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Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, CHAPTER XXXV

CHAPTER XXXV

He did not leave for Cambridge the next day, as he had said he would.

He deferred his departure a whole week, and during that time he made me feel what severe punishment a good yet stern, a conscientious yet implacable man can inflict on one who has offended him. Without one overt act of hostility, one upbraiding word, he contrived to impress me momently with the conviction that I was put beyond the pale of his favour. Not that St.

John harboured a spirit of unchristian vindictiveness—not that he would have injured a hair of my head, if it had been fully in his power to do so. Both by nature and principle, he was superior to the mean gratification of vengeance: he had forgiven me for saying I scorned him and his love, but he had not forgotten the words; and as long as he and I lived he never would forget them. I saw by his look, when he turned to me, that they were always written on the air between me and him; whenever I spoke, they sounded in my voice to his ear, and their echo toned every answer he gave me. He did not abstain from conversing with me: he even called me as usual each morning to join him at his desk; and I fear the corrupt man within him had a pleasure unimparted to, and unshared by, the pure Christian, in evincing with what skill he could, while acting and speaking apparently just as usual, extract from every deed and every phrase the spirit of interest and approval which had formerly communicated a certain austere charm to his language and manner. To me, he was in reality become no longer flesh, but marble; his eye was a cold, bright, blue gem; his tongue a speaking instrument—nothing more. All this was torture to me—refined, lingering torture. It kept up a slow fire of indignation and a trembling trouble of grief, which harassed and crushed me altogether. I felt how—if I were his wife, this good man, pure as the deep sunless source, could soon kill me, without drawing from my veins a single drop of blood, or receiving on his own crystal conscience the faintest stain of crime. Especially I felt this when I made any attempt to propitiate him. No ruth met my ruth. He experienced no suffering from estrangement—no yearning after reconciliation; and though, more than once, my fast falling tears blistered the page over which we both bent, they produced no more effect on him than if his heart had been really a matter of stone or metal. To his sisters, meantime, he was somewhat kinder than usual: as if afraid that mere coldness would not sufficiently convince me how completely I was banished and banned, he added the force of contrast; and this I am sure he did not by force, but on principle. The night before he left home, happening to see him walking in the garden about sunset, and remembering, as I looked at him, that this man, alienated as he now was, had once saved my life, and that we were near relations, I was moved to make a last attempt to regain his friendship. I went out and approached him as he stood leaning over the little gate; I spoke to the point at once. “St.

John, I am unhappy because you are still angry with me. Let us be friends.” “I hope we are friends,” was the unmoved reply; while he still watched the rising of the moon, which he had been contemplating as I approached. “No, St.

John, we are not friends as we were. You know that.” “Are we not?

That is wrong. For my part, I wish you no ill and all good.” “I believe you, St.

John; for I am sure you are incapable of wishing any one ill; but, as I am your kinswoman, I should desire somewhat more of affection than that sort of general philanthropy you extend to mere strangers.” “Of course,” he said.

“Your wish is reasonable, and I am far from regarding you as a stranger.” This, spoken in a cool, tranquil tone, was mortifying and baffling enough. Had I attended to the suggestions of pride and ire, I should immediately have left him; but something worked within me more strongly than those feelings could. I deeply venerated my cousin's talent and principle. His friendship was of value to me: to lose it tried me severely. I would not so soon relinquish the attempt to reconquer it. “Must we part in this way, St.

John? And when you go to India, will you leave me so, without a kinder word than you have yet spoken?” He now turned quite from the moon and faced me.

“When I go to India, Jane, will I leave you!

What!

do you not go to India?” “You said I could not unless I married you.”

“And you will not marry me!

You adhere to that resolution?” Reader, do you know, as I do, what terror those cold people can put into the ice of their questions? How much of the fall of the avalanche is in their anger? of the breaking up of the frozen sea in their displeasure? “No.

St.

John, I will not marry you. I adhere to my resolution.” The avalanche had shaken and slid a little forward, but it did not yet crash down.

“Once more, why this refusal?” he asked.

“Formerly,” I answered, “because you did not love me; now, I reply, because you almost hate me.

If I were to marry you, you would kill me. You are killing me now.” His lips and cheeks turned white—quite white.

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

While earnestly wishing to erase from his mind the trace of my former offence, I had stamped on that tenacious surface another and far deeper impression, I had burnt it in. “Now you will indeed hate me,” I said.

“It is useless to attempt to conciliate you: I see I have made an eternal enemy of you.” A fresh wrong did these words inflict: the worse, because they touched on the truth.

That bloodless lip quivered to a temporary spasm. I knew the steely ire I had whetted. I was heart-wrung. “You utterly misinterpret my words,” I said, at once seizing his hand: “I have no intention to grieve or pain you—indeed, I have not.” Most bitterly he smiled—most decidedly he withdrew his hand from mine. “And now you recall your promise, and will not go to India at all, I presume?” said he, after a considerable pause. “Yes, I will, as your assistant,” I answered.

A very long silence succeeded.

What struggle there was in him between Nature and Grace in this interval, I cannot tell: only singular gleams scintillated in his eyes, and strange shadows passed over his face. He spoke at last. “I before proved to you the absurdity of a single woman of your age proposing to accompany abroad a single man of mine. I proved it to you in such terms as, I should have thought, would have prevented your ever again alluding to the plan. That you have done so, I regret—for your sake.” I interrupted him.

Anything like a tangible reproach gave me courage at once. “Keep to common sense, St. John: you are verging on nonsense. You pretend to be shocked by what I have said. You are not really shocked: for, with your superior mind, you cannot be either so dull or so conceited as to misunderstand my meaning. I say again, I will be your curate, if you like, but never your wife.” Again he turned lividly pale; but, as before, controlled his passion perfectly. He answered emphatically but calmly— “A female curate, who is not my wife, would never suit me. With me, then, it seems, you cannot go: but if you are sincere in your offer, I will, while in town, speak to a married missionary, whose wife needs a coadjutor. Your own fortune will make you independent of the Society's aid; and thus you may still be spared the dishonour of breaking your promise and deserting the band you engaged to join.” Now I never had, as the reader knows, either given any formal promise or entered into any engagement; and this language was all much too hard and much too despotic for the occasion. I replied— “There is no dishonour, no breach of promise, no desertion in the case. I am not under the slightest obligation to go to India, especially with strangers. With you I would have ventured much, because I admire, confide in, and, as a sister, I love you; but I am convinced that, go when and with whom I would, I should not live long in that climate.” “Ah!

you are afraid of yourself,” he said, curling his lip. “I am.

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

“It would be fruitless to attempt to explain; but there is a point on which I have long endured painful doubt, and I can go nowhere till by some means that doubt is removed.” “I know where your heart turns and to what it clings. The interest you cherish is lawless and unconsecrated. Long since you ought to have crushed it: now you should blush to allude to it. You think of Mr. Rochester?” It was true.

I confessed it by silence. “Are you going to seek Mr. Rochester?”

“I must find out what is become of him.”

“It remains for me, then,” he said, “to remember you in my prayers, and to entreat God for you, in all earnestness, that you may not indeed become a castaway. I had thought I recognised in you one of the chosen. But God sees not as man sees: His will be done—” He opened the gate, passed through it, and strayed away down the glen. He was soon out of sight. On re-entering the parlour, I found Diana standing at the window, looking very thoughtful. Diana was a great deal taller than I: she put her hand on my shoulder, and, stooping, examined my face. “Jane,” she said, “you are always agitated and pale now. I am sure there is something the matter. Tell me what business St. John and you have on hands. I have watched you this half hour from the window; you must forgive my being such a spy, but for a long time I have fancied I hardly know what. St.

John is a strange being—” She paused—I did not speak: soon she resumed—

“That brother of mine cherishes peculiar views of some sort respecting you, I am sure: he has long distinguished you by a notice and interest he never showed to any one else—to what end? I wish he loved you—does he, Jane?” I put her cool hand to my hot forehead; “No, Die, not one whit.” “Then why does he follow you so with his eyes, and get you so frequently alone with him, and keep you so continually at his side? Mary and I had both concluded he wished you to marry him.” “He does—he has asked me to be his wife.” Diana clapped her hands.

“That is just what we hoped and thought! And you will marry him, Jane, won't you? And then he will stay in England.” “Far from that, Diana; his sole idea in proposing to me is to procure a fitting fellow-labourer in his Indian toils.” “What!

He wishes you to go to India?” “Yes.”

“Madness!” she exclaimed.

“You would not live three months there, I am certain. You never shall go: you have not consented, have you, Jane?” “I have refused to marry him—”

“And have consequently displeased him?” she suggested. “Deeply: he will never forgive me, I fear: yet I offered to accompany him as his sister.”

“It was frantic folly to do so, Jane.

Think of the task you undertook—one of incessant fatigue, where fatigue kills even the strong, and you are weak. St.

John—you know him—would urge you to impossibilities: with him there would be no permission to rest during the hot hours; and unfortunately, I have noticed, whatever he exacts, you force yourself to perform. I am astonished you found courage to refuse his hand. You do not love him then, Jane?” “Not as a husband.”

“Yet he is a handsome fellow.”

“And I am so plain, you see, Die.

We should never suit.” “Plain!

You? Not at all. You are much too pretty, as well as too good, to be grilled alive in Calcutta.” And again she earnestly conjured me to give up all thoughts of going out with her brother. “I must indeed,” I said; “for when just now I repeated the offer of serving him for a deacon, he expressed himself shocked at my want of decency. He seemed to think I had committed an impropriety in proposing to accompany him unmarried: as if I had not from the first hoped to find in him a brother, and habitually regarded him as such.” “What makes you say he does not love you, Jane?” “You should hear himself on the subject.

He has again and again explained that it is not himself, but his office he wishes to mate. He has told me I am formed for labour—not for love: which is true, no doubt. But, in my opinion, if I am not formed for love, it follows that I am not formed for marriage. Would it not be strange, Die, to be chained for life to a man who regarded one but as a useful tool?” “Insupportable—unnatural—out of the question!” “And then,” I continued, “though I have only sisterly affection for him now, yet, if forced to be his wife, I can imagine the possibility of conceiving an inevitable, strange, torturing kind of love for him, because he is so talented; and there is often a certain heroic grandeur in his look, manner, and conversation. In that case, my lot would become unspeakably wretched. He would not want me to love him; and if I showed the feeling, he would make me sensible that it was a superfluity, unrequired by him, unbecoming in me. I know he would.” “And yet St.

John is a good man,” said Diana. “He is a good and a great man; but he forgets, pitilessly, the feelings and claims of little people, in pursuing his own large views. It is better, therefore, for the insignificant to keep out of his way, lest, in his progress, he should trample them down. Here he comes! I will leave you, Diana.” And I hastened upstairs as I saw him entering the garden. But I was forced to meet him again at supper.

During that meal he appeared just as composed as usual. I had thought he would hardly speak to me, and I was certain he had given up the pursuit of his matrimonial scheme: the sequel showed I was mistaken on both points. He addressed me precisely in his ordinary manner, or what had, of late, been his ordinary manner—one scrupulously polite. No doubt he had invoked the help of the Holy Spirit to subdue the anger I had roused in him, and now believed he had forgiven me once more. For the evening reading before prayers, he selected the twenty-first chapter of Revelation. It was at all times pleasant to listen while from his lips fell the words of the Bible: never did his fine voice sound at once so sweet and full—never did his manner become so impressive in its noble simplicity, as when he delivered the oracles of God: and to-night that voice took a more solemn tone—that manner a more thrilling meaning—as he sat in the midst of his household circle (the May moon shining in through the uncurtained window, and rendering almost unnecessary the light of the candle on the table): as he sat there, bending over the great old Bible, and described from its page the vision of the new heaven and the new earth—told how God would come to dwell with men, how He would wipe away all tears from their eyes, and promised that there should be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying, nor any more pain, because the former things were passed away. The succeeding words thrilled me strangely as he spoke them: especially as I felt, by the slight, indescribable alteration in sound, that in uttering them, his eye had turned on me. “He that overcometh shall inherit all things; and I will be his God, and he shall be my son.

But,” was slowly, distinctly read, “the fearful, the unbelieving, &c., shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone, which is the second death.” Henceforward, I knew what fate St.

John feared for me. A calm, subdued triumph, blent with a longing earnestness, marked his enunciation of the last glorious verses of that chapter. The reader believed his name was already written in the Lamb's book of life, and he yearned after the hour which should admit him to the city to which the kings of the earth bring their glory and honour; which has no need of sun or moon to shine in it, because the glory of God lightens it, and the Lamb is the light thereof. In the prayer following the chapter, all his energy gathered—all his stern zeal woke: he was in deep earnest, wrestling with God, and resolved on a conquest. He supplicated strength for the weak-hearted; guidance for wanderers from the fold: a return, even at the eleventh hour, for those whom the temptations of the world and the flesh were luring from the narrow path. He asked, he urged, he claimed the boon of a brand snatched from the burning. Earnestness is ever deeply solemn: first, as I listened to that prayer, I wondered at his; then, when it continued and rose, I was touched by it, and at last awed. He felt the greatness and goodness of his purpose so sincerely: others who heard him plead for it, could not but feel it too. The prayer over, we took leave of him: he was to go at a very early hour in the morning. Diana and Mary having kissed him, left the room—in compliance, I think, with a whispered hint from him: I tendered my hand, and wished him a pleasant journey. “Thank you, Jane.

As I said, I shall return from Cambridge in a fortnight: that space, then, is yet left you for reflection. If I listened to human pride, I should say no more to you of marriage with me; but I listen to my duty, and keep steadily in view my first aim—to do all things to the glory of God. My Master was long-suffering: so will I be. I cannot give you up to perdition as a vessel of wrath: repent—resolve, while there is yet time. Remember, we are bid to work while it is day—warned that ‘the night cometh when no man shall work. ' Remember the fate of Dives, who had his good things in this life. God give you strength to choose that better part which shall not be taken from you!” He laid his hand on my head as he uttered the last words. He had spoken earnestly, mildly: his look was not, indeed, that of a lover beholding his mistress, but it was that of a pastor recalling his wandering sheep—or better, of a guardian angel watching the soul for which he is responsible. All men of talent, whether they be men of feeling or not; whether they be zealots, or aspirants, or despots—provided only they be sincere—have their sublime moments, when they subdue and rule. I felt veneration for St. John—veneration so strong that its impetus thrust me at once to the point I had so long shunned. I was tempted to cease struggling with him—to rush down the torrent of his will into the gulf of his existence, and there lose my own. I was almost as hard beset by him now as I had been once before, in a different way, by another. I was a fool both times. To have yielded then would have been an error of principle; to have yielded now would have been an error of judgment. So I think at this hour, when I look back to the crisis through the quiet medium of time: I was unconscious of folly at the instant. I stood motionless under my hierophant's touch.

My refusals were forgotten—my fears overcome—my wrestlings paralysed. The Impossible— i.e. , my marriage with St. John—was fast becoming the Possible. All was changing utterly with a sudden sweep. Religion called—Angels beckoned—God commanded—life rolled together like a scroll—death's gates opening, showed eternity beyond: it seemed, that for safety and bliss there, all here might be sacrificed in a second. The dim room was full of visions. “Could you decide now?” asked the missionary. The inquiry was put in gentle tones: he drew me to him as gently. Oh, that gentleness! how far more potent is it than force! I could resist St. John's wrath: I grew pliant as a reed under his kindness. Yet I knew all the time, if I yielded now, I should not the less be made to repent, some day, of my former rebellion. His nature was not changed by one hour of solemn prayer: it was only elevated. “I could decide if I were but certain,” I answered: “were I but convinced that it is God's will I should marry you, I could vow to marry you here and now—come afterwards what would!” “My prayers are heard!” ejaculated St.

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

John and myself, were now retired to rest. The one candle was dying out: the room was full of moonlight. My heart beat fast and thick: I heard its throb. Suddenly it stood still to an inexpressible feeling that thrilled it through, and passed at once to my head and extremities. The feeling was not like an electric shock, but it was quite as sharp, as strange, as startling: it acted on my senses as if their utmost activity hitherto had been but torpor, from which they were now summoned and forced to wake. They rose expectant: eye and ear waited while the flesh quivered on my bones. “What have you heard?

What do you see?” asked St. John. I saw nothing, but I heard a voice somewhere cry— “Jane!

Jane!

Jane!”—nothing more. “O God!

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

“Wait for me! Oh, I will come!” I flew to the door and looked into the passage: it was dark. I ran out into the garden: it was void. “Where are you?” I exclaimed.

The hills beyond Marsh Glen sent the answer faintly back—“Where are you?” I listened. The wind sighed low in the firs: all was moorland loneliness and midnight hush. “Down superstition!” I commented, as that spectre rose up black by the black yew at the gate. “This is not thy deception, nor thy witchcraft: it is the work of nature. She was roused, and did—no miracle—but her best.” I broke from St.

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

CHAPTER XXXV |Chapter Thirty-Five CAPÍTULO XXXV BÖLÜM XXXV

He did not leave for Cambridge the next day, as he had said he would.

He deferred his departure a whole week, and during that time he made me feel what severe punishment a good yet stern, a conscientious yet implacable man can inflict on one who has offended him. |||||||||||||||||||||||||unyielding||||||||| Il a reporté son départ d'une semaine entière, et pendant ce temps il m'a fait ressentir quel châtiment sévère un homme bon mais sévère, consciencieux et implacable peut infliger à celui qui l'a offensé. Without one overt act of hostility, one upbraiding word, he contrived to impress me momently with the conviction that I was put beyond the pale of his favour. ||openly hostile|||ill will|||||||||||||||||||||| Sans un acte manifeste d'hostilité, un mot de reproche, il parvint à m'impressionner momentanément avec la conviction que j'étais mis au-delà de sa faveur. Not that St.

John harboured a spirit of unchristian vindictiveness—not that he would have injured a hair of my head, if it had been fully in his power to do so. |||||unforgiving or unkind|Spiteful revenge|||||||||||||||||||||| John nourrissait un esprit de vengeance non chrétienne - non pas qu'il aurait blessé un cheveu de ma tête, s'il avait été pleinement en son pouvoir de le faire. Both by nature and principle, he was superior to the mean gratification of vengeance: he had forgiven me for saying I scorned him and his love, but he had not forgotten the words; and as long as he and I lived he never would forget them. Par nature et par principe, il était supérieur à la gratification moyenne de la vengeance: il m'avait pardonné de dire que je le méprisais ainsi que son amour, mais il n'avait pas oublié les mots; et tant que lui et moi vivions, il ne les oublierait jamais. I saw by his look, when he turned to me, that they were always written on the air between me and him; whenever I spoke, they sounded in my voice to his ear, and their echo toned every answer he gave me. Je vis à son regard, quand il se tournait vers moi, qu'elles étaient toujours écrites dans l'air entre lui et moi ; chaque fois que je parlais, elles résonnaient dans ma voix à son oreille, et leur écho tonifiait toutes les réponses qu'il me donnait. He did not abstain from conversing with me: he even called me as usual each morning to join him at his desk; and I fear the corrupt man within him had a pleasure unimparted to, and unshared by, the pure Christian, in evincing with what skill he could, while acting and speaking apparently just as usual, extract from every deed and every phrase the spirit of interest and approval which had formerly communicated a certain austere charm to his language and manner. |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||Not shared with|||Not shared||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| Il ne s'est pas abstenu de converser avec moi: il m'a même appelé comme d'habitude chaque matin pour le rejoindre à son bureau; et je crains que l'homme corrompu en lui n'ait eu un plaisir non partagé et partagé par le pur chrétien, à démontrer avec quelle habileté il pouvait, tout en agissant et en parlant apparemment comme d'habitude, extraire de chaque acte et de chaque phrase l'esprit d'intérêt et l'approbation qui avait autrefois communiqué un certain charme austère à son langage et à ses manières. To me, he was in reality become no longer flesh, but marble; his eye was a cold, bright, blue gem; his tongue a speaking instrument—nothing more. Pour moi, il n'était en réalité devenu plus chair, mais marbre; son œil était un joyau bleu froid, brillant; sa langue un instrument parlant - rien de plus. All this was torture to me—refined, lingering torture. Tout cela était pour moi une torture - une torture raffinée et persistante. It kept up a slow fire of indignation and a trembling trouble of grief, which harassed and crushed me altogether. Il entretenait un lent feu d'indignation et un trouble tremblant de chagrin, qui me harcelaient et m'écrasaient tout à fait. I felt how—if I were his wife, this good man, pure as the deep sunless source, could soon kill me, without drawing from my veins a single drop of blood, or receiving on his own crystal conscience the faintest stain of crime. ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||mark of guilt|| Je sentis comment - si j'étais sa femme, ce bon homme, pur comme la source profonde sans soleil, pourrait bientôt me tuer, sans tirer de mes veines une seule goutte de sang, ni recevoir sur sa conscience de cristal la moindre tache de crime. Especially I felt this when I made any attempt to propitiate him. ||||||||||calm his anger| Surtout, j'ai ressenti cela lorsque j'ai tenté de le propitier. No ruth met my ruth. Aucune vérité n'a rencontré ma vérité. He experienced no suffering from estrangement—no yearning after reconciliation; and though, more than once, my fast falling tears blistered the page over which we both bent, they produced no more effect on him than if his heart had been really a matter of stone or metal. |||||||||||||||||||stained with tears||||||||||||||||||||||||||| Il n'a éprouvé aucune souffrance d'éloignement - aucun désir de réconciliation; et bien que, plus d'une fois, mes larmes qui tombaient rapidement fussent des cloques sur la page sur laquelle nous nous penchâmes tous les deux, elles ne produisirent pas plus d'effet sur lui que si son cœur avait été vraiment une question de pierre ou de métal. To his sisters, meantime, he was somewhat kinder than usual: as if afraid that mere coldness would not sufficiently convince me how completely I was banished and banned, he added the force of contrast; and this I am sure he did not by force, but on principle. Pour ses sœurs, en attendant, il était un peu plus gentil que d'habitude: comme s'il craignait que la simple froideur ne me convainque pas suffisamment à quel point j'étais complètement banni et banni, il ajouta la force du contraste; et je suis sûr qu'il ne l'a pas fait par la force, mais par principe. The night before he left home, happening to see him walking in the garden about sunset, and remembering, as I looked at him, that this man, alienated as he now was, had once saved my life, and that we were near relations, I was moved to make a last attempt to regain his friendship. ||||||||||||||||||||||||||estranged||||||||||||||||||||||||||| I went out and approached him as he stood leaning over the little gate; I spoke to the point at once. “St.

John, I am unhappy because you are still angry with me. Let us be friends.” “I hope we are friends,” was the unmoved reply; while he still watched the rising of the moon, which he had been contemplating as I approached. |||||||emotionless|||||||||||||||thinking about||| “No, St.

John, we are not friends as we were. You know that.” “Are we not?

That is wrong. For my part, I wish you no ill and all good.” “I believe you, St.

John; for I am sure you are incapable of wishing any one ill; but, as I am your kinswoman, I should desire somewhat more of affection than that sort of general philanthropy you extend to mere strangers.” “Of course,” he said.

“Your wish is reasonable, and I am far from regarding you as a stranger.” This, spoken in a cool, tranquil tone, was mortifying and baffling enough. ||||||||||confusing| Ceci, prononcé d'un ton froid et tranquille, était assez mortifiant et déconcertant. Had I attended to the suggestions of pride and ire, I should immediately have left him; but something worked within me more strongly than those feelings could. Si j'avais assisté aux suggestions de fierté et de colère, j'aurais immédiatement dû le quitter; mais quelque chose fonctionnait en moi plus fortement que ces sentiments ne le pouvaient. I deeply venerated my cousin’s talent and principle. ||highly respected||||| Je vénérais profondément le talent et les principes de mon cousin. His friendship was of value to me: to lose it tried me severely. Son amitié m'était précieuse: la perdre m'éprouvait sévèrement. I would not so soon relinquish the attempt to reconquer it. |||||||||win back| Je ne renoncerais pas si tôt à tenter de le reconquérir. “Must we part in this way, St.

John? And when you go to India, will you leave me so, without a kinder word than you have yet spoken?” He now turned quite from the moon and faced me. Il s'est maintenant complètement détourné de la lune et m'a fait face.

“When I go to India, Jane, will I leave you! "Quand j'irai en Inde, Jane, je te quitterai !

What!

do you not go to India?” “You said I could not unless I married you.”

“And you will not marry me!

You adhere to that resolution?” |stick to||| Vous adhérez à cette résolution? » Reader, do you know, as I do, what terror those cold people can put into the ice of their questions? Lecteur, sais-tu, comme moi, quelle terreur ces gens froids peuvent mettre dans la glace de leurs questions ? How much of the fall of the avalanche is in their anger? |||||||massive snow slide|||| Quelle est la part de la chute de l'avalanche dans leur colère? of the breaking up of the frozen sea in their displeasure? de l'éclatement de la mer gelée dans leur mécontentement? “No.

St.

John, I will not marry you. I adhere to my resolution.” The avalanche had shaken and slid a little forward, but it did not yet crash down. L'avalanche avait secoué et glissé un peu en avant, mais elle ne s'est pas encore écrasée.

“Once more, why this refusal?” he asked. ||||rejection||

“Formerly,” I answered, “because you did not love me; now, I reply, because you almost hate me.

If I were to marry you, you would kill me. You are killing me now.” His lips and cheeks turned white—quite white.

“ I should kill you — I am killing you ? Your words are such as ought not to be used: violent, unfeminine, and untrue. |||||||||||not ladylike||not factual Vos paroles sont telles qu'elles ne devraient pas être utilisées : violentes, non féminines et fausses. They betray an unfortunate state of mind: they merit severe reproof: they would seem inexcusable, but that it is the duty of man to forgive his fellow even until seventy-and-seven times.” ||||||||||||||unforgivable|||||||||||||||||| Ils trahissent un état d'esprit malheureux: ils méritent une réprimande sévère: ils sembleraient inexcusables, mais qu'il est du devoir de l'homme de pardonner à son semblable jusqu'à soixante-dix-sept fois. I had finished the business now.

While earnestly wishing to erase from his mind the trace of my former offence, I had stamped on that tenacious surface another and far deeper impression, I had burnt it in. ||||remove completely|||||||||||||||||||||||||| Tout en voulant ardemment effacer de son esprit la trace de mon ancienne offense, j'avais imprimé sur cette surface tenace une autre impression bien plus profonde, je l'avais brûlée. “Now you will indeed hate me,” I said.

“It is useless to attempt to conciliate you: I see I have made an eternal enemy of you.” ||||||win over||||||||||| «Il est inutile d'essayer de vous concilier: je vois que je me suis fait de vous un éternel ennemi. A fresh wrong did these words inflict: the worse, because they touched on the truth. Un nouveau tort a été infligé par ces mots: le pire, parce qu'ils touchent à la vérité.

That bloodless lip quivered to a temporary spasm. Cette lèvre exsangue trembla en un spasme temporaire. I knew the steely ire I had whetted. Je connaissais la colère d'acier que j'avais aiguisée. I was heart-wrung. J'étais navré. “You utterly misinterpret my words,” I said, at once seizing his hand: “I have no intention to grieve or pain you—indeed, I have not.” «Vous interprétez complètement mal mes paroles,» dis-je, saisissant aussitôt sa main: «Je n'ai pas l'intention de vous affliger ou de vous faire du mal - en fait, je ne l'ai pas fait. Most bitterly he smiled—most decidedly he withdrew his hand from mine. “And now you recall your promise, and will not go to India at all, I presume?” said he, after a considerable pause. «Et maintenant, vous vous souvenez de votre promesse et vous n'irez pas du tout en Inde, je présume? dit-il après une longue pause. “Yes, I will, as your assistant,” I answered.

A very long silence succeeded.

What struggle there was in him between Nature and Grace in this interval, I cannot tell: only singular gleams scintillated in his eyes, and strange shadows passed over his face. |||||||||||||||||||sparkled or flashed|||||||||| Quelle lutte il y avait en lui entre la nature et la grâce dans cet intervalle, je ne peux pas le dire: seules des lueurs singulières scintillaient dans ses yeux, et d'étranges ombres passaient sur son visage. He spoke at last. “I before proved to you the absurdity of a single woman of your age proposing to accompany abroad a single man of mine. ||||||||||||||suggesting to join|||||||| «Je vous avais déjà prouvé l'absurdité d'une femme célibataire de votre âge se proposant d'accompagner à l'étranger un seul de mes hommes. I proved it to you in such terms as, I should have thought, would have prevented your ever again alluding to the plan. |||||||||||||||||||referring to||| Je vous l'ai prouvé en des termes qui, j'aurais dû le penser, vous auraient empêché de ne plus jamais faire allusion au plan. That you have done so, I regret—for your sake.” I interrupted him.

Anything like a tangible reproach gave me courage at once. |||physical|||||| Tout ce qui ressemblait à un reproche tangible m'a tout de suite donné du courage. “Keep to common sense, St. «Gardez le bon sens, St. John: you are verging on nonsense. John: vous êtes à la limite du non-sens. You pretend to be shocked by what I have said. You are not really shocked: for, with your superior mind, you cannot be either so dull or so conceited as to misunderstand my meaning. ||||||||||||||||||self-important||||| Vous n'êtes pas vraiment choqués: car, avec votre esprit supérieur, vous ne pouvez être ni assez ennuyeux ni assez vaniteux pour mal comprendre mon sens. I say again, I will be your curate, if you like, but never your wife.” Again he turned lividly pale; but, as before, controlled his passion perfectly. |||extremely, intensely|||||||| He answered emphatically but calmly— “A female curate, who is not my wife, would never suit me. With me, then, it seems, you cannot go: but if you are sincere in your offer, I will, while in town, speak to a married missionary, whose wife needs a coadjutor. Il semble donc que vous ne puissiez pas partir avec moi ; mais si vous êtes sincère dans votre offre, je parlerai en ville à un missionnaire marié dont la femme a besoin d'un coadjuteur. Your own fortune will make you independent of the Society’s aid; and thus you may still be spared the dishonour of breaking your promise and deserting the band you engaged to join.” |||||||||society's assistance|||||||||||||||||||||| Votre propre fortune vous rendra indépendant de l'aide de la Société, et vous pourrez ainsi éviter le déshonneur de rompre votre promesse et d'abandonner le groupe que vous vous êtes engagé à rejoindre." Now I never had, as the reader knows, either given any formal promise or entered into any engagement; and this language was all much too hard and much too despotic for the occasion. |||||||||||||||||commitment||||||||||||||| I replied— “There is no dishonour, no breach of promise, no desertion in the case. «Il n'y a pas de déshonneur, pas de rupture de promesse, pas de désertion dans l'affaire. I am not under the slightest obligation to go to India, especially with strangers. With you I would have ventured much, because I admire, confide in, and, as a sister, I love you; but I am convinced that, go when and with whom I would, I should not live long in that climate.” Avec toi j'aurais beaucoup osé, parce que je t'admire, je me confie et, en tant que sœur, je t'aime; mais je suis convaincu que, allez quand et avec qui je voudrais, je ne devrais pas vivre longtemps dans ce climat. “Ah!

you are afraid of yourself,” he said, curling his lip. “I am.

God did not give me my life to throw away; and to do as you wish me would, I begin to think, be almost equivalent to committing suicide. Dieu ne m'a pas donné ma vie à jeter; et faire ce que vous voulez, je commence à penser, équivaudrait à se suicider. Moreover, before I definitively resolve on quitting England, I will know for certain whether I cannot be of greater use by remaining in it than by leaving it.” De plus, avant de me résoudre définitivement à quitter l'Angleterre, je saurai avec certitude si je ne peux pas être plus utile en y restant qu'en la quittant. “What do you mean?”

“It would be fruitless to attempt to explain; but there is a point on which I have long endured painful doubt, and I can go nowhere till by some means that doubt is removed.” |||Unproductive|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| «Il serait vain d'essayer d'expliquer; mais il y a un point sur lequel j'ai longtemps enduré de douloureux doutes, et je ne peux aller nulle part jusqu'à ce que, par quelque moyen, le doute soit levé. “I know where your heart turns and to what it clings. «Je sais où se tourne votre cœur et à quoi il s'accroche. The interest you cherish is lawless and unconsecrated. |||||unregulated or illegitimate||not sacred L'intérêt que vous chérissez est anarchique et non consacré. Long since you ought to have crushed it: now you should blush to allude to it. Depuis longtemps vous auriez dû l'écraser: vous devriez maintenant rougir d'y faire allusion. You think of Mr. Rochester?” It was true.

I confessed it by silence. |admitted through silence||| “Are you going to seek Mr. Rochester?”

“I must find out what is become of him.”

“It remains for me, then,” he said, “to remember you in my prayers, and to entreat God for you, in all earnestness, that you may not indeed become a castaway. «Il me reste donc, dit-il, de me souvenir de vous dans mes prières et de supplier Dieu pour vous, en toute sincérité, afin que vous ne deveniez pas vraiment un naufragé. I had thought I recognised in you one of the chosen. J'avais cru reconnaître en vous l'un des élus. But God sees not as man sees: His will be done—” Mais Dieu ne voit pas ce que l'homme voit: sa volonté soit faite. He opened the gate, passed through it, and strayed away down the glen. Il ouvrit la porte, la franchit et s'éloigna dans le vallon. He was soon out of sight. On re-entering the parlour, I found Diana standing at the window, looking very thoughtful. Diana was a great deal taller than I: she put her hand on my shoulder, and, stooping, examined my face. “Jane,” she said, “you are always agitated and pale now. I am sure there is something the matter. Je suis sûr qu'il y a quelque chose qui ne va pas. Tell me what business St. John and you have on hands. I have watched you this half hour from the window; you must forgive my being such a spy, but for a long time I have fancied I hardly know what. Je vous ai observée pendant cette demi-heure depuis la fenêtre ; vous devez me pardonner d'être un tel espion, mais depuis longtemps j'ai eu l'impression de je ne sais quoi. St.

John is a strange being—” She paused—I did not speak: soon she resumed—

“That brother of mine cherishes peculiar views of some sort respecting you, I am sure: he has long distinguished you by a notice and interest he never showed to any one else—to what end? ||||holds dear|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| «Ce frère à moi chérit des vues particulières de quelque sorte sur vous, j'en suis sûr: il vous a longtemps distingué par un avis et un intérêt qu'il n'a jamais montré à personne d'autre - à quelle fin? I wish he loved you—does he, Jane?” I put her cool hand to my hot forehead; “No, Die, not one whit.” Je posai sa main froide sur mon front brûlant; «Non, meurs, pas du tout.» “Then why does he follow you so with his eyes, and get you so frequently alone with him, and keep you so continually at his side? Mary and I had both concluded he wished you to marry him.” “He does—he has asked me to be his wife.” Diana clapped her hands.

“That is just what we hoped and thought! And you will marry him, Jane, won’t you? And then he will stay in England.” “Far from that, Diana; his sole idea in proposing to me is to procure a fitting fellow-labourer in his Indian toils.” «Loin de là, Diana; sa seule idée en me proposant est de se procurer un compagnon de travail convenable dans ses travaux indiens. “What!

He wishes you to go to India?” “Yes.”

“Madness!” she exclaimed.

“You would not live three months there, I am certain. "Vous n'y vivriez pas trois mois, j'en suis certain. You never shall go: you have not consented, have you, Jane?” “I have refused to marry him—”

“And have consequently displeased him?” she suggested. “Deeply: he will never forgive me, I fear: yet I offered to accompany him as his sister.”

“It was frantic folly to do so, Jane. «C'était une folie effrénée de le faire, Jane.

Think of the task you undertook—one of incessant fatigue, where fatigue kills even the strong, and you are weak. ||||||||constant, unending||||destroys||||||| St.

John—you know him—would urge you to impossibilities: with him there would be no permission to rest during the hot hours; and unfortunately, I have noticed, whatever he exacts, you force yourself to perform. ||||||||unachievable tasks|||||||||||||||||||||demands||||| John - vous le connaissez - vous pousserait à des impossibilités: avec lui, il n'y aurait pas la permission de se reposer pendant les heures chaudes; et malheureusement, j'ai remarqué, quoi qu'il demande, vous vous forcez à exécuter. I am astonished you found courage to refuse his hand. You do not love him then, Jane?” “Not as a husband.”

“Yet he is a handsome fellow.”

“And I am so plain, you see, Die. «Et je suis si simple, tu vois, Die.

We should never suit.” “Plain!

You? Not at all. You are much too pretty, as well as too good, to be grilled alive in Calcutta.”  And again she earnestly conjured me to give up all thoughts of going out with her brother. ||||||||||||harshly questioned|||||||||||||||||||| Tu es beaucoup trop jolie et trop bonne pour être grillée vivante à Calcutta. Et encore une fois, elle m'a instamment conjurée de renoncer à l'idée de sortir avec son frère. “I must indeed,” I said; “for when just now I repeated the offer of serving him for a deacon, he expressed himself shocked at my want of decency. ||||||||||||||||||church assistant|||||||||proper behavior «Je dois en effet,» j'ai dit; «Car quand tout à l'heure j'ai répété l'offre de le servir pour un diacre, il s'est dit choqué de mon manque de décence. He seemed to think I had committed an impropriety in proposing to accompany him unmarried: as if I had not from the first hoped to find in him a brother, and habitually regarded him as such.” ||||||||socially inappropriate behavior||||||||||||||||||||||||||| Il semblait penser que j'avais commis une irrégularité en proposant de l'accompagner célibataire: comme si je n'avais pas espéré dès le début trouver en lui un frère et que je le considérais habituellement comme tel. “What makes you say he does not love you, Jane?” «Qu'est-ce qui vous fait dire qu'il ne vous aime pas, Jane? “You should hear himself on the subject.

He has again and again explained that it is not himself, but his office he wishes to mate. Il a encore et encore expliqué que ce n'était pas lui-même, mais son bureau qu'il souhaitait accoupler. He has told me I am formed for labour—not for love: which is true, no doubt. But, in my opinion, if I am not formed for love, it follows that I am not formed for marriage. Mais, à mon avis, si je ne suis pas formé pour l'amour, il s'ensuit que je ne suis pas formé pour le mariage. Would it not be strange, Die, to be chained for life to a man who regarded one but as a useful tool?” Ne serait-il pas étrange, Die, d'être enchaîné pour la vie à un homme qui ne nous considère que comme un outil utile ?" “Insupportable—unnatural—out of the question!” “And then,” I continued, “though I have only sisterly affection for him now, yet, if forced to be his wife, I can imagine the possibility of conceiving an inevitable, strange, torturing kind of love for him, because he is so talented; and there is often a certain heroic grandeur in his look, manner, and conversation. «Et puis, continuai-je, même si je n'ai plus que de l'affection fraternelle pour lui maintenant, pourtant, si je suis forcé d'être sa femme, je peux imaginer la possibilité de concevoir un amour inévitable, étrange et torturant pour lui, car il est Si talentueux; et il y a souvent une certaine grandeur héroïque dans son regard, ses manières et sa conversation. In that case, my lot would become unspeakably wretched. |||||||extremely, indescribably| Dans ce cas, mon sort deviendrait indiciblement misérable. He would not want me to love him; and if I showed the feeling, he would make me sensible that it was a superfluity, unrequired by him, unbecoming in me. |||||||||||||||||||||||Unnecessary excess|not needed|||inappropriate for me|| Il ne voudrait pas que je l'aime; et si je montrais le sentiment, il me ferait sentir que c'était un superflu, non requis de lui, inconvenant en moi. I know he would.” “And yet St.

John is a good man,” said Diana. “He is a good and a great man; but he forgets, pitilessly, the feelings and claims of little people, in pursuing his own large views. ||||||||||overlooks|without mercy||||||||||||| «C'est un homme bon et grand; mais il oublie, impitoyablement, les sentiments et les revendications des petits gens, en poursuivant ses propres grandes vues. It is better, therefore, for the insignificant to keep out of his way, lest, in his progress, he should trample them down. Il vaut donc mieux que l'insignifiant se tienne à l'écart, de peur que, dans sa marche, il ne les piétine. Here he comes! I will leave you, Diana.”  And I hastened upstairs as I saw him entering the garden. But I was forced to meet him again at supper. Mais j'ai été obligée de le retrouver au dîner.

During that meal he appeared just as composed as usual. I had thought he would hardly speak to me, and I was certain he had given up the pursuit of his matrimonial scheme: the sequel showed I was mistaken on both points. |||||||||||||||||||||marriage-related|||||||||| J'avais pensé qu'il ne m'adresserait presque plus la parole et j'étais certaine qu'il avait renoncé à poursuivre son projet matrimonial : la suite a montré que je m'étais trompée sur ces deux points. He addressed me precisely in his ordinary manner, or what had, of late, been his ordinary manner—one scrupulously polite. Il s'adressa à moi précisément à sa manière ordinaire, ou à ce qui avait été, ces derniers temps, sa manière ordinaire - une manière scrupuleusement polie. No doubt he had invoked the help of the Holy Spirit to subdue the anger I had roused in him, and now believed he had forgiven me once more. ||||called upon|||||||||||||||||||||||| Sans doute avait-il invoqué l'aide du Saint-Esprit pour maîtriser la colère que j'avais suscitée en lui, et croyait maintenant qu'il m'avait encore pardonné. For the evening reading before prayers, he selected the twenty-first chapter of Revelation. Pour la lecture du soir avant la prière, il choisit le vingt-et-unième chapitre de l'Apocalypse. It was at all times pleasant to listen while from his lips fell the words of the Bible: never did his fine voice sound at once so sweet and full—never did his manner become so impressive in its noble simplicity, as when he delivered the oracles of God: and to-night that voice took a more solemn tone—that manner a more thrilling meaning—as he sat in the midst of his household circle (the May moon shining in through the uncurtained window, and rendering almost unnecessary the light of the candle on the table): as he sat there, bending over the great old Bible, and described from its page the vision of the new heaven and the new earth—told how God would come to dwell with men, how He would wipe away all tears from their eyes, and promised that there should be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying, nor any more pain, because the former things were passed away. ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||divine messages||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||without a curtain||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| Il était toujours agréable d'écouter les paroles de la Bible tomber de ses lèvres : jamais sa voix fine n'avait été à la fois si douce et si pleine, jamais ses manières n'avaient été si impressionnantes dans leur noble simplicité, que lorsqu'il prononçait les oracles de Dieu ; et ce soir, cette voix prenait un ton plus solennel, ces manières un sens plus palpitant, alors qu'il était assis au milieu de son cercle domestique (la lune de mai entrait par la fenêtre sans rideau, et rendait presque inutile la lumière de la chandelle sur la table) : Il racontait comment Dieu viendrait habiter avec les hommes, comment il essuierait toutes les larmes de leurs yeux, et promettait qu'il n'y aurait plus de mort, ni de chagrin, ni de cri, ni de douleur, parce que les choses passées avaient disparu. The succeeding words thrilled me strangely as he spoke them: especially as I felt, by the slight, indescribable alteration in sound, that in uttering them, his eye had turned on me. ||||||||||||||||||subtle change|||||||||||| Les mots qui suivirent me passionnèrent étrangement pendant qu'il les prononçait: d'autant plus que je sentais, par la légère et indescriptible altération du son, qu'en les prononçant, son regard s'était tourné vers moi. “He that overcometh shall inherit all things; and I will be his God, and he shall be my son. ||overcomes||Receive as heir|||||||||||||| «Celui qui vaincra héritera de toutes choses; et je serai son Dieu, et il sera mon fils.

But,” was slowly, distinctly read, “the fearful, the unbelieving, &c., shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone, which is the second death.” ||||||||doubtful or faithless||||||||||is burning||||||||| Mais, »fut lu lentement et distinctement,« les craintifs, les incrédules, etc., auront leur part dans le lac qui brûle de feu et de soufre, qui est la seconde mort. Henceforward, I knew what fate St. From now on||||| Désormais, je savais quel destin St.

John feared for me. A calm, subdued triumph, blent with a longing earnestness, marked his enunciation of the last glorious verses of that chapter. |||||||||||speech delivery|||||||| Un triomphe calme et modéré, mêlé d'une ardeur ardente, marqua son énonciation des derniers vers glorieux de ce chapitre. The reader believed his name was already written in the Lamb’s book of life, and he yearned after the hour which should admit him to the city to which the kings of the earth bring their glory and honour; which has no need of sun or moon to shine in it, because the glory of God lightens it, and the Lamb is the light thereof. ||||||||||Jesus Christ's||||||longed for||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||illuminates|||||||| Le lecteur croyait que son nom était déjà écrit dans le livre de vie de l'Agneau, et il aspirait à l'heure qui devait l'admettre dans la ville à laquelle les rois de la terre apportent leur gloire et leur honneur; qui n'a besoin ni du soleil ni de la lune pour y briller, parce que la gloire de Dieu l'éclaire, et l'Agneau en est la lumière. In the prayer following the chapter, all his energy gathered—all his stern zeal woke: he was in deep earnest, wrestling with God, and resolved on a conquest. Dans la prière qui suivit le chapitre, toute son énergie se rassembla - tout son zèle sévère se réveilla: il était profondément sérieux, luttant avec Dieu et résolu à une conquête. He supplicated strength for the weak-hearted; guidance for wanderers from the fold: a return, even at the eleventh hour, for those whom the temptations of the world and the flesh were luring from the narrow path. |||||||||lost souls|||||||||last possible moment||||||enticements||||||||attracting away|||| Il a supplié la force pour les faibles de cœur; guide pour les vagabonds de la bergerie: un retour, même à la onzième heure, pour ceux que les tentations du monde et de la chair attiraient du chemin étroit. He asked, he urged, he claimed the boon of a brand snatched from the burning. Il a demandé, il a exhorté, il a réclamé l'avantage d'une marque arrachée à l'incendie. Earnestness is ever deeply solemn: first, as I listened to that prayer, I wondered at his; then, when it continued and rose, I was touched by it, and at last awed. La sincérité est toujours profondément solennelle: premièrement, en écoutant cette prière, je me suis étonné de la sienne; puis, quand il continua et s'éleva, j'en fus touché et enfin impressionné. He felt the greatness and goodness of his purpose so sincerely: others who heard him plead for it, could not but feel it too. |||immense value||||||||||||argue passionately for|||||||| Il ressentait si sincèrement la grandeur et la bonté de son dessein: les autres qui l'entendaient plaider pour cela, ne pouvaient que le ressentir aussi. The prayer over, we took leave of him: he was to go at a very early hour in the morning. Diana and Mary having kissed him, left the room—in compliance, I think, with a whispered hint from him: I tendered my hand, and wished him a pleasant journey. ||||||||||in agreement||||||||||offered|||||||| Diana et Mary, après l'avoir embrassé, quittèrent la pièce - en accord, je crois, avec un soupçon de sa part: je lui tendis la main et lui souhaitai un agréable voyage. “Thank you, Jane.

As I said, I shall return from Cambridge in a fortnight: that space, then, is yet left you for reflection. If I listened to human pride, I should say no more to you of marriage with me; but I listen to my duty, and keep steadily in view my first aim—to do all things to the glory of God. Si j'écoutais l'orgueil humain, je ne vous dirais plus le mariage avec moi; mais j'écoute mon devoir et je garde constamment en vue mon premier but: faire tout pour la gloire de Dieu. My Master was long-suffering: so will I be. Mon Maître souffrait depuis longtemps: je le serai aussi. I cannot give you up to perdition as a vessel of wrath: repent—resolve, while there is yet time. ||||||eternal damnation|||||||||||| Je ne peux pas vous abandonner à la perdition comme vase de colère: repentez-vous, résolvez, tant qu'il est encore temps. Remember, we are bid to work while it is day—warned that ‘the night cometh when no man shall work. ||||||||||||||approaches||||| Souvenez-vous, nous sommes appelés à travailler pendant qu'il fait jour - avertis que «la nuit vient où personne ne travaillera. '  Remember the fate of Dives, who had his good things in this life. ||||rich man|||||||| «Souvenez-vous du sort de Dives, qui a eu ses bonnes choses dans cette vie. God give you strength to choose that better part which shall not be taken from you!” Dieu vous donne la force de choisir cette meilleure part qui ne vous sera pas enlevée! He laid his hand on my head as he uttered the last words. He had spoken earnestly, mildly: his look was not, indeed, that of a lover beholding his mistress, but it was that of a pastor recalling his wandering sheep—or better, of a guardian angel watching the soul for which he is responsible. ||||||||||||||gazing at||||||||||||||||||||||||||| Il avait parlé avec sérieux, avec douceur: son regard n'était pas, en effet, celui d'un amant regardant sa maîtresse, mais c'était celui d'un pasteur rappelant ses brebis errantes - ou mieux, d'un ange gardien veillant sur l'âme dont il est responsable. All men of talent, whether they be men of feeling or not; whether they be zealots, or aspirants, or despots—provided only they be sincere—have their sublime moments, when they subdue and rule. |||||||||||||||fervent believers||ambitious individuals||tyrannical rulers|||||||||||||| Tous les hommes de talent, qu'ils soient ou non des hommes sensibles; qu'ils soient fanatiques, aspirants ou despotes - pourvu qu'ils soient sincères - ont leurs moments sublimes, lorsqu'ils subjuguent et gouvernent. I felt veneration for St. John—veneration so strong that its impetus thrust me at once to the point I had so long shunned. Jean - une vénération si forte que son élan me poussa aussitôt au point que j'avais si longtemps évité. I was tempted to cease struggling with him—to rush down the torrent of his will into the gulf of his existence, and there lose my own. I was almost as hard beset by him now as I had been once before, in a different way, by another. J'étais presque aussi durement assailli par lui maintenant que je l'avais été une fois auparavant, d'une manière différente, par une autre. I was a fool both times. To have yielded then would have been an error of principle; to have yielded now would have been an error of judgment. Céder alors aurait été une erreur de principe; céder maintenant aurait été une erreur de jugement. So I think at this hour, when I look back to the crisis through the quiet medium of time: I was unconscious of folly at the instant. Alors je pense à cette heure, quand je repense à la crise à travers le calme médium du temps: j'étais inconscient de la folie à l'instant. I stood motionless under my hierophant’s touch. |||||spiritual guide's| Je restai immobile sous le toucher de mon hiérophante.

My refusals were forgotten—my fears overcome—my wrestlings paralysed. |rejections|||||||struggles| Mes refus ont été oubliés - mes peurs surmontées - mes luttes paralysées. The Impossible— i.e. , my marriage with St. John—was fast becoming the Possible. John devient rapidement le "possible". All was changing utterly with a sudden sweep. Tout changeait complètement avec un balayage soudain. Religion called—Angels beckoned—God commanded—life rolled together like a scroll—death’s gates opening, showed eternity beyond: it seemed, that for safety and bliss there, all here might be sacrificed in a second. ||||||||||||gates of death||||||||||||||||||given up||| La religion a appelé - les anges ont fait signe - Dieu a ordonné - la vie roulait ensemble comme un rouleau - les portes de la mort s'ouvraient, montraient l'éternité au-delà: il semblait que pour la sécurité et la félicité là-bas, tout ici pouvait être sacrifié en une seconde. The dim room was full of visions. La pièce sombre était pleine de visions. “Could you decide now?” asked the missionary. The inquiry was put in gentle tones: he drew me to him as gently. L'enquête fut posée sur un ton doux: il m'attira vers lui aussi doucement. Oh, that gentleness! Oh, cette douceur! how far more potent is it than force! combien plus puissant que la force! I could resist St. John’s wrath: I grew pliant as a reed under his kindness. ||||flexible or yielding|||||| Colère de John: Je suis devenu souple comme un roseau sous sa gentillesse. Yet I knew all the time, if I yielded now, I should not the less be made to repent, some day, of my former rebellion. Pourtant je savais tout le temps, si je cédais maintenant, je n'en serais pas moins obligé de me repentir, un jour, de mon ancienne rébellion. His nature was not changed by one hour of solemn prayer: it was only elevated. Sa nature n'a pas été changée par une heure de prière solennelle: elle n'a été que élevée. “I could decide if I were but certain,” I answered: “were I but convinced that it is God’s will I should marry you, I could vow to marry you here and now—come afterwards what would!” "Je pourrais décider si je n'étais que certain," répondis-je: "si j'étais convaincu que c'est la volonté de Dieu que je devrais vous épouser, je pourrais jurer de vous épouser ici et maintenant - venez après ce qui le ferait!" “My prayers are heard!” ejaculated St.

John. He pressed his hand firmer on my head, as if he claimed me: he surrounded me with his arm, almost as if he loved me (I say almost —I knew the difference—for I had felt what it was to be loved; but, like him, I had now put love out of the question, and thought only of duty). Il pressa sa main plus fermement sur ma tête, comme s'il me réclamait: il m'entoura de son bras, presque comme s'il m'aimait (je dis presque - je connaissais la différence - car j'avais senti ce que c'était d'être aimé; mais , comme lui, j'avais mis l'amour hors de question, et je ne pensais qu'au devoir). I contended with my inward dimness of vision, before which clouds yet rolled. |struggled against||||||||||| J'ai combattu mon obscurité intérieure de vision, devant laquelle les nuages roulaient encore. I sincerely, deeply, fervently longed to do what was right; and only that. Je désirais sincèrement, profondément, ardemment faire ce qui était juste; et seulement ça. “Show me, show me the path!” I entreated of Heaven. "Montre-moi, montre-moi le chemin ! J'implorai le Ciel. I was excited more than I had ever been; and whether what followed was the effect of excitement the reader shall judge. J'étais plus excité que je ne l'avais jamais été; et si ce qui a suivi était l'effet de l'excitation, le lecteur jugera. All the house was still; for I believe all, except St.

John and myself, were now retired to rest. The one candle was dying out: the room was full of moonlight. My heart beat fast and thick: I heard its throb. Mon cœur battait vite et fort: j'entendais son battement. Suddenly it stood still to an inexpressible feeling that thrilled it through, and passed at once to my head and extremities. Soudain, il s'arrêta à un sentiment inexprimable qui le ravit et passa aussitôt à ma tête et à mes extrémités. The feeling was not like an electric shock, but it was quite as sharp, as strange, as startling: it acted on my senses as if their utmost activity hitherto had been but torpor, from which they were now summoned and forced to wake. La sensation n'était pas comme un choc électrique, mais elle était tout aussi vive, aussi étrange, que surprenante: elle agissait sur mes sens comme si leur plus grande activité jusqu'alors n'avait été qu'une torpeur, dont ils étaient maintenant appelés et forcés de se réveiller. They rose expectant: eye and ear waited while the flesh quivered on my bones. Ils se levèrent dans l'attente: l'œil et l'oreille attendaient tandis que la chair tremblait sur mes os. “What have you heard?

What do you see?” asked St. John. I saw nothing, but I heard a voice somewhere cry— “Jane!

Jane!

Jane!”—nothing more. “O God!

what is it?” I gasped. I might have said, “Where is it?” for it did not seem in the room—nor in the house—nor in the garden; it did not come out of the air—nor from under the earth—nor from overhead. J'aurais pu dire: «Où est-il?» car il n'apparaissait pas dans la chambre - ni dans la maison - ni dans le jardin; il n'est pas sorti des airs - ni du dessous de la terre - ni du ciel. I had heard it—where, or whence, for ever impossible to know! Je l'avais entendu - où ou d'où, à jamais impossible à savoir! And it was the voice of a human being—a known, loved, well-remembered voice—that of Edward Fairfax Rochester; and it spoke in pain and woe, wildly, eerily, urgently. ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||Uncannily| Et c'était la voix d'un être humain - une voix connue, aimée et dont on se souvenait - celle d'Edward Fairfax Rochester; et il parlait dans la douleur et le malheur, sauvagement, étrangement, urgemment. “I am coming!” I cried.

“Wait for me! Oh, I will come!”  I flew to the door and looked into the passage: it was dark. Oh, je viendrai! J'ai volé vers la porte et j'ai regardé dans le couloir: il faisait noir. I ran out into the garden: it was void. J'ai couru dans le jardin: il était vide. “Where are you?” I exclaimed.

The hills beyond Marsh Glen sent the answer faintly back—“Where are you?”  I listened. The wind sighed low in the firs: all was moorland loneliness and midnight hush. Le vent soupira bas dans les sapins: tout était solitude des landes et silence de minuit. “Down superstition!” I commented, as that spectre rose up black by the black yew at the gate. «À bas la superstition! J'ai commenté, alors que ce spectre est devenu noir par l'if noir à la porte. “This is not thy deception, nor thy witchcraft: it is the work of nature. ||||trickery||||||||| «Ce n'est pas ta tromperie, ni ta sorcellerie: c'est l'œuvre de la nature. She was roused, and did—no miracle—but her best.” Elle a été excitée et a fait - pas de miracle - mais de son mieux. I broke from St.

John, who had followed, and would have detained me. |||||||stopped| John, qui m'avait suivi et m'aurait détenu. It was my time to assume ascendency. ||||||take control C'était mon temps de prendre l'ascendant. My powers were in play and in force. Mes pouvoirs étaient en jeu et en vigueur. I told him to forbear question or remark; I desired him to leave me: I must and would be alone. Je lui ai dit de ne pas poser de question ou de remarque; Je lui ai demandé de me quitter: je dois et je serais seul. He obeyed at once. Where there is energy to command well enough, obedience never fails. Là où il y a suffisamment d'énergie pour commander, l'obéissance ne faillit jamais. I mounted to my chamber; locked myself in; fell on my knees; and prayed in my way—a different way to St. Je suis monté dans ma chambre, je me suis enfermé, je me suis agenouillé et j'ai prié à ma façon, une façon différente de celle de saint Josémaria. John’s, but effective in its own fashion. I seemed to penetrate very near a Mighty Spirit; and my soul rushed out in gratitude at His feet. J'ai semblé pénétrer très près d'un Esprit Puissant; et mon âme se précipita de reconnaissance à ses pieds. I rose from the thanksgiving—took a resolve—and lay down, unscared, enlightened—eager but for the daylight. |||||||||||unafraid|||||| Je me suis levé de l'action de grâces - j'ai pris une résolution - et je me suis allongé, insouciant, éclairé - impatient mais pour la lumière du jour.