the woman.
“I am not so silly,” retorted Jane.
The old gypsy woman nichered a laugh under her bonnet and bondage; she then drew out a short black pipe. Lighting it she began to smoke. Having indulged a while in this sedative, she raised her bent body, took the pipe from her lips. While gazing steadily at the fire, she said very deliberately,” You are cold, you are sick and you are silly.”
“Prove it,” Jane rejoined.
“I will alone prove it in a few words. You are cold because you are alone; no contact strikes the fire from you that is in you. You are sick because the best of feelings, the highest and the sweetest given to man, keeps far away from you. You are silly because, suffer as you may, you will not beckon it to approach, nor will you stir one step to meet in where it waits you,” said the gypsy woman. She again put her black pipe to her lips and renewed her smoking with vigour.
“You might say all that to almost anyone whom you knew lived as a solitary dependent in a great house,” said Jane.
“I might say it to almost anyone. But would it be true of almost anyone?” said the gypsy woman.
“Is it true in my circumstances? Jane asked.
“Yes; just so in your circumstances. But find me another precisely placed as you are,” said the woman.
“It would be easy to find you thousands,” said Jane.
“You could scarcely find me one. If you knew it, you are peculiarly situated. The materials are all prepared. There only wants a movement to combine them. Chance laid them somewhat apart; let them be once approached and bliss results,” said the gypsy woman.
“I don’t understand enigmas. I never could guess a riddle in my life,” stated Jane.
“If you wish me to speak more plainly, show me your palm,” said the woman.
“And I must cross it with silver; am I right?” asked Jane.
Saying these words Jane gave the gypsy woman a shilling. The gypsy woman put it into an old stocking-foot which she took out of her pocket. Having tied it round and returned it, she told Jane to hold out her hand. Jane did as she was told. The gypsy woman approached her face to the palm and pored over it without touching it.
“It is too fine,” said the woman, “I can make nothing of such a hand as that; almost without lines. Besides, what is in a palm? Destiny is not written there.”
“I believe in what you say,” said Jane.
“No,” the gypsy woman continued, “it is in the face, on the forehead, about the eyes, in the eyes themselves, in the lines of the mouth. Kneel and life up your head.”
“Oh! now you are coming to reality,” Jane stated, as she obeyed the woman. Jane further stated, “I shall begin to put some faith in you presently.”
Jane knelt within half a yard of the gypsy woman. She stirred the fire so that a ripple of light might break from the disturbed coal. The glare, however, as she sat, only threw her face into deeper shadow.
“I wonder with what feelings you came to me tonight,” the gypsy woman said, when she had examined Jane 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,” said the gypsy woman.
“I feel fired often, sleepy sometimes, but seldom sad,” said Jane.
“Then you have some secret hope to busy you up and please you with whispers of the future,” said the woman.
“Not I. The utmost I hope is to save money enough out of my earnings to set up a school some day in a little house rented by myself,” stated Jane.
“A mean nutriment for the spirit to exist on. Sitting in that window-seat you see I know your habits,” said the woman.
“You have learnt them from the servant,” said Jane.
“Ah! you think yourself sharp. Well, I have to speak the truth. I have an acquaintance with one of them. Her name is Mrs Poole,” said the gypsy woman.
Jane started to her feet when she heard the name.
“You have—have you?” said Jane, “There is diablerie in the business after all,” said Jane.
“Don’t be alarmed,” continued the strange woman, “Mrs Poole is a good woman. She is close and quiet. Anybody may repose confidence in her. As I was saying, sitting in that window seat, do you think of nothing but your future school? Have you no present interest in any of the company who occupy the sofas and chairs before you? Is there not one face you study? Is there one figure whose movements you follow with at least curiosity?”
“I like to observe all the faces and all the figures,” said Jane.
“But do you never single one from the rest or it may be, two?” said the gypsy woman.
“I do frequently; when the gestures or looks of a pair seem telling a tale; it amuses me to watch them,” said Jane.
“What tale do you like best to hear?” asked the gypsy woman.
“Oh! I have not much choice. They generally run on the same theme—courtship; and promise to end in the same catastrophe—marriage,” said Jane.
“Do you like that monotonous theme?” asked the woman.
“Positively, I don’t care about it; It is nothing to me,” said Jane.
“Nothing to you? When a lady, young and full of life and health, charming with beauty and endowed with the gifts of rank and fortune, sits and smiles in the eyes of a gentleman, what is it?” said the gypsy woman.
“I what?” asked Jane.
“You know—and perhaps think well of,” said the gypsy woman.
“I don’t know the gentleman here. I have scarcely interchanged a syllable with one of them. As to thinking well of them, I consider some respectable, stately, middle-aged and others young, dashing, handsome and lively. Certainly, they all are at liberty to be the recipients of whose smiles they please without my feeling disposed to consider the transaction of any moment to me,” said Jane.
“Don’t you know the gentleman here? Have you not exchanged a syllable with one of them? Will you say that of the master of the house?” said the gypsy woman.
“He is not at home,” said Jane.
“A profound remark. A most ingenious quibble! He went to Millet this morning, and will be back here tonight or tomorrow. Does that circumstance exclude him from the list of you acquaintance—blot him, as it were, out of existence?” said the gypsy woman.
“No; but I can scarcely see what Mr Rochester has to do with the theme you had introduced,” said Jane.
“I was talking of ladies smiling in the eyes of gentlemen; and of late so many smiles have been shed into Mr Rochester’s eyes that they overflow like two cups filled above the brim. Have you ever remarked that?” said the woman.
“Mr Rochester has a right to enjoy the society of his guests,” said Jane.
“No question about his right; but have you never observed that, of all the tales told here about matrimony, Mr Rochester has been favoured with the most lively and the most continuous?” said the woman.
‘The eagarness of a listener quickens the tongue of a narrator,’ Jane said this rather to herself than to the gypsy woman whose strange talk, voice, manner had wrapped her in a kind of dream. One unexpected sentence came from her lips after another till Jane got involved in a web of mystification and wondered what unseen spirit had been sitting for weeks by her heart watching us workings and taking record of every pulse.
“Eagerness of a listener!” Jane repeated, “Yes, Mr Rochester has sat by the hour; his ear inclined to the farcinating lips that took such delight in their task of communicating. Mr Rochester was so willing to receive and looked so grateful for the pastime. Have you noticed this?” said Jane.
“Grateful! I can’t remember detecting gratitude in his face,” said the woman, “You have seen love, have you not? You have seen him married and beheld his bride happy.”
“Humph! not exactly. Your witch’s skill is rather at fault sometimes,” said Jane.
“Well said; your declaration shall be respected. I have formed my plans—right plans I deem them—and in them I have attended to the claim of conscience, the counsels of reason. I know how soon youth would fade and bloom perish if, in the cup of bliss offered, but one dreg of shame or one flavour of remorse were detected. I don’t want sacrifice, sorrow, dissolution—such is not my taste,” stated the gypsy woman.
Holding the palm of Jane in her left hand the gypsy woman said, “O Jane! You are very close to happiness. If I speak more plainly, you are within reach of it. It depends on you to stretch out your hands and take it up.”
Jane could not figure out what the gypsy woman wanted to say. All of a sudden, Jane noticed the gem in one of the fingers of the gypsy woman. She had seen it a hundred times on the finger of Mr Rochester. In the meantime, Jane found a change in the voice of the gypsy woman. To her utter amazement, there stood Mr Rochester who had removed his guise. He held both the hands of Jane, looked into her eyes and said, “What are you thinking about? Haven’t I told you that happiness is at a stone’s throw from you? Listen, you can be happy by marrying me. I would like you to be my life-partner for ever.”
Jane felt shy a little bit. Then, Jane said to Mr. Rochester, “But you are fond of these noble ladies who are sitting here. They have certain tastes and feelings in common with you. So far as I am concerned, there is a world of difference in rank and wealth between you and me.”
Mr Rochester replied, “O Jane! they all are after my wealth. The moment each of them finds a richer suitor, she will go out of my life. But you are my true well-wisher. You are a real life-partner who will surely stand by me in my hour of need.”
Jane smiled a little bit and rushed back to her room.
