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  • CHAPTER Four of Jane Eyre This is a Librivox recording.

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  • Recording by Elizabeth Klett Jane Eyre by Charlotte BRONTË Chapter Four

  • From my discourse with Mr. Lloyd, and from the above reported conference

  • between Bessie and Abbot, I gathered enough of hope to suffice as a

  • motive for wishing to get well: a change seemed near,--I desired and

  • waited it in silence.

  • It tarried, however: days and weeks passed: I had

  • regained my normal state of health, but no new allusion was made to the

  • subject over which I brooded.

  • Mrs. Reed surveyed me at times with a severe eye, but seldom addressed me: since

  • my illness, she had drawn a more marked line of separation than ever between

  • me and her own children; appointing me a small closet to sleep in by

  • myself, condemning me to take my meals alone, and pass all my time in the

  • nursery, while my cousins were constantly in the drawing-room.

  • Not a hint, however, did she drop about sending me to school: still I felt an

  • instinctive certainty that she would not long endure me under the same

  • roof with her; for her glance, now more than ever, when turned on

  • me, expressed an insuperable and rooted aversion.

  • Eliza and Georgiana, evidently acting according to orders, spoke to me as

  • little as possible: John thrust his tongue in his cheek whenever he saw

  • me, and once attempted chastisement; but as I instantly turned against

  • him, roused by the same sentiment of deep ire and desperate revolt which

  • had stirred my corruption before, he thought it better to desist, and ran

  • from me tittering execrations, and vowing I had burst his nose.

  • I had indeed levelled at that prominent feature

  • as hard a blow as my knuckles could inflict; and when I saw that either

  • that or my look daunted him, I had the greatest inclination to follow up

  • my advantage to purpose; but he was already with his mama.

  • I heard him in a blubbering tone commence the

  • tale of how "that nasty Jane Eyre" had flown at him like a mad cat: he

  • was stopped rather harshly--

  • "Don't talk to me about her, John: I told you not to go near her; she is

  • not worthy of notice; I do not choose that either you or your sisters

  • should associate with her."

  • Here, leaning over the banister, I cried out suddenly, and without at all

  • deliberating on my words--

  • "They are not fit to associate with me."

  • Mrs. Reed was rather a stout woman; but, on hearing this strange and

  • audacious declaration, she ran nimbly up the stair, swept me like a

  • whirlwind into the nursery, and crushing me down on the edge of my crib,

  • dared me in an emphatic voice to rise from that place, or utter one

  • syllable during the remainder of the day.

  • "What would Uncle Reed say to you, if he were alive?"

  • was my scarcely voluntary demand.

  • I say scarcely voluntary, for it seemed as if my

  • tongue pronounced words without my will consenting to their utterance:

  • something spoke out of me over which I had no control.

  • "What?" said Mrs. Reed under her breath: her usually cold composed grey

  • eye became troubled with a look like fear; she took her hand from my arm,

  • and gazed at me as if she really did not know whether I were child or

  • fiend.

  • I was now in for it.

  • "My Uncle Reed is in heaven, and can see all you do and think; and so can

  • papa and mama: they know how you shut me up all day long, and how you

  • wish me dead."

  • Mrs. Reed soon rallied her spirits: she shook me most soundly, she boxed

  • both my ears, and then left me without a word.

  • Bessie supplied the hiatus by a homily of an hour's length, in

  • which she proved beyond a doubt that I was the most wicked and abandoned

  • child ever reared under a roof.

  • I half believed her; for I felt indeed only bad feelings surging

  • in my breast.

  • November, December, and half of January passed away.

  • Christmas and the New Year had been celebrated at Gateshead

  • with the usual festive cheer; presents had been interchanged, dinners and

  • evening parties given.

  • From every enjoyment I was, of course, excluded:

  • my share of the gaiety consisted in witnessing the daily apparelling

  • of Eliza and Georgiana, and seeing them descend to the drawing-room, dressed

  • out in thin muslin frocks and scarlet sashes, with hair elaborately

  • ringletted; and afterwards, in listening to the sound of the

  • piano or the harp played below, to the passing to and fro of the butler

  • and footman, to the jingling of glass and china as refreshments

  • were handed, to the broken hum of conversation as the drawing-room door

  • opened and closed.

  • When tired of this occupation, I would retire from

  • the stairhead to the solitary and silent nursery: there, though

  • somewhat sad, I was not miserable.

  • To speak truth, I had not the least wish to go into company,

  • for in company I was very rarely noticed; and if Bessie had but been kind

  • and companionable, I should have deemed it a treat to spend the evenings

  • quietly with her, instead of passing them under the formidable eye of

  • Mrs. Reed, in a room full of ladies and gentlemen.

  • But Bessie, as soon as she had dressed her young ladies, used

  • to take herself off to the lively regions of the kitchen and housekeeper's

  • room, generally bearing the candle along with her.

  • I then sat with my doll on my knee till the fire got low, glancing round occasionally

  • to make sure that nothing worse than myself haunted the shadowy room; and

  • when the embers sank to a dull red, I undressed hastily, tugging at knots

  • and strings as I best might, and sought shelter from cold and darkness

  • in my crib.

  • To this crib I always took my doll; human beings must love

  • something, and, in the dearth of worthier objects of affection, I contrived

  • to find a pleasure in loving and cherishing a faded graven image,

  • shabby as a miniature scarecrow.

  • It puzzles me now to remember with what absurd sincerity I

  • doated on this little toy, half fancying it alive and capable of

  • sensation.

  • I could not sleep unless it was folded in my night-gown; and

  • when it lay there safe and warm, I was comparatively happy, believing it

  • to be happy likewise.

  • Long did the hours seem while I waited the departure of the company, and

  • listened for the sound of Bessie's step on the stairs: sometimes she

  • would come up in the interval to seek her thimble or her scissors, or

  • perhaps to bring me something by way of supper--a bun or a

  • cheese-cake--then she would sit on the bed while I ate it, and when I had

  • finished, she would tuck the clothes round me, and twice she kissed me,

  • and said, "Good night, Miss Jane."

  • When thus gentle, Bessie seemed to me the best, prettiest, kindest being in the

  • world; and I wished most intensely that she would always be so pleasant

  • and amiable, and never push me about, or scold, or task me unreasonably,

  • as she was too often wont to do.

  • Bessie Lee must, I think, have been a girl of good natural

  • capacity, for she was smart in all she did, and had a remarkable knack of

  • narrative; so, at least, I judge from the impression made on me by her

  • nursery tales.

  • She was pretty too, if my recollections of her face and

  • person are correct.

  • I remember her as a slim young woman, with black

  • hair, dark eyes, very nice features, and good, clear complexion; but she

  • had a capricious and hasty temper, and indifferent ideas of principle or

  • justice: still, such as she was, I preferred her to any one else at

  • Gateshead Hall.

  • It was the fifteenth of January, about nine o'clock in the morning:

  • Bessie was gone down to breakfast; my cousins had not yet been summoned

  • to their mama; Eliza was putting on her bonnet and warm garden-coat to go

  • and feed her poultry, an occupation of which she was fond: and not less

  • so of selling the eggs to the housekeeper and hoarding up the money she

  • thus obtained.

  • She had a turn for traffic, and a marked propensity for

  • saving; shown not only in the vending of eggs and chickens, but also in

  • driving hard bargains with the gardener about flower-roots, seeds, and

  • slips of plants; that functionary having orders from Mrs. Reed to buy of

  • his young lady all the products of her parterre she wished to sell: and

  • Eliza would have sold the hair off her head if she could have made a

  • handsome profit thereby.

  • As to her money, she first secreted it in odd

  • corners, wrapped in a rag or an old curl-paper; but some of these hoards

  • having been discovered by the housemaid, Eliza, fearful of one day losing

  • her valued treasure, consented to intrust it to her mother, at a usurious

  • rate of interest--fifty or sixty per cent.; which interest she exacted

  • every quarter, keeping her accounts in a little book with anxious

  • accuracy.

  • Georgiana sat on a high stool, dressing her hair at the glass, and

  • interweaving her curls with artificial flowers and faded feathers, of

  • which she had found a store in a drawer in the attic.

  • I was making my bed, having received strict orders from Bessie

  • to get it arranged before she returned (for Bessie now frequently employed

  • me as a sort of under- nurserymaid, to tidy the room, dust the chairs,

  • &c.).

  • Having spread the quilt and folded my night-dress, I went to

  • the window-seat to put in order some picture-books and doll's house

  • furniture scattered there; an abrupt command from Georgiana to let her playthings

  • alone (for the tiny chairs and mirrors, the fairy plates and cups,

  • were her property) stopped my proceedings; and then, for lack of other

  • occupation, I fell to breathing on the frost-flowers with which

  • the window was fretted, and thus clearing a space in the glass through

  • which I might look out on the grounds, where all was still and petrified

  • under the influence of a hard frost.

  • From this window were visible the porter's lodge and the carriage-road,

  • and just as I had dissolved so much of the silver-white foliage veiling

  • the panes as left room to look out, I saw the gates thrown open and a

  • carriage roll through.

  • I watched it ascending the drive with indifference; carriages often came to Gateshead,

  • but none ever brought visitors in whom I was interested; it stopped