Five o'clock
had hardly struck on the morning
of the 19th of
January, when Bessie brought a candle into my closet and found me
already up and nearly dressed. I had risen half-an-hour before her
entrance, and had washed my face, and put on my clothes by the light
of a half-moon just setting, whose rays streamed through the narrow
window near my crib. I was to leave Gateshead that day by a coach
which passed the lodge gates at six a.m. Bessie was the only person
yet risen; she had lit a fire in the nursery, where she now
proceeded to make my breakfast. Few children can eat when excited
with the thoughts of a journey; nor could I. Bessie, having pressed
me in vain to take a few spoonfuls of the boiled milk and bread she
had prepared for me, wrapped up some biscuits in a paper and put
them into my bag; then she helped me on with my pelisse and bonnet,
and wrapping herself in a shawl, she and I left the nursery. As we
passed Mrs. Reed's bedroom, she said, "Will you go in and bid Missis
good-bye?"
"No,
Bessie: she
came to my
crib last night
when you were
gone down to supper, and said
I need not disturb her in the
morning, or my cousins either;
and she told me to remember that
she had always been my best friend,
and to speak of her and be grateful
to her accordingly."
"What
did you say,
Miss?"
"Nothing:
I covered my
face with the
bedclothes,
and turned
from her to the wall."
"That
was wrong,
Miss Jane."
"It
was quite right,
Bessie. Your
Missis has
not been my
friend:
she has been my foe."
"O
Miss Jane!
don't say so!"
"Good-bye to Gateshead!" cried
I, as we passed through the hall
and went out at the front door.
The moon was set, and it was
very dark; Bessie carried a lantern,
whose light glanced on wet steps
and gravel road sodden by a recent
thaw. Raw and chill was the winter
morning: my teeth chattered as
I hastened down the drive. There
was a light in the porter's lodge:
when we reached it, we found
the porter's wife just kindling
her fire: my trunk, which had
been carried down the evening
before, stood corded at the door.
It wanted but a few minutes of
six, and shortly after that hour
had struck, the distant roll
of wheels announced the coming
coach; I went to the door and
watched its lamps approach rapidly
through the gloom.
"Is she going by herself?" asked
the porter's wife.
"Yes."
"And
how far is
it?"
"Fifty
miles."
"What
a long way!
I wonder Mrs.
Reed is not
afraid to trust
her so far alone."
The coach drew up; there it
was at the gates with its four
horses and its top laden with
passengers: the guard and coachman
loudly urged haste; my trunk
was hoisted up; I was taken from
Bessie's neck, to which I clung
with kisses.
"Be sure and take good care
of her," cried she to the guard,
as he lifted me into the inside.
"Ay, ay!" was the answer: the
door was slapped to, a voice
exclaimed "All right," and on
we drove. Thus was I severed
from Bessie and Gateshead; thus
whirled away to unknown, and,
as I then deemed, remote and
mysterious regions.
I
remember but
little of the
journey; I only know that the
day seemed to me of a preternatural
length, and that we appeared
to travel over hundreds of miles
of road. We passed through several
towns, and in one, a very large
one, the coach stopped; the horses
were taken out, and the passengers
alighted to dine. I was carried
into an inn, where the guard
wanted me to have some dinner;
but, as I had no appetite, he
left me in an immense room with
a fireplace at each end, a chandelier
pendent from the ceiling, and
a little red gallery high up
against the wall filled with
musical instruments. Here I walked
about for a long time, feeling
very strange, and mortally apprehensive
of some one coming in and kidnapping
me; for I believed in kidnappers,
their exploits having frequently
figured in Bessie's fireside
chronicles. At last the guard
returned; once more I was stowed
away in the coach, my protector
mounted his own seat, sounded
his hollow horn, and away we
rattled over the "stony street" of
L-.
The afternoon came on wet and
somewhat misty: as it waned into
dusk, I began to feel that we
were getting very far indeed
from Gateshead: we ceased to
pass through towns; the country
changed; great grey hills heaved
up round the horizon: as twilight
deepened, we descended a valley,
dark with wood, and long after
night had overclouded the prospect,
I heard a wild wind rushing amongst
trees.
Lulled by the sound, I at last
dropped asleep; I had not long
slumbered when the sudden cessation
of motion awoke me; the coach-
door was open, and a person like
a servant was standing at it:
I saw her face and dress by the
light of the lamps.
"Is there a little girl called
Jane Eyre here?" she asked. I
answered "Yes," and was then
lifted out; my trunk was handed
down, and the coach instantly
drove away.
I was stiff with long sitting,
and bewildered with the noise
and motion of the coach: Gathering
my faculties, I looked about
me. Rain, wind, and darkness
filled the air; nevertheless,
I dimly discerned a wall before
me and a door open in it; through
this door I passed with my new
guide: she shut and locked it
behind her. There was now visible
a house or houses--for the building
spread far--with many windows,
and lights burning in some; we
went up a broad pebbly path,
splashing wet, and were admitted
at a door; then the servant led
me through a passage into a room
with a fire, where she left me
alone.
I stood and warmed my numbed
fingers over the blaze, then
I looked round; there was no
candle, but the uncertain light
from the hearth showed, by intervals,
papered walls, carpet, curtains,
shining mahogany furniture: it
was a parlour, not so spacious
or splendid as the drawing-room
at Gateshead, but comfortable
enough. I was puzzling to make
out the subject of a picture
on the wall, when the door opened,
and an individual carrying a
light entered; another followed
close behind.
The first was a tall lady with
dark hair, dark eyes, and a pale
and large forehead; her figure
was partly enveloped in a shawl,
her countenance was grave, her
bearing erect.
"The child is very young to
be sent alone," said she, putting
her candle down on the table.
She considered me attentively
for a minute or two, then further
added -
"She had better be put to bed
soon; she looks tired: are you
tired?" she asked, placing her
hand on my shoulder.
"A
little, ma'am."
"And
hungry too,
no doubt: let
her have some
supper before
she goes to bed, Miss Miller.
Is this the first time you have
left your parents to come to
school, my little girl?"
I
explained to
her that I
had no parents.
She inquired
how
long they had been dead: then
how old I was, what was my name,
whether I could read, write,
and sew a little: then she touched
my cheek gently with her forefinger,
and saying, "She hoped I should
be a good child," dismissed me
along with Miss Miller.
The lady I had left might be
about twenty-nine; the one who
went with me appeared some years
younger: the first impressed
me by her voice, look, and air.
Miss Miller was more ordinary;
ruddy in complexion, though of
a careworn countenance; hurried
in gait and action, like one
who had always a multiplicity
of tasks on hand: she looked,
indeed, what I afterwards found
she really was, an under-teacher.
Led by her, I passed from compartment
to compartment, from passage
to passage, of a large and irregular
building; till, emerging from
the total and somewhat dreary
silence pervading that portion
of the house we had traversed,
we came upon the hum of many
voices, and presently entered
a wide, long room, with great
deal tables, two at each end,
on each of which burnt a pair
of candles, and seated all round
on benches, a congregation of
girls of every age, from nine
or ten to twenty. Seen by the
dim light of the dips, their
number to me appeared countless,
though not in reality exceeding
eighty; they were uniformly dressed
in brown stuff frocks of quaint
fashion, and long holland pinafores.
It was the hour of study; they
were engaged in conning over
their to- morrow's task, and
the hum I had heard was the combined
result of their whispered repetitions.
Miss Miller signed to me to
sit on a bench near the door,
then walking up to the top of
the long room she cried out -
"Monitors,
collect the
lesson-books
and put them away! Four tall
girls arose from different tables,
and going round, gathered the
books and removed them. Miss
Miller again gave the word of
command -
"Monitors,
fetch the supper-trays!"
The tall girls went out and
returned presently, each bearing
a tray, with portions of something,
I knew not what, arranged thereon,
and a pitcher of water and mug
in the middle of each tray. The
portions were handed round; those
who liked took a draught of the
water, the mug being common to
all. When it came to my turn,
I drank, for I was thirsty, but
did not touch the food, excitement
and fatigue rendering me incapable
of eating: I now saw, however,
that it was a thin oaten cake
shared into fragments.
The meal over, prayers were
read by Miss Miller, and the
classes filed off, two and two,
upstairs. Overpowered by this
time with weariness, I scarcely
noticed what sort of a place
the bedroom was, except that,
like the schoolroom, I saw it
was very long. To-night I was
to be Miss Miller's bed-fellow;
she helped me to undress: when
laid down I glanced at the long
rows of beds, each of which was
quickly filled with two occupants;
in ten minutes the single light
was extinguished, and amidst
silence and complete darkness
I fell asleep.
The night passed rapidly. I
was too tired even to dream;
I only once awoke to hear the
wind rave in furious gusts, and
the rain fall in torrents, and
to be sensible that Miss Miller
had taken her place by my side.
When I again unclosed my eyes,
a loud bell was ringing; the
girls were up and dressing; day
had not yet begun to dawn, and
a rushlight or two burned in
the room. I too rose reluctantly;
it was bitter cold, and I dressed
as well as I could for shivering,
and washed when there was a basin
at liberty, which did not occur
soon, as there was but one basin
to six girls, on the stands down
the middle of the room. Again
the bell rang: all formed in
file, two and two, and in that
order descended the stairs and
entered the cold and dimly lit
schoolroom: here prayers were
read by Miss Miller; afterwards
she called out -
"Form
classes!"
A
great tumult
succeeded for
some minutes, during which Miss
Miller repeatedly exclaimed, "Silence!" and "Order!" When
it subsided, I saw them all drawn
up in four semicircles, before
four chairs, placed at the four
tables; all held books in their
hands, and a great book, like
a Bible, lay on each table, before
the vacant seat. A pause of some
seconds succeeded, filled up
by the low, vague hum of numbers;
Miss Miller walked from class
to class, hushing this indefinite
sound.
A distant bell tinkled: immediately
three ladies entered the room,
each walked to a table and took
her seat. Miss Miller assumed
the fourth vacant chair, which
was that nearest the door, and
around which the smallest of
the children were assembled:
to this inferior class I was
called, and placed at the bottom
of it.
Business now began, the day's
Collect was repeated, then certain
texts of Scripture were said,
and to these succeeded a protracted
reading of chapters in the Bible,
which lasted an hour. By the
time that exercise was terminated,
day had fully dawned. The indefatigable
bell now sounded for the fourth
time: the classes were marshalled
and marched into another room
to breakfast: how glad I was
to behold a prospect of getting
something to eat! I was now nearly
sick from inanition, having taken
so little the day before.
The refectory was a great,
low-ceiled, gloomy room; on two
long tables smoked basins of
something hot, which, however,
to my dismay, sent forth an odour
far from inviting. I saw a universal
manifestation of discontent when
the fumes of the repast met the
nostrils of those destined to
swallow it; from the van of the
procession, the tall girls of
the first class, rose the whispered
words -
"Disgusting!
The porridge
is burnt again!"
"Silence!" ejaculated
a voice; not
that of Miss
Miller, but
one of the upper teachers, a
little and dark personage, smartly
dressed, but of somewhat morose
aspect, who installed herself
at the top of one table, while
a more buxom lady presided at
the other. I looked in vain for
her I had first seen the night
before; she was not visible:
Miss Miller occupied the foot
of the table where I sat, and
a strange, foreign-looking, elderly
lady, the French teacher, as
I afterwards found, took the
corresponding seat at the other
board. A long grace was said
and a hymn sung; then a servant
brought in some tea for the teachers,
and the meal began.
Ravenous, and now very faint,
I devoured a spoonful or two
of my portion without thinking
of its taste; but the first edge
of hunger blunted, I perceived
I had got in hand a nauseous
mess; burnt porridge is almost
as bad as rotten potatoes; famine
itself soon sickens over it.
The spoons were moved slowly:
I saw each girl taste her food
and try to swallow it; but in
most cases the effort was soon
relinquished. Breakfast was over,
and none had breakfasted. Thanks
being returned for what we had
not got, and a second hymn chanted,
the refectory was evacuated for
the schoolroom. I was one of
the last to go out, and in passing
the tables, I saw one teacher
take a basin of the porridge
and taste it; she looked at the
others; all their countenances
expressed displeasure, and one
of them, the stout one, whispered
-
"Abominable
stuff! How
shameful!"
A quarter of an hour passed
before lessons again began, during
which the schoolroom was in a
glorious tumult; for that space
of time it seemed to be permitted
to talk loud and more freely,
and they used their privilege.
The whole conversation ran on
the breakfast, which one and
all abused roundly. Poor things!
it was the sole consolation they
had. Miss Miller was now the
only teacher in the room: a group
of great girls standing about
her spoke with serious and sullen
gestures. I heard the name of
Mr. Brocklehurst pronounced by
some lips; at which Miss Miller
shook her head disapprovingly;
but she made no great effort
to cheek the general wrath; doubtless
she shared in it.
A clock in the schoolroom struck
nine; Miss Miller left her circle,
and standing in the middle of
the room, cried -
"Silence!
To your seats!"
Discipline prevailed: in five
minutes the confused throng was
resolved into order, and comparative
silence quelled the Babel clamour
of tongues. The upper teachers
now punctually resumed their
posts: but still, all seemed
to wait. Ranged on benches down
the sides of the room, the eighty
girls sat motionless and erect;
a quaint assemblage they appeared,
all with plain locks combed from
their faces, not a curl visible;
in brown dresses, made high and
surrounded by a narrow tucker
about the throat, with little
pockets of holland (shaped something
like a Highlander's purse) tied
in front of their frocks, and
destined to serve the purpose
of a work- bag: all, too, wearing
woollen stockings and country-made
shoes, fastened with brass buckles.
Above twenty of those clad in
this costume were full-grown
girls, or rather young women;
it suited them ill, and gave
an air of oddity even to the
prettiest.
I was still looking at them,
and also at intervals examining
the teachers--none of whom precisely
pleased me; for the stout one
was a little coarse, the dark
one not a little fierce, the
foreigner harsh and grotesque,
and Miss Miller, poor thing!
looked purple, weather- beaten,
and over-worked--when, as my
eye wandered from face to face,
the whole school rose simultaneously,
as if moved by a common spring.
What was the matter? I had
heard no order given: I was puzzled.
Ere I had gathered my wits, the
classes were again seated: but
as all eyes were now turned to
one point, mine followed the
general direction, and encountered
the personage who had received
me last night. She stood at the
bottom of the long room, on the
hearth; for there was a fire
at each end; she surveyed the
two rows of girls silently and
gravely. Miss Miller approaching,
seemed to ask her a question,
and having received her answer,
went back to her place, and said
aloud -
"Monitor
of the first
class, fetch
the globes!"
While the direction was being
executed, the lady consulted
moved slowly up the room. I suppose
I have a considerable organ of
veneration, for I retain yet
the sense of admiring awe with
which my eyes traced her steps.
Seen now, in broad daylight,
she looked tall, fair, and shapely;
brown eyes with a benignant light
in their irids, and a fine pencilling
of long lashes round, relieved
the whiteness of her large front;
on each of her temples her hair,
of a very dark brown, was clustered
in round curls, according to
the fashion of those times, when
neither smooth bands nor long
ringlets were in vogue; her dress,
also in the mode of the day,
was of purple cloth, relieved
by a sort of Spanish trimming
of black velvet; a gold watch
(watches were not so common then
as now) shone at her girdle.
Let the reader add, to complete
the picture, refined features;
a complexion, if pale, clear;
and a stately air and carriage,
and he will have, at least, as
clearly as words can give it,
a correct idea of the exterior
of Miss Temple--Maria Temple,
as I afterwards saw the name
written in a prayer-book intrusted
to me to carry to church.
The
superintendent
of Lowood (for
such was this
lady) having
taken her seat before a pair
of globes placed on one of the
tables, summoned the first class
round her, and commenced giving
a lesson on geography; the lower
classes were called by the teachers:
repetitions in history, grammar, &c.,
went on for an hour; writing
and arithmetic succeeded, and
music lessons were given by Miss
Temple to some of the elder girls.
The duration of each lesson was
measured by the clock, which
at last struck twelve. The superintendent
rose -
"I have a word to address to
the pupils," said she.
The tumult of cessation from
lessons was already breaking
forth, but it sank at her voice.
She went on -
"You
had this morning
a breakfast
which you could not eat; you
must be hungry:--I have ordered
that a lunch of bread and cheese
shall be served to all."
The teachers looked at her
with a sort of surprise.
"It is to be done on my responsibility," she
added, in an explanatory tone
to them, and immediately afterwards
left the room.
The
bread and cheese
was presently
brought in and distributed, to
the high delight and refreshment
of the whole school. The order
was now given "To the garden!" Each
put on a coarse straw bonnet,
with strings of coloured calico,
and a cloak of grey frieze. I
was similarly equipped, and,
following the stream, I made
my way into the open air.
The garden was a wide inclosure,
surrounded with walls so high
as to exclude every glimpse of
prospect; a covered verandah
ran down one side, and broad
walks bordered a middle space
divided into scores of little
beds: these beds were assigned
as gardens for the pupils to
cultivate, and each bed had an
owner. When full of flowers they
would doubtless look pretty;
but now, at the latter end of
January, all was wintry blight
and brown decay. I shuddered
as I stood and looked round me:
it was an inclement day for outdoor
exercise; not positively rainy,
but darkened by a drizzling yellow
fog; all under foot was still
soaking wet with the floods of
yesterday. The stronger among
the girls ran about and engaged
in active games, but sundry pale
and thin ones herded together
for shelter and warmth in the
verandah; and amongst these,
as the dense mist penetrated
to their shivering frames, I
heard frequently the sound of
a hollow cough.
As yet I had spoken to no one,
nor did anybody seem to take
notice of me; I stood lonely
enough: but to that feeling of
isolation I was accustomed; it
did not oppress me much. I leant
against a pillar of the verandah,
drew my grey mantle close about
me, and, trying to forget the
cold which nipped me without,
and the unsatisfied hunger which
gnawed me within, delivered myself
up to the employment of watching
and thinking. My reflections
were too undefined and fragmentary
to merit record: I hardly yet
knew where I was; Gateshead and
my past life seemed floated away
to an immeasurable distance;
the present was vague and strange,
and of the future I could form
no conjecture. I looked round
the convent-like garden, and
then up at the house--a large
building, half of which seemed
grey and old, the other half
quite new. The new part, containing
the schoolroom and dormitory,
was lit by mullioned and latticed
windows, which gave it a church-like
aspect; a stone tablet over the
door bore this inscription:-
"Lowood Institution.--This
portion was rebuilt A.D.--, by
Naomi Brocklehurst, of Brocklehurst
Hall, in this county." "Let your
light so shine before men, that
they may see your good works,
and glorify your Father which
is in heaven."-- St. Matt. v.
16.
I
read these
words over
and over again:
I felt that
an explanation
belonged to them, and was unable
fully to penetrate their import.
I was still pondering the signification
of "Institution," and endeavouring
to make out a connection between
the first words and the verse
of Scripture, when the sound
of a cough close behind me made
me turn my head. I saw a girl
sitting on a stone bench near;
she was bent over a book, on
the perusal of which she seemed
intent: from where I stood I
could see the title--it was "Rasselas;" a
name that struck me as strange,
and consequently attractive.
In turning a leaf she happened
to look up, and I said to her
directly -
"Is your book interesting?" I
had already formed the intention
of asking her to lend it to me
some day.
"I like it," she
answered, after
a pause of
a second or
two, during which she examined
me.
"What is it about?" I
continued.
I hardly know
where I found
the
hardihood thus to open a conversation
with a stranger; the step was
contrary to my nature and habits:
but I think her occupation touched
a chord of sympathy somewhere;
for I too liked reading, though
of a frivolous and childish kind;
I could not digest or comprehend
the serious or substantial.
"You may look at it," replied
the girl, offering me the book.
I
did so; a brief
examination
convinced me that the contents
were less taking than the title: "Rasselas" looked
dull to my trifling taste; I
saw nothing about fairies, nothing
about genii; no bright variety
seemed spread over the closely-printed
pages. I returned it to her;
she received it quietly, and
without saying anything she was
about to relapse into her former
studious mood: again I ventured
to disturb her -
"Can
you tell me
what the writing
on that stone over the door means?
What is Lowood Institution?"
"This
house where
you are come
to live."
"And
why do they
call it Institution?
Is it in any way different from
other schools?"
"It
is partly a
charity-school:
you and I, and all the rest of
us, are charity-children. I suppose
you are an orphan: are not either
your father or your mother dead?"
"Both
died before
I can remember."
"Well,
all the girls
here have lost
either one
or both parents,
and this is called an institution
for educating orphans."
"Do
we pay no money?
Do they keep
us for nothing?"
"We
pay, or our
friends pay,
fifteen pounds a year for each."
"Then
why do they
call us charity-children?"
"Because
fifteen pounds
is not enough
for board and
teaching,
and the deficiency is supplied
by subscription."
"Who
subscribes?"
"Different
benevolent-minded
ladies and gentlemen in this
neighbourhood and in London."
"Who
was Naomi Brocklehurst?"
"The
lady who built
the new part
of this house
as that tablet
records, and whose son overlooks
and directs everything here."
"Why?"
"Because
he is treasurer
and manager
of the establishment."
"Then
this house
does not belong
to that tall lady who wears a
watch, and who said we were to
have some bread and cheese?"
"To
Miss Temple?
Oh, no! I wish
it did: she
has to answer
to Mr. Brocklehurst for all she
does. Mr. Brocklehurst buys all
our food and all our clothes."
"Does
he live here?"
"No--two
miles off,
at a large
hall."
"Is
he a good man?"
"He
is a clergyman,
and is said
to do a great
deal of good."
"Did
you say that
tall lady was
called Miss
Temple?"
"Yes."
"And
what are the
other teachers
called?"
"The
one with red
cheeks is called
Miss Smith;
she attends
to the work, and cuts out--for
we make our own clothes, our
frocks, and pelisses, and everything;
the little one with black hair
is Miss Scatcherd; she teaches
history and grammar, and hears
the second class repetitions;
and the one who wears a shawl,
and has a pocket- handkerchief
tied to her side with a yellow
ribband, is Madame Pierrot: she
comes from Lisle, in France,
and teaches French."
"Do
you like the
teachers?"
"Well
enough."
"Do
you like the
little black
one, and the Madame -?--I cannot
pronounce her name as you do."
"Miss
Scatcherd is
hasty--you
must take care
not to offend
her; Madame Pierrot is not a
bad sort of person."
"But
Miss Temple
is the best--isn't
she?"
"Miss
Temple is very
good and very
clever; she
is above the
rest, because she knows far more
than they do."
"Have
you been long
here?"
"Two
years."
"Are
you an orphan?"
"My
mother is dead."
"Are
you happy here?"
"You
ask rather
too many questions.
I have given you answers enough
for the present: now I want to
read."
But at that moment the summons
sounded for dinner; all re-entered
the house. The odour which now
filled the refectory was scarcely
more appetising than that which
had regaled our nostrils at breakfast:
the dinner was served in two
huge tin-plated vessels, whence
rose a strong steam redolent
of rancid fat. I found the mess
to consist of indifferent potatoes
and strange shreds of rusty meat,
mixed and cooked together. Of
this preparation a tolerably
abundant plateful was apportioned
to each pupil. I ate what I could,
and wondered within myself whether
every day's fare would be like
this.
After dinner, we immediately
adjourned to the schoolroom:
lessons recommenced, and were
continued till five o'clock.
The
only marked
event of the
afternoon was, that I saw the
girl with whom I had conversed
in the verandah dismissed in
disgrace by Miss Scatcherd from
a history class, and sent to
stand in the middle of the large
schoolroom. The punishment seemed
to me in a high degree ignominious,
especially for so great a girl--she
looked thirteen or upwards. I
expected she would show signs
of great distress and shame;
but to my surprise she neither
wept nor blushed: composed, though
grave, she stood, the central
mark of all eyes. "How can she
bear it so quietly--so firmly?" I
asked of myself. "Were I in her
place, it seems to me I should
wish the earth to open and swallow
me up. She looks as if she were
thinking of something beyond
her punishment--beyond her situation:
of something not round her nor
before her. I have heard of day-dreams--is
she in a day-dream now? Her eyes
are fixed on the floor, but I
am sure they do not see it--
her sight seems turned in, gone
down into her heart: she is looking
at what she can remember, I believe;
not at what is really present.
I wonder what sort of a girl
she is--whether good or naughty."
Soon after five p.m. we had
another meal, consisting of a
small mug of coffee, and half-a-slice
of brown bread. I devoured my
bread and drank my coffee with
relish; but I should have been
glad of as much more--I was still
hungry. Half-an-hour's recreation
succeeded, then study; then the
glass of water and the piece
of oat-cake, prayers, and bed.
Such was my first day at Lowood.
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