Ere
the half-hour ended, five o'clock
struck; school was dismissed,
and all were gone into the refectory
to tea. I now ventured to descend:
it was deep dusk; I retired into
a corner and sat down on the
floor. The spell by which I had
been so far supported began to
dissolve; reaction took place,
and soon, so overwhelming was
the grief that seized me, I sank
prostrate with my face to the
ground. Now I wept: Helen Burns
was not here; nothing sustained
me; left to myself I abandoned
myself, and my tears watered
the boards. I had meant to be
so good, and to do so much at
Lowood: to make so many friends,
to earn respect and win affection.
Already I had made visible progress:
that very morning I had reached
the head of my class; Miss Miller
had praised me warmly; Miss Temple
had smiled approbation; she had
promised to teach me drawing,
and to let me learn French, if
I continued to make similar improvement
two months longer: and then I
was well received by my fellow-pupils;
treated as an equal by those
of my own age, and not molested
by any; now, here I lay again
crushed and trodden on; and could
I ever rise more?
"Never," I
thought; and
ardently I
wished to die.
While sobbing
out this wish in broken accents,
some one approached: I started
up-- again Helen Burns was near
me; the fading fires just showed
her coming up the long, vacant
room; she brought my coffee and
bread.
"Come, eat something," she
said; but I put both away from
me, feeling as if a drop or a
crumb would have choked me in
my present condition. Helen regarded
me, probably with surprise: I
could not now abate my agitation,
though I tried hard; I continued
to weep aloud. She sat down on
the ground near me, embraced
her knees with her arms, and
rested her head upon them; in
that attitude she remained silent
as an Indian. I was the first
who spoke -
"Helen,
why do you
stay with a
girl whom everybody
believes
to be a liar?"
"Everybody,
Jane? Why,
there are only
eighty people
who have
heard you called so, and the
world contains hundreds of millions."
"But
what have I
to do with
millions? The
eighty, I know,
despise me."
"Jane,
you are mistaken:
probably not
one in the
school either
despises or dislikes you: many,
I am sure, pity you much."
"How
can they pity
me after what
Mr. Brocklehurst
has said?"
"Mr. Brocklehurst is not a
god: nor is he even a great and
admired man: he is little liked
here; he never took steps to
make himself liked. Had he treated
you as an especial favourite,
you would have found enemies,
declared or covert, all around
you; as it is, the greater number
would offer you sympathy if they
dared. Teachers and pupils may
look coldly on you for a day
or two, but friendly feelings
are concealed in their hearts;
and if you persevere in doing
well, these feelings will ere
long appear so much the more
evidently for their temporary
suppression. Besides, Jane"--she
paused.
"Well, Helen?" said
I, putting
my hand into
hers: she chafed
my fingers gently to warm them,
and went on -
"If
all the world
hated you,
and believed
you wicked,
while
your own conscience approved
you, and absolved you from guilt,
you would not be without friends."
"No;
I know I should
think well
of myself;
but that is
not
enough: if others don't love
me I would rather die than live--I
cannot bear to be solitary and
hated, Helen. Look here; to gain
some real affection from you,
or Miss Temple, or any other
whom I truly love, I would willingly
submit to have the bone of my
arm broken, or to let a bull
toss me, or to stand behind a
kicking horse, and let it dash
its hoof at my chest--"
"Hush,
Jane! you think
too much of
the love of
human beings;
you are too impulsive, too vehement;
the sovereign hand that created
your frame, and put life into
it, has provided you with other
resources than your feeble self,
or than creatures feeble as you.
Besides this earth, and besides
the race of men, there is an
invisible world and a kingdom
of spirits: that world is round
us, for it is everywhere; and
those spirits watch us, for they
are commissioned to guard us;
and if we were dying in pain
and shame, if scorn smote us
on all sides, and hatred crushed
us, angels see our tortures,
recognise our innocence (if innocent
we be: as I know you are of this
charge which Mr. Brocklehurst
has weakly and pompously repeated
at second-hand from Mrs. Reed;
for I read a sincere nature in
your ardent eyes and on your
clear front), and God waits only
the separation of spirit from
flesh to crown us with a full
reward. Why, then, should we
ever sink overwhelmed with distress,
when life is so soon over, and
death is so certain an entrance
to happiness-- to glory?"
I was silent; Helen had calmed
me; but in the tranquillity she
imparted there was an alloy of
inexpressible sadness. I felt
the impression of woe as she
spoke, but I could not tell whence
it came; and when, having done
speaking, she breathed a little
fast and coughed a short cough,
I momentarily forgot my own sorrows
to yield to a vague concern for
her.
Resting my head on Helen's
shoulder, I put my arms round
her waist; she drew me to her,
and we reposed in silence. We
had not sat long thus, when another
person came in. Some heavy clouds,
swept from the sky by a rising
wind, had left the moon bare;
and her light, streaming in through
a window near, shone full both
on us and on the approaching
figure, which we at once recognised
as Miss Temple.
"I came on purpose to find
you, Jane Eyre," said she; "I
want you in my room; and as Helen
Burns is with you, she may come
too."
We went; following the superintendent's
guidance, we had to thread some
intricate passages, and mount
a staircase before we reached
her apartment; it contained a
good fire, and looked cheerful.
Miss Temple told Helen Burns
to be seated in a low arm-chair
on one side of the hearth, and
herself taking another, she called
me to her side.
"Is it all over?" she asked,
looking down at my face. "Have
you cried your grief away?"
"I
am afraid I
never shall
do that."
"Why?"
"Because
I have been
wrongly accused;
and you, ma'am,
and
everybody else, will now think
me wicked."
"We
shall think
you what you
prove yourself to be, my child.
Continue to act as a good girl,
and you will satisfy us."
"Shall
I, Miss Temple?"
"You will," said she, passing
her arm round me. "And now tell
me who is the lady whom Mr. Brocklehurst
called your benefactress?"
"Mrs.
Reed, my uncle's
wife. My uncle
is dead, and
he left
me to her care."
"Did
she not, then,
adopt you of
her own accord?"
"No,
ma'am; she
was sorry to
have to do it: but my uncle,
as I have often heard the servants
say, got her to promise before
he died that she would always
keep me."
"Well
now, Jane,
you know, or
at least I
will tell you,
that when a criminal is accused,
he is always allowed to speak
in his own defence. You have
been charged with falsehood;
defend yourself to me as well
as you can. Say whatever your
memory suggests is true; but
add nothing and exaggerate nothing."
I resolved, in the depth of
my heart, that I would be most
moderate- -most correct; and,
having reflected a few minutes
in order to arrange coherently
what I had to say, I told her
all the story of my sad childhood.
Exhausted by emotion, my language
was more subdued than it generally
was when it developed that sad
theme; and mindful of Helen's
warnings against the indulgence
of resentment, I infused into
the narrative far less of gall
and wormwood than ordinary. Thus
restrained and simplified, it
sounded more credible: I felt
as I went on that Miss Temple
fully believed me.
In the course of the tale I
had mentioned Mr. Lloyd as having
come to see me after the fit:
for I never forgot the, to me,
frightful episode of the red-room:
in detailing which, my excitement
was sure, in some degree, to
break bounds; for nothing could
soften in my recollection the
spasm of agony which clutched
my heart when Mrs. Reed spurned
my wild supplication for pardon,
and locked me a second time in
the dark and haunted chamber.
I had finished: Miss Temple
regarded me a few minutes in
silence; she then said -
"I
know something
of Mr. Lloyd;
I shall write to him; if his
reply agrees with your statement,
you shall be publicly cleared
from every imputation; to me,
Jane, you are clear now."
She kissed me, and still keeping
me at her side (where I was well
contented to stand, for I derived
a child's pleasure from the contemplation
of her face, her dress, her one
or two ornaments, her white forehead,
her clustered and shining curls,
and beaming dark eyes), she proceeded
to address Helen Burns.
"How
are you to-night,
Helen? Have
you coughed
much to-day?"
"Not
quite so much,
I think, ma'am."
"And
the pain in
your chest?"
"It
is a little
better."
Miss Temple got up, took her
hand and examined her pulse;
then she returned to her own
seat: as she resumed it, I heard
her sigh low. She was pensive
a few minutes, then rousing herself,
she said cheerfully -
"But you two are my visitors
to-night; I must treat you as
such." She rang her bell.
"Barbara," she said to the
servant who answered it, "I have
not yet had tea; bring the tray
and place cups for these two
young ladies."
And a tray was soon brought.
How pretty, to my eyes, did the
china cups and bright teapot
look, placed on the little round
table near the fire! How fragrant
was the steam of the beverage,
and the scent of the toast! of
which, however, I, to my dismay
(for I was beginning to be hungry)
discerned only a very small portion:
Miss Temple discerned it too.
"Barbara," said she, "can
you not bring
a little more
bread
and butter? There is not enough
for three."
Barbara went out: she returned
soon -
"Madam,
Mrs. Harden
says she has
sent up the
usual quantity."
Mrs. Harden, be it observed,
was the housekeeper: a woman
after Mr. Brocklehurst's own
heart, made up of equal parts
of whalebone and iron.
"Oh, very well!" returned Miss
Temple; "we must make it do,
Barbara, I suppose." And as the
girl withdrew she added, smiling, "Fortunately,
I have it in my power to supply
deficiencies for this once."
Having invited Helen and me
to approach the table, and placed
before each of us a cup of tea
with one delicious but thin morsel
of toast, she got up, unlocked
a drawer, and taking from it
a parcel wrapped in paper, disclosed
presently to our eyes a good-sized
seed-cake.
"I meant to give each of you
some of this to take with you," said
she, "but as there is so little
toast, you must have it now," and
she proceeded to cut slices with
a generous hand.
We feasted that evening as
on nectar and ambrosia; and not
the least delight of the entertainment
was the smile of gratification
with which our hostess regarded
us, as we satisfied our famished
appetites on the delicate fare
she liberally supplied.
Tea over and the tray removed,
she again summoned us to the
fire; we sat one on each side
of her, and now a conversation
followed between her and Helen,
which it was indeed a privilege
to be admitted to hear.
Miss Temple had always something
of serenity in her air, of state
in her mien, of refined propriety
in her language, which precluded
deviation into the ardent, the
excited, the eager: something
which chastened the pleasure
of those who looked on her and
listened to her, by a controlling
sense of awe; and such was my
feeling now: but as to Helen
Burns, I was struck with wonder.
The refreshing meal, the brilliant
fire, the presence and kindness
of her beloved instructress,
or, perhaps, more than all these,
something in her own unique mind,
had roused her powers within
her. They woke, they kindled:
first, they glowed in the bright
tint of her cheek, which till
this hour I had never seen but
pale and bloodless; then they
shone in the liquid lustre of
her eyes, which had suddenly
acquired a beauty more singular
than that of Miss Temple's--a
beauty neither of fine colour
nor long eyelash, nor pencilled
brow, but of meaning, of movement,
of radiance. Then her soul sat
on her lips, and language flowed,
from what source I cannot tell.
Has a girl of fourteen a heart
large enough, vigorous enough,
to hold the swelling spring of
pure, full, fervid eloquence?
Such was the characteristic of
Helen's discourse on that, to
me, memorable evening; her spirit
seemed hastening to live within
a very brief span as much as
many live during a protracted
existence.
They conversed of things I
had never heard of; of nations
and times past; of countries
far away; of secrets of nature
discovered or guessed at: they
spoke of books: how many they
had read! What stores of knowledge
they possessed! Then they seemed
so familiar with French names
and French authors: but my amazement
reached its climax when Miss
Temple asked Helen if she sometimes
snatched a moment to recall the
Latin her father had taught her,
and taking a book from a shelf,
bade her read and construe a
page of Virgil; and Helen obeyed,
my organ of veneration expanding
at every sounding line. She had
scarcely finished ere the bell
announced bedtime! no delay could
be admitted; Miss Temple embraced
us both, saying, as she drew
us to her heart -
"God
bless you,
my children!"
Helen she held a little longer
than me: she let her go more
reluctantly; it was Helen her
eye followed to the door; it
was for her she a second time
breathed a sad sigh; for her
she wiped a tear from her cheek.
On reaching the bedroom, we
heard the voice of Miss Scatcherd:
she was examining drawers; she
had just pulled out Helen Burns's,
and when we entered Helen was
greeted with a sharp reprimand,
and told that to-morrow she should
have half-a-dozen of untidily
folded articles pinned to her
shoulder.
"My things were indeed in shameful
disorder," murmured Helen to
me, in a low voice: "I intended
to have arranged them, but I
forgot."
Next
morning, Miss
Scatcherd wrote
in conspicuous
characters
on a piece of pasteboard the
word "Slattern," and bound it
like a phylactery round Helen's
large, mild, intelligent, and
benign- looking forehead. She
wore it till evening, patient,
unresentful, regarding it as
a deserved punishment. The moment
Miss Scatcherd withdrew after
afternoon school, I ran to Helen,
tore it off, and thrust it into
the fire: the fury of which she
was incapable had been burning
in my soul all day, and tears,
hot and large, had continually
been scalding my cheek; for the
spectacle of her sad resignation
gave me an intolerable pain at
the heart.
About a week subsequently to
the incidents above narrated,
Miss Temple, who had written
to Mr. Lloyd, received his answer:
it appeared that what he said
went to corroborate my account.
Miss Temple, having assembled
the whole school, announced that
inquiry had been made into the
charges alleged against Jane
Eyre, and that she was most happy
to be able to pronounce her completely
cleared from every imputation.
The teachers then shook hands
with me and kissed me, and a
murmur of pleasure ran through
the ranks of my companions.
Thus relieved of a grievous
load, I from that hour set to
work afresh, resolved to pioneer
my way through every difficulty:
I toiled hard, and my success
was proportionate to my efforts;
my memory, not naturally tenacious,
improved with practice; exercise
sharpened my wits; in a few weeks
I was promoted to a higher class;
in less than two months I was
allowed to commence French and
drawing. I learned the first
two tenses of the verb ETRE,
and sketched my first cottage
(whose walls, by-the-bye, outrivalled
in slope those of the leaning
tower of Pisa), on the same day.
That night, on going to bed,
I forgot to prepare in imagination
the Barmecide supper of hot roast
potatoes, or white bread and
new milk, with which I was wont
to amuse my inward cravings:
I feasted instead on the spectacle
of ideal drawings, which I saw
in the dark; all the work of
my own hands: freely pencilled
houses and trees, picturesque
rocks and ruins, Cuyp-like groups
of cattle, sweet paintings of
butterflies hovering over unblown
roses, of birds picking at ripe
cherries, of wren's nests enclosing
pearl-like eggs, wreathed about
with young ivy sprays. I examined,
too, in thought, the possibility
of my ever being able to translate
currently a certain little French
story which Madame Pierrot had
that day shown me; nor was that
problem solved to my satisfaction
ere I fell sweetly asleep.
Well
has Solomon
said--"Better
is a dinner of herbs where love
is, than a stalled ox and hatred
therewith."
I would not now have exchanged
Lowood with all its privations
for Gateshead and its daily luxuries.
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