Chapter V: Act IV

SCENE I.—_The Drawing-room at Rochester’s._ DOWAGER, LADY BLANCHE, MARY, LORD INGRAM, DENT, _discovered_.

_Dow._ Come here, Blanche my love; remember the importance of the crisis which is evidently approaching; and don’t shake your hair too much out of curl.

_John._ A note for you, my lady.

[_Exit._

_Dow._ It is from Rochester, and marked private. The long-expected declaration, no doubt. Blanche, calm your agitation, dear, while we see what he proposes in the way of dowry.

_Lord Ing._ Something enormous, I trust, to gild the fellow’s atrocious vulgarity!

_Dow._ (_Reads._) Good Heavens!

_Dent._ No bad news, I hope?

_Lord Ing._ Surely nothing can have occurred to break off the match?

_Blan._ Nothing, oh, nothing!

_Dent._ But death!

_Lord Ing._ Or bankruptcy.

(_Dowager sinks into a chair._)

_Blan._ You seriously alarm me, ma; has any accident occurred?

_Dow._ Accident!—a frightful and unexpected one.

_Lord Ing._ What can it possibly be?

_Dent._ Is he sick?

_Lord Ing._ Hurt?

_Lady Blan._ Dead?

_Dow._ Worse.

_All._ What?—what?

_Dow._ He’s poor!

_Lord Ing._ Inconceivable calamity!

_Dow._ Here, Ingram, read this, and wonder at the fellow’s presumption. My own one—(_To Blanche_)—I know in this, the most trying scene of your existence, you will comfort yourself as befits an Ingram—take my flacon, darling, and be heroic. Go on, Theodore.

_Lord Ing._ (_Reads._) “I am ready to fulfil my contract, but honour, and a sincere desire for the happiness of her whom I love more than existence, prompt me to the avowal that the reputation of my wealth is far, very far, more than its reality; frankly, I am a poor man.” Disgusting wretch!

_Dent._ Terrible reprobate!

_Dow._ Impudent monster!

_Lady Blan._ Ugly creature!

_Lord Ing._ What’s this?—why, this is simply laughable. (_Reads._) “However, if love for myself and not for my possessions, animates your beautiful daughter, I shall await her coming in the Oratory; and my Chaplain shall join us in the silken fetters of wedlock.” (_All laugh._) Well, upon my soul! that is about the coollest piece of effrontery ever attempted within the annals of Jeremy Diddlerism.

_Dow._ Don’t weep for such an impostor, my precious——

_Blan._ It’s not for him, ma; I don’t care a pin for the creature itself; but this lovely house, those delicious grounds, ma, where I had absolutely planned all my alterations.

_Lord Ing._ And I had selected my suit of bachelor rooms, and actually named my favourite hunters; why, the fellow’s a huge swindler!

_Mary._ I’m sorry you’ve lost such a nice fortune, Blanche, dear.

_Dow._ Don’t be envious, child; come, darling, dry your sweet eyes—control your dear little feelings; your poor heart must suffer from this dreadful shock, I know, but it might have been worse; suppose this blow had come after the ceremony. We must leave, of course, as soon as possible.

_Lord Ing._ I vote we all go in a body to the fellow’s oratory first, and take an affectionate leave. Now, I insist, mother;—hang it, ain’t I the head of the house? Come, Dent, take Blanche; now, Dowager, dignity; prepare to frown the creature into oblivion.

[_Go up, closed in._

SCENE II.—_A Passage or corridor, dark._

_Enter_ JOHN, _frightened_, L. H.

_John._ Oh, Lord! I’ve seen it again; there can’t be no sort of mistake this time—a wild-looking, ghost-like thing, with heavy hair, rushed by me at the end of the corridor. Ugh! what’s that?—my heart beats like the fastest sort of a clock. There’s something mysterious in the house—I knew there was, in spite of Grace’s denial. Ugh! I can’t look round often enough to be sure there’s nobody behind me; glaring with glassy eyes;—there it is again! Oh, Lord! coming right through at me! Mercy! mercy! your ghostship!

GRACE _rushes on_ L. H., _and shakes him, she is frightened,
but with a different expression_.

_Grace._ Up, fool!

_John._ Is it you! phew! it’s like a reprieve on the very gallows.

_Grace._ What have you seen?

_John._ A ghost! the ghost!

_Grace._ Nonsense; what way did she, I mean did it go?

_John._ Whatever it was, she or it, flew right up the grand staircase like a puff of tobacco smoke. Mercy on us, Grace, what can it be?

_Grace._ Away, and be silent.

_John._ Wasn’t it a ghost, then, tell me that.

_Grace._ Yes; and a mischievous one; see, it’s coming back, run!

_John._ Oh, lord!

[_Bolts off._

_Grace._ Mischief! mischief! where will it end!

[_Exit_ R. H.

SCENE III.—_The Oratory. Octagonal recess with large stained windows, practicable, beyond which a portion of the house may be seen, consisting of turrets, to show effect of fire at the end of Act; low railing at opening of recess. Organ music._ ROCHESTER _discovered_.

_Roch._ (_Impatiently._) Why comes she not? my bounding soul would fain outstrip both time and thought and reach the consummation of my hope, ’ere stern reflection, reason’s officer, should cry, beware! Why will they have me thus alone with conscience nicely scrupulous.—Away! away! I will not think; in that direction madness lies; what, ho! (_Noise without._) Ah, here at last; be calm, my soul. (_Again noise._) ’Tis Ingram’s voice; yes, as I live, ’tis he and his proud sister. Have I wrongfully judged her, and my touchstone proven her to be right ringing metal? if so, I’m trebly cursed. They’re here.

_Enter_ DOWAGER, INGRAM, BLANCHE, DENT, _and_ LADY MARY, R. H.

Suspense were more than agony, I must be resolved at once; how shall I welcome thee, lady: as my disinterested love, bride of my heart and not of my wealth? You are silent! be thanked for it, ye immortal powers. Speak, Blanche!

_Dow._ Hold, sir; ’tis time this insolent mockery should have a termination; can you smile, deceiver, and behold the victim of your wicked perfidy!

_Roch._ Perfidy! to whom, then, was your daughter betrothed, to me, or to my money-chest?

_Dow._ Pshaw; what romantic nonsense is this; speak to him, Ingram, I can have no patience with the poor impostor.

_Lord Ing._ ’Pon my life it’s a little awkward, lady mother; but as I’m the head of the house, I suppose I must.

_Roch._ Let me look at you, Blanche. By heaven, her features are as calm as marble. What are promises and protestations, gentle looks and whispered sentences—all hollowness, pretence, and lies.

_Lord Ing._ Come, come, Rochester, this is a most unimaginative age; that sort of talk reads tolerably well in novels, but sounds somewhat impertinent in real life. Your paper heroes are privileged individuals, but flesh and blood people don’t feel inclined to listen to such improbable mouthing.

_Roch._ Miserable idiot!

_Lord Ing._ (_To Dent._) Did you hear that?

_Dent._ Distinctly.

_Lord Ing._ What ought I to do?

_Dent._ Nothing?

_Roch._ I have no time to waste—be explicit. Do you wish this match to be broken off!

_Lord Ing._ Most undoubtedly. Do you suppose that I would suffer my sister to be sacrificed to a man——

_Roch._ Whose heart outweighs his wealth. I thought so, and am not disappointed; still I must have confirmation from the Lady Blanche herself. Speak, lady; would you have me release you from your promise?

_Blan._ Mr. Rochester, I——

_Dow._ She would——

_Roch._ Hush! let _her_ speak, I’ll hear none other.

_Blan._ I like you very much——

_Dow._ As a friend.

_Roch._ Silence! Proceed, Lady Blanche.

_Blan._ My mother answers for me, sir.

_Dow._ Affectionate creature!

_Roch._ Am _I_ released?

(_Motions Dowager to silence—a pause—he watches Blanche, as she
quietly exclaims._)

_Blan._ Yes!

(_Rochester walks about quietly triumphant._)

_Dow._ Unconditionally; but we shall always be most happy to receive your visits in a friendly way, Mr. Rochester. Shall we not, Ingram?

_Lord Ing._ To be sure, and I shall visit him in the shooting season. (_Aside._) Don’t be disconsolate, there’s a good fellow, we’re all devilish sorry, you know. Keep up your spirits.

_Roch._ I mean to do so. My kind considerate friends, now listen to me all of ye. Had there been one touch of heart—one spark of noble feeling in that woman’s nature—I should deeply regret the _stratagem_ which I have used. (_All start._)

_Lord Ing._ _Stratagem!_ I’m afraid we’re sold!

_Roch._ But as it is, her unworthiness has, like a dull foil, made lighter still the starlike radiance of her for whose beloved sake, I fling aside the gauds of title and of name. Come forth, sole mistress of this heart and home.

(_Leads forward_ JANE EYRE—_all start_.)

_Dow._ }
_Blan._} The governess!

_Lord Ing._ Lady mother, you are checkmated.

(_All the servants cluster round—the chaplain enters the
enclosure._)

_Dow._ Marry the governess! revolting!

_Roch._ Yes, _the governess_! one pure instant of whose companionship were worth a whole eternity with such as ye. Come, be witnesses of the fulfilment of my soul’s uttermost desire. Look up, sweet love—look up—a few moments nerve. (_Leads her towards enclosure—large bell, hastily rung—noise without._) What interruption’s this?

_Grace._ (_Heard outside._) “She has escaped!”

_Roch._ Horror! what do I hear; must my cup of joy be dashed from me, even in the moment of my greatest bliss? never. Proceed with the ceremony.

(_Noise increases—bell louder._)

_Enter_ JOHN.

_John._ “The house is in flames.”

(_Confusion—the oratory window is thrust open with terrible
crash, and the maniac wife appears in the opening, a torch in
her hand._)

_Roch._ My wife!

_Jane._ His wife!

(_Faints—portion of the house beyond seen in flames._)

END OF ACT IV.