Chapter 33 Chapter Thirty-One

And so, a cottage became my home—I finally had a home.Downstairs, in a small room with whitewashed walls and a sandy floor, contained four painted chairs and a table, a clock, a sideboard with two or three pots and saucers, and There is a Dutch-style white-glazed and blue faience tea set.Upstairs was the bedroom, the same size as the kitchen below, with a pine bed, and a small chest of drawers, but more than enough to store my meager clothes, notwithstanding my two good-natured ones. The kindness of generous friends added to my clothing by giving me some necessary clothes. It was evening, and I gave the little orphan girl who was my maid an orange and sent her away.I sat alone by the fire.Just this morning, the village school started.I have twenty students; three of them can read a little, none of them can write or count; a few can knit, a few can sew a little; It is difficult for each other to understand each other's words.A few of them were rude, very rough, unruly, and ignorant; but the rest were obedient, eager to learn, and had a disposition I liked, and I must not forget that the poorly dressed little peasants, As flesh and blood as the descendants of the noblest and most famous families; in their hearts, as in the best-born, the germs of natural virtue, grace, intelligence, and kindness; There is sure to be some joy to be had while performing this role.I don't expect much pleasure from the life in front of me, but as long as I settle down and do what I can, it will undoubtedly give me something to get me through each day.

Did I feel very happy, settled, and content during the hours I spent this morning and afternoon in that bare, shabby classroom?I can't kid myself, I have to answer: no.I feel a little desolate.I feel -- yes, I'm an idiot -- that I feel degraded.I suspect that this step I have taken has caused my social status not to rise, but to fall.A little disheartened by all the ignorance, poverty, and vulgarity I see and hear around me.However, I can't hate and despise myself too much because of these feelings. I know that these feelings are wrong-this is already a big progress, and I still have to work hard to overcome them.I believe that tomorrow I will partially overcome them.After a few weeks, perhaps they will be completely overcome.In a few months, seeing my students improve and get better, the mood may be happy at that time, and the disgust will be replaced by satisfaction.

At the same time, let me ask myself a question: which one is better?Yield to temptation, give in to passion, make no painful effort--no struggle--fall obediently into the snare of tenderness, fall asleep among the flowers covered with the snare, wake up in the warmth of the Southland, and be in the luxury of the Villa of Pleasure Enjoy it.Now living in France, being Mr. Rochester's mistress, and giving half the time to his caresses--for he will--oh yes, he will love me very much for a while.He does love me - no one will ever love me like that again.I will never again receive this sweet tribute to beauty, youth, and grace—because no one else will think I have these charms.He likes me and is proud of me—no one else is.But where am I thinking of?What am I talking about?Especially, what kind of feelings do I have?I'm asking which is better, to be a slave in a fool's paradise in Marseilles - maddened with vain bliss now, and suffocated with regret and shame later - or better here How about being a free and upright country governess in a breezy little col in the middle of England?

Yes, I now feel that I did the right thing in upholding the principles and laws, and despising and eliminating the irrational impulses of fanaticism.God guided me to make the right choice, and I thank God for his guidance! Having concluded my evening reveries to this point, I arose, and went to the door, to gaze upon the harvest sunset, and upon the peaceful fields before my cottage.My cottage and school are half a mile from the village.The birds are singing their last song: The breeze is warm and the dew is fragrant. Just as I looked at the scenery in front of me and thought I was very happy, I was surprised to find that I burst into tears not long after-why?For the fate that forcibly pulled me away from the Master to whom I was attached, for the fact that I would never see him again, for the infinite sorrow and rage that my departure had caused him, which may now be Pull him so far out of the way that he has no hope of ever going back.Thinking of this, I turned my face away from the lovely evening sky and the desolate valley of Morton--I say desolate, because in the bend of the hill I could see, nothing but No other building could be seen beyond the roofs of the church and vicarage in the old town, and at the far end of the valley house, where rich Mr. Oliver and his children lived.I lowered my eyes and rested my head on the stone doorframe of the hut.But presently there was a slight noise at the little door which separated my little garden from the lawn outside, and I looked up.A dog—Old Carlo, Mr. Rivers' hound, I recognized at once—was pushing his nose open at the little door, while St. John himself leaned against it with his arms folded.His brows were furrowed, and he stared at me with serious, almost unhappy eyes.I invite him in.

"No, I can't delay. I'm just bringing you a little parcel my sister left you. I think it contains a paint-box, some pencils, and paper." I went up to get the package, it was a very welcome gift.As I approached him, I felt he was examining my face with a stern look.No doubt the traces of tears were still visible on my face. "Did you find this first day of work more difficult than you expected?" he asked. "Oh no! On the contrary, I don't think I'll be on good terms with my students before long." "But maybe it's your lodgings—the cottage—your furniture—that's a big disappointment? It's shabby, it is. But—" I interrupted him.

"My cabin is clean and sheltered, and my furniture is convenient enough. What I see makes me grateful, not discouraged. I'm far from being a fool and seeking enjoyment who complained about having no rugs, couches, and silverware. Besides, just five weeks ago I had nothing—I was a homeless man, a beggar, a bum. Now I have Acquaintances, a home, a job. I am amazed by the kindness of God, the generosity of my friends, the grace of fate. I will never complain." "But do you feel that loneliness is oppressive? That hut behind you is dark and empty." "I don't even have time to enjoy the tranquility right now, and I don't have time to be impatient with loneliness."

"Very well. I hope you are as satisfied as you say you are. In any case, your good sense will tell you that it is too early to hesitate like Lot's wife. Of course, in the time I knew I don’t know what you left behind in the past. But I want to advise you to resolutely resist all temptations that make you want to look back, and continue to do your current work unswervingly, at least for a few moon." "That's exactly what I intend," I replied.St. John went on to say: "It is very difficult to control our inclinations and change our nature. But in my experience, it is possible. God has given us a certain power to create our own destiny. When our spirit wants a food and And when we can't get it again—when our will is trying to find a way and it doesn't—we needn't starve to death for want of food, and we needn't stop in despair, we should just look for other spiritual food , it will be as nutritious as the forbidden fruit longed for--perhaps purer. A way should be made for the adventurous foot, a little rougher than the way fate blocks us, but Same straight, same width."

"A year ago, I was miserable myself, because I thought it was a great mistake to be a priest, and its monotonous duties bored me to death. I yearned eagerly for a more active secular life--for a literary career which was more Exhilarating labor—aspiring to be an artist, writer, orator, or anything else, as long as it's not a priest. Indeed, inside my priestly vestments throbs a statesman, soldier, honour-loving The heart of a person who is eager for fame and power. I think that my life is so pitiful that something must be changed or I will die. After a period of confusion and struggle, the light suddenly appeared and relieved It finally came, and my narrow life suddenly opened up, becoming an endless plain—all the strength in my body heard the call of God, they listened to the command, concentrated their strength, spread their wings, and flew to the distance beyond the sight. God I was given a mission, to carry it through, and to carry it out well. In this way, skill and strength, courage and eloquence, all the best skills of soldier, statesman and orator, were necessary. For an excellent All of this is concentrated in the missionary of the

"I was determined to be a missionary. From that moment on, my mental state was completely changed. Every shackle of my faculties fell apart and fell away, leaving no bondage but the pain of being scraped by it —and that only time will heal. My father, it is true, objected to my decision, but since his death I have had no legal obstacle to clear. There are only business to be arranged, Morton. The parish has to have a replacement vicar, and there's an emotional tangle or two that needs to be sorted out--this is the last battle with human frailty, and I know I can beat it, because I've sworn I will--it's over Afterwards, I will leave Europe and go to the East."

He said this with a peculiar tone that both imposed restraint and emphasis.After finishing speaking, he didn't look at me, but looked up at the sunset in the west.I also looked up.Both he and I turned our backs to the path leading from the field to the little gate.We heard no footsteps on the overgrown path, and the only intoxicating sound at this point was the murmur of water in the valley.So when a voice as cheerful and sweet as a silver bell sounded, we were almost all startled. "Good evening, Mr. Rivers. Good evening, old Carlo. Your dog recognized a friend before you, sir. I was down in the field, and he pricked up his ears and wagged his tail, And you're still turning your back on me."

This is true.Although Mr. Rivers was startled at the first hearing of the musical sound, like a thunderbolt splitting the clouds above his head, he remained standing until the end of the passage, maintaining that the speaker frightened him. The posture at the time-arms leaning on the door, face facing west.Finally, he turned around slowly with some calmness.I seem to feel that there is a phantom appearing beside him.Three feet from him there was a figure clothed in white—a youthful, graceful figure, plump but beautifully lined.When the man leaned over and caressed Carlo, then raised his head and threw back the long veil, a beautiful face was revealed in front of his eyes like a flower blooming.Stunningly beautiful is a strong statement, but I don't want to take that back, and I don't want to fix it.For in this man was the loveliest countenance fashioned by England's benign climate, and the pure complexion of England's wet, strong winds and misty skies, and the roses and lilies that nurtured and nourished it, to use the word No exaggeration.There is no lack of charm, no flaws.The young girl's features were regular and pretty, and her eyes were of the shape and color we see in those lovely pictures, large, dark, and round; Around the beautiful eyes; the eyebrows drawn by the eyebrow pencil are so vivid and clear; the white and smooth forehead adds a bit of quietness and serenity to the lively and cheerful beauty formed by the color and luster; the oval cheeks are delicate and smooth; the lips are also delicate , red and very healthy, with a very lovely shape; neat and shiny teeth without any blemish; a small smile on the chin; and a head of thick hair—in short, everything that can be combined to form an ideal beauty She has all the advantages.I looked at this beauty with amazement, and I admired her with all my heart.Nature doubtless had created her with partiality, forgetting her usual stepmother stinginess, and giving all to her favourite, with a good grandmother's generosity. What did St. John Rivers think of this mortal angel?Seeing him turn to look at her, I couldn't help asking myself the question, and naturally I looked for the answer in his face.He had already turned his eyes away from the fairy, and was looking at an inconspicuous daisy bush growing by the little door. "A lovely evening, but it's too late for you to come out alone," he said, crushing the daisy's unopened snowy head with his foot. "Oh, I just got back from S*** this afternoon." (She named a big city twenty miles away) "Papa told me your school has opened and your new female teacher is here. So As soon as I had finished my tea I put on my hat and ran down the valley to see her. Is this her?" She pointed to me. "Yes," said St. John. "Do you think you'd like Moulton?" she asked me, in a tone and manner that was blunt and innocent, unaffected and pleasing, if a little childish. "I hope I'm going to enjoy it. I'd love to do it." "Do you think your students are as attentive as you think they are?" "Very attentive." "Do you like your house?" "like very much." "Am I well arranged?" "Good, really." "I chose Alice Wood to serve you. Is it a good choice?" "That's true. She's willing to learn, and flexible." (Then, I think, this is Miss Oliver, the heiress. Her wealth, it seems, is as blessed as her natural beauty! I don't know where she What lucky combination of stars did you encounter when you were born?) "Sometimes I'll come over to help you with your lessons," she added. "It's a life change for me to see you from time to time. I like life changes, Mr. Rivers, and I'm in Sri Lanka It's been a hell of a time in ×× City. Last night, or rather this morning, I danced until two o'clock. The X Regiment has been stationed there since the riots. Those officers are the most agreeable officers in the world. Those who like it, compare us young knife sharpeners and scissors to the bottom." I think St. John's lower lip stuck out and his upper lip bit down for a moment.When the smiling girl told him this, his mouth did seem to be tightly shut.The lower part of his face is particularly serious and square.He also put aside the daisy and moved his eyes to her face.It was a deadpan, searching, meaningful stare.She answered him with another smile.And the smile was just right for her youth, her rosy cheeks, her dimple, her bright eyes. As he stood silent and grave, she bent down again to caress Carlo. "Poor Carlo loves me," she said. "He's not hard-faced and cold with his friends. If he could talk, he wouldn't be silent." When she bent down and patted Carlo's head with her naturally graceful posture in front of her solemn young master, I saw a flush on his master's face, and saw that his serious eyes had been suddenly caught. Softened by his enthusiasm, he shone with an irrepressible passion.When his cheeks are flushed like this and his eyes are shining, the masculine beauty he shows is almost as good as her feminine beauty.His chest heaved, as if his great heart, weary of the tyrannical restraint, had swelled against the opposition of his will, beating violently longing for freedom.But he got it under control right away, and I looked like a determined rider reining in a rearing steed.He responded neither in words nor in deeds to Miss Oliver's tender assault on him. "Papa says you never come to see us now." Miss Oliver continued, raising her head. "You're a stranger at Dale Hall. He's alone at home this evening, and he's not in very good health. Will you go with him?" Shall I go back and see him?" "It would be inappropriate to disturb Mr. Oliver at such a time," replied St. John. "It's not a good time! But I say it's a good time. It's just when papa needs company most. The mill's closed and he doesn't have much to do. Oh, Mr. Rivers, you must come. Why do you worry so much?" Heavy, depressed?" Then she filled the gap left by his silence with her own answer. "Oh, I forgot!" she exclaimed, shaking her pretty curly head as if surprised at herself. "I've been so careless and out of my head! Please forgive me. I forgot and didn't remember that you had good reasons for not chatting with me. Diana and Mary left you, Marsh House is closed, you're so lonely .I really feel sorry for you. Go and see my dad." "Not to-night, Miss Rosamund, not to-night." Mr. St. John spoke almost like an automatic machine, and only he knew how hard such a hard-hearted refusal took. "Well, since you are so obstinate, I must bid you farewell. I dare not stay here any longer, the dew has begun to fall. Good night!" She held out her hand, and he only touched it. "Good night!" he continued, his voice low and hollow, like an echo.She turned away, but turned back immediately. "How are you?" she asked.No wonder she asked this question, his face was as pale as her clothes. "Very well," he declared, then bowed and left the garden gate.She was going one way, he was going another.As she floated across the fields like a fairy, she turned her head twice to look after his back, while he strode forward firmly, without once looking back. Seeing the pain and sacrifice of others takes my mind off my own pain and sacrifice.Diana Rivers once said her brother was "as heartless as death," and it looks like she wasn't exaggerating.