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Recording by Elizabeth Klett Jane Eyre by Charlotte BRONTË Chapter Six

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