Books: Jane Eyre

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Close by Miss Temple's bed, and half covered with its white curtains,
there stood a little crib. I saw the outline of a form under the
clothes, but the face was hid by the hangings: the nurse I had
spoken to in the garden sat in an easy-chair asleep; an unsnuffed
candle burnt dimly on the table. Miss Temple was not to be seen:
I knew afterwards that she had been called to a delirious patient
in the fever-room. I advanced; then paused by the crib side: my
hand was on the curtain, but I preferred speaking before I withdrew
it. I still recoiled at the dread of seeing a corpse.

"Helen!" I whispered softly, "are you awake?"

She stirred herself, put back the curtain, and I saw her face, pale,
wasted, but quite composed: she looked so little changed that my
fear was instantly dissipated.

"Can it be you, Jane?" she asked, in her own gentle voice.

"Oh!" I thought, "she is not going to die; they are mistaken: she
could not speak and look so calmly if she were."

I got on to her crib and kissed her: her forehead was cold, and
her cheek both cold and thin, and so were her hand and wrist; but
she smiled as of old.

"Why are you come here, Jane? It is past eleven o'clock: I heard
it strike some minutes since."

"I came to see you, Helen: I heard you were very ill, and I could
not sleep till I had spoken to you."

"You came to bid me good-bye, then: you are just in time probably."

"Are you going somewhere, Helen? Are you going home?"

"Yes; to my long home -- my last home."

"No, no, Helen!" I stopped, distressed. While I tried to devour
my tears, a fit of coughing seized Helen; it did not, however, wake
the nurse; when it was over, she lay some minutes exhausted;
then she whispered -

"Jane, your little feet are bare; lie down and cover yourself with
my quilt."

I did so: she put her arm over me, and I nestled close
to her. After a long silence, she resumed, still whispering -

"I am very happy, Jane; and when you hear that I am dead, you must
be sure and not grieve: there is nothing to grieve about. We
all must die one day, and the illness which is removing me is not
painful; it is gentle and gradual: my mind is at rest. I leave
no one to regret me much: I have only a father; and he is lately
married, and will not miss me. By dying young, I shall escape
great sufferings. I had not qualities or talents to make my way
very well in the world: I should have been continually at fault."

"But where are you going to, Helen? Can you see? Do you know?"

"I believe; I have faith: I am going to God."

"Where is God? What is God?"

"My Maker and yours, who will never destroy what He created. I
rely implicitly on His power, and confide wholly in His goodness:
I count the hours till that eventful one arrives which shall restore
me to Him, reveal Him to me."

"You are sure, then, Helen, that there is such a place as heaven,
and that our souls can get to it when we die?"

"I am sure there is a future state; I believe God is good; I can
resign my immortal part to Him without any misgiving. God is my
father; God is my friend: I love Him; I believe He loves me."

"And shall I see you again, Helen, when I die?"

"You will come to the same region of happiness: be received by
the same mighty, universal Parent, no doubt, dear Jane."

Again I questioned, but this time only in thought. "Where is
that region? Does it exist?" And I clasped my arms closer round
Helen; she seemed dearer to me than ever; I felt as if I could
not let her go; I lay with my face hidden on her neck. Presently
she said, in the sweetest tone -

"How comfortable I am! That last fit of coughing has tired me a
little; I feel as if I could sleep: but don't leave me, Jane; I
like to have you near me."

"I'll stay with you, DEAR Helen: no one shall take me away."

"Are you warm, darling?"

"Yes."

"Good-night, Jane."

"Good-night, Helen."

She kissed me, and I her, and we both soon slumbered.

When I awoke it was day: an unusual movement roused me; I looked
up; I was in somebody's arms; the nurse held me; she was carrying
me through the passage back to the dormitory. I was not reprimanded
for leaving my bed; people had something else to think about; no
explanation was afforded then to my many questions; but a day or
two afterwards I learned that Miss Temple, on returning to her own
room at dawn, had found me laid in the little crib; my face against
Helen Burns's shoulder, my arms round her neck. I was asleep, and
Helen was -- dead.

Her grave is in Brocklebridge churchyard: for fifteen years after
her death it was only covered by a grassy mound; but now a grey
marble tablet marks the spot, inscribed with her name, and the word
"Resurgam."

CHAPTER X

Hitherto I have recorded in detail the events of my insignificant
existence: to the first ten years of my life I have given almost
as many chapters. But this is not to be a regular autobiography.
I am only bound to invoke Memory where I know her responses will
possess some degree of interest; therefore I now pass a space of
eight years almost in silence: a few lines only are necessary to
keep up the links of connection.

When the typhus fever had fulfilled its mission of devastation
at Lowood, it gradually disappeared from thence; but not till its
virulence and the number of its victims had drawn public attention
on the school. Inquiry was made into the origin of the scourge, and
by degrees various facts came out which excited public indignation
in a high degree. The unhealthy nature of the site; the quantity
and quality of the children's food; the brackish, fetid water used
in its preparation; the pupils' wretched clothing and accommodations
-- all these things were discovered, and the discovery produced
a result mortifying to Mr. Brocklehurst, but beneficial to the
institution.

Several wealthy and benevolent individuals in the county subscribed
largely for the erection of a more convenient building in a better
situation; new regulations were made; improvements in diet and
clothing introduced; the funds of the school were intrusted to the
management of a committee. Mr. Brocklehurst, who, from his wealth
and family connections, could not be overlooked, still retained the
post of treasurer; but he was aided in the discharge of his duties
by gentlemen of rather more enlarged and sympathising minds: his
office of inspector, too, was shared by those who knew how to
combine reason with strictness, comfort with economy, compassion
with uprightness. The school, thus improved, became in time a truly
useful and noble institution. I remained an inmate of its walls,
after its regeneration, for eight years: six as pupil, and two as
teacher; and in both capacities I bear my testimony to its value
and importance.

During these eight years my life was uniform: but not unhappy,
because it was not inactive. I had the means of an excellent
education placed within my reach; a fondness for some of my studies,
and a desire to excel in all, together with a great delight in
pleasing my teachers, especially such as I loved, urged me on: I
availed myself fully of the advantages offered me. In time I rose
to be the first girl of the first class; then I was invested with
the office of teacher; which I discharged with zeal for two years:
but at the end of that time I altered.

Miss Temple, through all changes, had thus far continued superintendent
of the seminary: to her instruction I owed the best part of
my acquirements; her friendship and society had been my continual
solace; she had stood me in the stead of mother, governess, and,
latterly, companion. At this period she married, removed with
her husband (a clergyman, an excellent man, almost worthy of such
a wife) to a distant county, and consequently was lost to me.

From the day she left I was no longer the same: with her was gone
every settled feeling, every association that had made Lowood in
some degree a home to me. I had imbibed from her something of her
nature and much of her habits: more harmonious thoughts: what
seemed better regulated feelings had become the inmates of my
mind. I had given in allegiance to duty and order; I was quiet;
I believed I was content: to the eyes of others, usually even to
my own, I appeared a disciplined and subdued character.

But destiny, in the shape of the Rev. Mr. Nasmyth, came between
me and Miss Temple: I saw her in her travelling dress step into
a post-chaise, shortly after the marriage ceremony; I watched
the chaise mount the hill and disappear beyond its brow; and then
retired to my own room, and there spent in solitude the greatest
part of the half-holiday granted in honour of the occasion.

I walked about the chamber most of the time. I imagined myself
only to be regretting my loss, and thinking how to repair it; but
when my reflections were concluded, and I looked up and found that
the afternoon was gone, and evening far advanced, another discovery
dawned on me, namely, that in the interval I had undergone a
transforming process; that my mind had put off all it had borrowed
of Miss Temple -- or rather that she had taken with her the serene
atmosphere I had been breathing in her vicinity -- and that now I
was left in my natural element, and beginning to feel the stirring
of old emotions. It did not seem as if a prop were withdrawn,
but rather as if a motive were gone: it was not the power to be
tranquil which had failed me, but the reason for tranquillity was
no more. My world had for some years been in Lowood: my experience
had been of its rules and systems; now I remembered that the real
world was wide, and that a varied field of hopes and fears, of
sensations and excitements, awaited those who had courage to go
forth into its expanse, to seek real knowledge of life amidst its
perils.

I went to my window, opened it, and looked out. There were the two
wings of the building; there was the garden; there were the skirts
of Lowood; there was the hilly horizon. My eye passed all other
objects to rest on those most remote, the blue peaks; it was those
I longed to surmount; all within their boundary of rock and heath
seemed prison-ground, exile limits. I traced the white road winding
round the base of one mountain, and vanishing in a gorge between
two; how I longed to follow it farther! I recalled the time when
I had travelled that very road in a coach; I remembered descending
that hill at twilight; an age seemed to have elapsed since the day
which brought me first to Lowood, and I had never quitted it since.
My vacations had all been spent at school: Mrs. Reed had never
sent for me to Gateshead; neither she nor any of her family had ever
been to visit me. I had had no communication by letter or message
with the outer world: school-rules, school-duties, school-habits
and notions, and voices, and faces, and phrases, and costumes, and
preferences, and antipathies -- such was what I knew of existence.
And now I felt that it was not enough; I tired of the routine of
eight years in one afternoon. I desired liberty; for liberty I
gasped; for liberty I uttered a prayer; it seemed scattered on the
wind then faintly blowing. I abandoned it and framed a humbler
supplication; for change, stimulus: that petition, too, seemed swept
off into vague space: "Then," I cried, half desperate, "grant me
at least a new servitude!"

Here a bell, ringing the hour of supper, called me downstairs.

I was not free to resume the interrupted chain of my reflections
till bedtime: even then a teacher who occupied the same room
with me kept me from the subject to which I longed to recur, by a
prolonged effusion of small talk. How I wished sleep would silence
her. It seemed as if, could I but go back to the idea which
had last entered my mind as I stood at the window, some inventive
suggestion would rise for my relief.

Miss Gryce snored at last; she was a heavy Welshwoman, and till
now her habitual nasal strains had never been regarded by me in any
other light than as a nuisance; to-night I hailed the first deep
notes with satisfaction; I was debarrassed of interruption; my
half-effaced thought instantly revived.

"A new servitude! There is something in that," I soliloquised
(mentally, be it understood; I did not talk aloud), "I know there
is, because it does not sound too sweet; it is not like such words
as Liberty, Excitement, Enjoyment: delightful sounds truly; but
no more than sounds for me; and so hollow and fleeting that it is
mere waste of time to listen to them. But Servitude! That must
be matter of fact. Any one may serve: I have served here eight
years; now all I want is to serve elsewhere. Can I not get so much
of my own will? Is not the thing feasible? Yes -- yes -- the end
is not so difficult; if I had only a brain active enough to ferret
out the means of attaining it."

I sat up in bed by way of arousing this said brain: it was a chilly
night; I covered my shoulders with a shawl, and then I proceeded
TO THINK again with all my might.

"What do I want? A new place, in a new house, amongst new faces,
under new circumstances: I want this because it is of no use wanting
anything better. How do people do to get a new place? They apply
to friends, I suppose: I have no friends. There are many others
who have no friends, who must look about for themselves and be
their own helpers; and what is their resource?"

I could not tell: nothing answered me; I then ordered my brain to
find a response, and quickly. It worked and worked faster: I felt
the pulses throb in my head and temples; but for nearly an hour
it worked in chaos; and no result came of its efforts. Feverish
with vain labour, I got up and took a turn in the room; undrew the
curtain, noted a star or two, shivered with cold, and again crept
to bed.

A kind fairy, in my absence, had surely dropped the required suggestion
on my pillow; for as I lay down, it came quietly and naturally to
my mind. -- "Those who want situations advertise; you must advertise
in the -shire Herald."

"How? I know nothing about advertising."

Replies rose smooth and prompt now:-

"You must enclose the advertisement and the money to pay for it
under a cover directed to the editor of the Herald; you must put
it, the first opportunity you have, into the post at Lowton; answers
must be addressed to J.E., at the post-office there; you can go
and inquire in about a week after you send your letter, if any are
come, and act accordingly."

This scheme I went over twice, thrice; it was then digested in my
mind; I had it in a clear practical form: I felt satisfied, and
fell asleep.

With earliest day, I was up: I had my advertisement written,
enclosed, and directed before the bell rang to rouse the school;
it ran thus:-

"A young lady accustomed to tuition" (had I not been a teacher
two years?) "is desirous of meeting with a situation in a private
family where the children are under fourteen (I thought that as I
was barely eighteen, it would not do to undertake the guidance of
pupils nearer my own age). She is qualified to teach the usual
branches of a good English education, together with French, Drawing,
and Music" (in those days, reader, this now narrow catalogue of
accomplishments, would have been held tolerably comprehensive).
"Address, J.E., Post-office, Lowton, -shire."

This document remained locked in my drawer all day: after tea,
I asked leave of the new superintendent to go to Lowton, in order
to perform some small commissions for myself and one or two of my
fellow-teachers; permission was readily granted; I went. It was a
walk of two miles, and the evening was wet, but the days were still
long; I visited a shop or two, slipped the letter into the post-office,
and came back through heavy rain, with streaming garments, but with
a relieved heart.

The succeeding week seemed long: it came to an end at last, however,
like all sublunary things, and once more, towards the close of a
pleasant autumn day, I found myself afoot on the road to Lowton. A
picturesque track it was, by the way; lying along the side of the
beck and through the sweetest curves of the dale: but that day I
thought more of the letters, that might or might not be awaiting
me at the little burgh whither I was bound, than of the charms of
lea and water.

My ostensible errand on this occasion was to get measured for
a pair of shoes; so I discharged that business first, and when it
was done, I stepped across the clean and quiet little street from
the shoemaker's to the post-office: it was kept by an old dame, who
wore horn spectacles on her nose, and black mittens on her hands.

"Are there any letters for J.E.?" I asked.

She peered at me over her spectacles, and then she opened a drawer and
fumbled among its contents for a long time, so long that my hopes
began to falter. At last, having held a document before her glasses
for nearly five minutes, she presented it across the counter,
accompanying the act by another inquisitive and mistrustful glance
-- it was for J.E.

"Is there only one?" I demanded.

"There are no more," said she; and I put it in my pocket and turned
my face homeward: I could not open it then; rules obliged me to
be back by eight, and it was already half-past seven.

Various duties awaited me on my arrival. I had to sit with the girls
during their hour of study; then it was my turn to read prayers;
to see them to bed: afterwards I supped with the other teachers.
Even when we finally retired for the night, the inevitable Miss
Gryce was still my companion: we had only a short end of candle
in our candlestick, and I dreaded lest she should talk till it
was all burnt out; fortunately, however, the heavy supper she had
eaten produced a soporific effect: she was already snoring before
I had finished undressing. There still remained an inch of candle:
I now took out my letter; the seal was an initial F.; I broke it;
the contents were brief.

"If J.E., who advertised in the -shire Herald of last Thursday,
possesses the acquirements mentioned, and if she is in a position
to give satisfactory references as to character and competency, a
situation can be offered her where there is but one pupil, a little
girl, under ten years of age; and where the salary is thirty pounds
per annum. J.E. is requested to send references, name, address,
and all particulars to the direction:-

"Mrs. Fairfax, Thornfield, near Millcote, -shire."

I examined the document long: the writing was old-fashioned and
rather uncertain, like that of an elderly lady. This circumstance
was satisfactory: a private fear had haunted me, that in thus
acting for myself, and by my own guidance, I ran the risk of getting
into some scrape; and, above all things, I wished the result of my
endeavours to be respectable, proper, en regle. I now felt that an
elderly lady was no bad ingredient in the business I had on hand.
Mrs. Fairfax! I saw her in a black gown and widow's cap; frigid,
perhaps, but not uncivil: a model of elderly English respectability.
Thornfield! that, doubtless, was the name of her house: a neat
orderly spot, I was sure; though I failed in my efforts to conceive
a correct plan of the premises. Millcote, - shire; I brushed up
my recollections of the map of England, yes, I saw it; both the
shire and the town. -shire was seventy miles nearer London than
the remote county where I now resided: that was a recommendation
to me. I longed to go where there was life and movement: Millcote
was a large manufacturing town on the banks of the A-; a busy place
enough, doubtless: so much the better; it would be a complete
change at least. Not that my fancy was much captivated by the idea
of long chimneys and clouds of smoke -- "but," I argued, "Thornfield
will, probably, be a good way from the town."

Here the socket of the candle dropped, and the wick went out.

Next day new steps were to be taken; my plans could no longer be
confined to my own breast; I must impart them in order to achieve
their success. Having sought and obtained an audience of the
superintendent during the noontide recreation, I told her I had a
prospect of getting a new situation where the salary would be double
what I now received (for at Lowood I only got 15 pounds per annum);
and requested she would break the matter for me to Mr. Brocklehurst,
or some of the committee, and ascertain whether they would permit
me to mention them as references. She obligingly consented to
act as mediatrix in the matter. The next day she laid the affair
before Mr. Brocklehurst, who said that Mrs. Reed must be written to,
as she was my natural guardian. A note was accordingly addressed to
that lady, who returned for answer, that "I might do as I pleased:
she had long relinquished all interference in my affairs." This note
went the round of the committee, and at last, after what appeared
to me most tedious delay, formal leave was given me to better my
condition if I could; and an assurance added, that as I had always
conducted myself well, both as teacher and pupil, at Lowood, a
testimonial of character and capacity, signed by the inspectors of
that institution, should forthwith be furnished me.

This testimonial I accordingly received in about a month, forwarded
a copy of it to Mrs. Fairfax, and got that lady's reply, stating
that she was satisfied, and fixing that day fortnight as the period
for my assuming the post of governess in her house.

I now busied myself in preparations: the fortnight passed rapidly.
I had not a very large wardrobe, though it was adequate to my
wants; and the last day sufficed to pack my trunk, -- the same I
had brought with me eight years ago from Gateshead.

The box was corded, the card nailed on. In half-an-hour the
carrier was to call for it to take it to Lowton, whither I myself
was to repair at an early hour the next morning to meet the coach.
I had brushed my black stuff travelling-dress, prepared my bonnet,
gloves, and muff; sought in all my drawers to see that no article
was left behind; and now having nothing more to do, I sat down and
tried to rest. I could not; though I had been on foot all day, I
could not now repose an instant; I was too much excited. A phase
of my life was closing to-night, a new one opening to-morrow:
impossible to slumber in the interval; I must watch feverishly
while the change was being accomplished.

"Miss," said a servant who met me in the lobby, where I was wandering
like a troubled spirit, "a person below wishes to see you."

"The carrier, no doubt," I thought, and ran downstairs without
inquiry. I was passing the back-parlour or teachers' sitting-room,
the door of which was half open, to go to the kitchen,
when some one ran out -

"It's her, I am sure! -- I could have told her anywhere!" cried
the individual who stopped my progress and took my hand.

I looked: I saw a woman attired like a well-dressed servant,
matronly, yet still young; very good-looking, with black hair and
eyes, and lively complexion.

"Well, who is it?" she asked, in a voice and with a smile I half
recognised; "you've not quite forgotten me, I think, Miss Jane?"

In another second I was embracing and kissing her rapturously:
"Bessie! Bessie! Bessie!" that was all I said; whereat she half
laughed, half cried, and we both went into the parlour. By the
fire stood a little fellow of three years old, in plaid frock and
trousers.

"That is my little boy," said Bessie directly.

"Then you are married, Bessie?"

"Yes; nearly five years since to Robert Leaven, the coachman; and
I've a little girl besides Bobby there, that I've christened Jane."

"And you don't live at Gateshead?"

"I live at the lodge: the old porter has left."

"Well, and how do they all get on? Tell me everything about them,
Bessie: but sit down first; and, Bobby, come and sit on my knee,
will you?" but Bobby preferred sidling over to his mother.

"You're not grown so very tall, Miss Jane, nor so very stout,"
continued Mrs. Leaven. "I dare say they've not kept you too well
at school: Miss Reed is the head and shoulders taller than you
are; and Miss Georgiana would make two of you in breadth."

"Georgiana is handsome, I suppose, Bessie?"

"Very. She went up to London last winter with her mama, and there
everybody admired her, and a young lord fell in love with her: but
his relations were against the match; and -- what do you think? --
he and Miss Georgiana made it up to run away; but they were found
out and stopped. It was Miss Reed that found them out: I believe
she was envious; and now she and her sister lead a cat
and dog life together; they are always quarrelling -- "

"Well, and what of John Reed?"

"Oh, he is not doing so well as his mama could wish. He went to
college, and he got -- plucked, I think they call it: and then
his uncles wanted him to be a barrister, and study the law: but he
is such a dissipated young man, they will never make much of him,
I think."

"What does he look like?"

"He is very tall: some people call him a fine-looking young man;
but he has such thick lips."