The
next day commenced as before,
getting up and dressing by rushlight;
but this morning we were obliged
to dispense with the ceremony
of washing; the water in the
pitchers was frozen. A change
had taken place in the weather
the preceding evening, and a
keen north-east wind, whistling
through the crevices of our bedroom
windows all night long, had made
us shiver in our beds, and turned
the contents of the ewers to
ice.
Before the long hour and a
half of prayers and Bible-reading
was over, I felt ready to perish
with cold. Breakfast-time came
at last, and this morning the
porridge was not burnt; the quality
was eatable, the quantity small.
How small my portion seemed!
I wished it had been doubled.
In
the course
of the day
I was enrolled
a member of
the
fourth class, and regular tasks
and occupations were assigned
me: hitherto, I had only been
a spectator of the proceedings
at Lowood; I was now to become
an actor therein. At first, being
little accustomed to learn by
heart, the lessons appeared to
me both long and difficult; the
frequent change from task to
task, too, bewildered me; and
I was glad when, about three
o'clock in the afternoon, Miss
Smith put into my hands a border
of muslin two yards long, together
with needle, thimble, &c., and
sent me to sit in a quiet corner
of the schoolroom, with directions
to hem the same. At that hour
most of the others were sewing
likewise; but one class still
stood round Miss Scatcherd's
chair reading, and as all was
quiet, the subject of their lessons
could be heard, together with
the manner in which each girl
acquitted herself, and the animadversions
or commendations of Miss Scatcherd
on the performance. It was English
history: among the readers I
observed my acquaintance of the
verandah: at the commencement
of the lesson, her place had
been at the top of the class,
but for some error of pronunciation,
or some inattention to stops,
she was suddenly sent to the
very bottom. Even in that obscure
position, Miss Scatcherd continued
to make her an object of constant
notice: she was continually addressing
to her such phrases as the following:-
"Burns" (such it seems was
her name: the girls here were
all called by their surnames,
as boys are elsewhere), "Burns,
you are standing on the side
of your shoe; turn your toes
out immediately." "Burns, you
poke your chin most unpleasantly;
draw it in." "Burns, I insist
on your holding your head up;
I will not have you before me
in that attitude," &c. &c.
A chapter having been read
through twice, the books were
closed and the girls examined.
The lesson had comprised part
of the reign of Charles I., and
there were sundry questions about
tonnage and poundage and ship-money,
which most of them appeared unable
to answer; still, every little
difficulty was solved instantly
when it reached Burns: her memory
seemed to have retained the substance
of the whole lesson, and she
was ready with answers on every
point. I kept expecting that
Miss Scatcherd would praise her
attention; but, instead of that,
she suddenly cried out -
"You
dirty, disagreeable
girl! you have
never cleaned
your nails
this morning!"
Burns
made no answer:
I wondered
at her silence. "Why," thought
I, "does she not explain that
she could neither clean her nails
nor wash her face, as the water
was frozen?"
My
attention was
now called
off by Miss
Smith desiring
me
to hold a skein of thread: while
she was winding it, she talked
to me from time to time, asking
whether I had ever been at school
before, whether I could mark,
stitch, knit, &c.; till she dismissed
me, I could not pursue my observations
on Miss Scatcherd's movements.
When I returned to my seat, that
lady was just delivering an order
of which I did not catch the
import; but Burns immediately
left the class, and going into
the small inner room where the
books were kept, returned in
half a minute, carrying in her
hand a bundle of twigs tied together
at one end. This ominous tool
she presented to Miss Scatcherd
with a respectful curtesy; then
she quietly, and without being
told, unloosed her pinafore,
and the teacher instantly and
sharply inflicted on her neck
a dozen strokes with the bunch
of twigs. Not a tear rose to
Burns' eye; and, while I paused
from my sewing, because my fingers
quivered at this spectacle with
a sentiment of unavailing and
impotent anger, not a feature
of her pensive face altered its
ordinary expression.
"Hardened girl!" exclaimed
Miss Scatcherd; "nothing can
correct you of your slatternly
habits: carry the rod away."
Burns obeyed: I looked at her
narrowly as she emerged from
the book-closet; she was just
putting back her handkerchief
into her pocket, and the trace
of a tear glistened on her thin
cheek.
The play-hour in the evening
I thought the pleasantest fraction
of the day at Lowood: the bit
of bread, the draught of coffee
swallowed at five o'clock had
revived vitality, if it had not
satisfied hunger: the long restraint
of the day was slackened; the
schoolroom felt warmer than in
the morning--its fires being
allowed to burn a little more
brightly, to supply, in some
measure, the place of candles,
not yet introduced: the ruddy
gloaming, the licensed uproar,
the confusion of many voices
gave one a welcome sense of liberty.
On the evening of the day on
which I had seen Miss Scatcherd
flog her pupil, Burns, I wandered
as usual among the forms and
tables and laughing groups without
a companion, yet not feeling
lonely: when I passed the windows,
I now and then lifted a blind,
and looked out; it snowed fast,
a drift was already forming against
the lower panes; putting my ear
close to the window, I could
distinguish from the gleeful
tumult within, the disconsolate
moan of the wind outside.
Probably, if I had lately left
a good home and kind parents,
this would have been the hour
when I should most keenly have
regretted the separation; that
wind would then have saddened
my heart; this obscure chaos
would have disturbed my peace!
as it was, I derived from both
a strange excitement, and reckless
and feverish, I wished the wind
to howl more wildly, the gloom
to deepen to darkness, and the
confusion to rise to clamour.
Jumping over forms, and creeping
under tables, I made my way to
one of the fire-places; there,
kneeling by the high wire fender,
I found Burns, absorbed, silent,
abstracted from all round her
by the companionship of a book,
which she read by the dim glare
of the embers.
"Is it still 'Rasselas'?" I
asked, coming behind her.
"Yes," she said, "and
I have just
finished it."
And
in five minutes
more she shut
it up. I was
glad of this. "Now," thought
I, "I can perhaps get her to
talk." I sat down by her on the
floor.
"What
is your name
besides Burns?"
"Helen."
"Do
you come a
long way from
here?"
"I
come from a
place farther
north, quite on the borders of
Scotland."
"Will
you ever go
back?"
"I
hope so; but
nobody can
be sure of
the future."
"You
must wish to
leave Lowood?"
"No!
why should
I? I was sent
to Lowood to get an education;
and it would be of no use going
away until I have attained that
object."
"But
that teacher,
Miss Scatcherd,
is so cruel to you?"
"Cruel?
Not at all!
She is severe:
she dislikes
my faults."
"And
if I were in
your place
I should dislike
her; I should
resist her. If she struck me
with that rod, I should get it
from her hand; I should break
it under her nose."
"Probably
you would do
nothing of
the sort: but
if you did,
Mr. Brocklehurst would expel
you from the school; that would
be a great grief to your relations.
It is far better to endure patiently
a smart which nobody feels but
yourself, than to commit a hasty
action whose evil consequences
will extend to all connected
with you; and besides, the Bible
bids us return good for evil."
"But
then it seems
disgraceful
to be flogged, and to be sent
to stand in the middle of a room
full of people; and you are such
a great girl: I am far younger
than you, and I could not bear
it."
"Yet
it would be
your duty to
bear it, if
you could not
avoid it: it is weak and silly
to say you CANNOT BEAR what it
is your fate to be required to
bear."
I heard her with wonder: I
could not comprehend this doctrine
of endurance; and still less
could I understand or sympathise
with the forbearance she expressed
for her chastiser. Still I felt
that Helen Burns considered things
by a light invisible to my eyes.
I suspected she might be right
and I wrong; but I would not
ponder the matter deeply; like
Felix, I put it off to a more
convenient season.
"You
say you have
faults, Helen:
what are they? To me you seem
very good."
"Then
learn from
me, not to
judge by appearances:
I am, as
Miss Scatcherd said, slatternly;
I seldom put, and never keep,
things, in order; I am careless;
I forget rules; I read when I
should learn my lessons; I have
no method; and sometimes I say,
like you, I cannot BEAR to be
subjected to systematic arrangements.
This is all very provoking to
Miss Scatcherd, who is naturally
neat, punctual, and particular."
"And cross and cruel," I
added; but
Helen Burns
would not admit
my addition: she kept silence.
"Is
Miss Temple
as severe to
you as Miss Scatcherd?"
At the utterance of Miss Temple's
name, a soft smile flitted over
her grave face.
"Miss
Temple is full
of goodness;
it pains her to be severe to
any one, even the worst in the
school: she sees my errors, and
tells me of them gently; and,
if I do anything worthy of praise,
she gives me my meed liberally.
One strong proof of my wretchedly
defective nature is, that even
her expostulations, so mild,
so rational, have not influence
to cure me of my faults; and
even her praise, though I value
it most highly, cannot stimulate
me to continued care and foresight."
"That is curious," said I, "it
is so easy to be careful."
"For
YOU I have
no doubt it
is. I observed you in your class
this morning, and saw you were
closely attentive: your thoughts
never seemed to wander while
Miss Miller explained the lesson
and questioned you. Now, mine
continually rove away; when I
should be listening to Miss Scatcherd,
and collecting all she says with
assiduity, often I lose the very
sound of her voice; I fall into
a sort of dream. Sometimes I
think I am in Northumberland,
and that the noises I hear round
me are the bubbling of a little
brook which runs through Deepden,
near our house;--then, when it
comes to my turn to reply, I
have to be awakened; and having
heard nothing of what was read
for listening to the visionary
brook, I have no answer ready."
"Yet
how well you
replied this
afternoon."
"It
was mere chance;
the subject
on which we had been reading
had interested me. This afternoon,
instead of dreaming of Deepden,
I was wondering how a man who
wished to do right could act
so unjustly and unwisely as Charles
the First sometimes did; and
I thought what a pity it was
that, with his integrity and
conscientiousness, he could see
no farther than the prerogatives
of the crown. If he had but been
able to look to a distance, and
see how what they call the spirit
of the age was tending! Still,
I like Charles--I respect him--I
pity him, poor murdered king!
Yes, his enemies were the worst:
they shed blood they had no right
to shed. How dared they kill
him!"
Helen was talking to herself
now: she had forgotten I could
not very well understand her--that
I was ignorant, or nearly so,
of the subject she discussed.
I recalled her to my level.
"And
when Miss Temple
teaches you,
do your thoughts
wander
then?"
"No,
certainly,
not often;
because Miss
Temple has
generally
something to say which is newer
than my own reflections; her
language is singularly agreeable
to me, and the information she
communicates is often just what
I wished to gain."
"Well,
then, with
Miss Temple
you are good?"
"Yes,
in a passive
way: I make
no effort; I follow as inclination
guides me. There is no merit
in such goodness."
"A
great deal:
you are good
to those who are good to you.
It is all I ever desire to be.
If people were always kind and
obedient to those who are cruel
and unjust, the wicked people
would have it all their own way:
they would never feel afraid,
and so they would never alter,
but would grow worse and worse.
When we are struck at without
a reason, we should strike back
again very hard; I am sure we
should--so hard as to teach the
person who struck us never to
do it again."
"You
will change
your mind,
I hope, when
you grow older:
as yet you are but a little untaught
girl."
"But
I feel this,
Helen; I must
dislike those
who, whatever
I do to please them, persist
in disliking me; I must resist
those who punish me unjustly.
It is as natural as that I should
love those who show me affection,
or submit to punishment when
I feel it is deserved."
"Heathens
and savage
tribes hold
that doctrine,
but Christians
and civilised nations disown
it."
"How?
I don't understand."
"It
is not violence
that best overcomes
hate--nor vengeance
that most certainly heals injury."
"What
then?"
"Read
the New Testament,
and observe
what Christ
says, and
how He acts; make His word your
rule, and His conduct your example."
"What
does He say?"
"Love
your enemies;
bless them
that curse
you; do good
to them
that hate you and despitefully
use you."
"Then
I should love
Mrs. Reed,
which I cannot
do; I should
bless
her son John, which is impossible."
In her turn, Helen Burns asked
me to explain, and I proceeded
forthwith to pour out, in my
own way, the tale of my sufferings
and resentments. Bitter and truculent
when excited, I spoke as I felt,
without reserve or softening.
Helen heard me patiently to
the end: I expected she would
then make a remark, but she said
nothing.
"Well," I asked impatiently, "is
not Mrs. Reed a hard-hearted,
bad woman?"
"She
has been unkind
to you, no
doubt; because
you see, she
dislikes your cast of character,
as Miss Scatcherd does mine;
but how minutely you remember
all she has done and said to
you! What a singularly deep impression
her injustice seems to have made
on your heart! No ill-usage so
brands its record on my feelings.
Would you not be happier if you
tried to forget her severity,
together with the passionate
emotions it excited? Life appears
to me too short to be spent in
nursing animosity or registering
wrongs. We are, and must be,
one and all, burdened with faults
in this world: but the time will
soon come when, I trust, we shall
put them off in putting off our
corruptible bodies; when debasement
and sin will fall from us with
this cumbrous frame of flesh,
and only the spark of the spirit
will remain,--the impalpable
principle of light and thought,
pure as when it left the Creator
to inspire the creature: whence
it came it will return; perhaps
again to be communicated to some
being higher than man--perhaps
to pass through gradations of
glory, from the pale human soul
to brighten to the seraph! Surely
it will never, on the contrary,
be suffered to degenerate from
man to fiend? No; I cannot believe
that: I hold another creed: which
no one ever taught me, and which
I seldom mention; but in which
I delight, and to which I cling:
for it extends hope to all: it
makes Eternity a rest--a mighty
home, not a terror and an abyss.
Besides, with this creed, I can
so clearly distinguish between
the criminal and his crime; I
can so sincerely forgive the
first while I abhor the last:
with this creed revenge never
worries my heart, degradation
never too deeply disgusts me,
injustice never crushes me too
low: I live in calm, looking
to the end."
Helen's head, always drooping,
sank a little lower as she finished
this sentence. I saw by her look
she wished no longer to talk
to me, but rather to converse
with her own thoughts. She was
not allowed much time for meditation:
a monitor, a great rough girl,
presently came up, exclaiming
in a strong Cumberland accent
-
"Helen
Burns, if you
don't go and
put your drawer
in order,
and fold up your work this minute,
I'll tell Miss Scatcherd to come
and look at it!"
Helen sighed as her reverie
fled, and getting up, obeyed
the monitor without reply as
without delay.
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