Chapter 10

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    Hitherto I have recorded iail the events of my insignifit existeo 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 i; therefore I now pass a space of eight years almost in silence: a few lines only are necessary to keep up the links of e.

    Wheyphus fever had fulfilled its mission of devastation at Lowood, it gradually disappeared from thence; but not till its virulend the number of its victims had drawn public attention on the school. Inquiry was made into the in of the sce, and by degrees various facts came out which excited publidignation in a high degree. The uhy 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 aodations—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 ty subscribed largely for the ere of a more ve building in a better situation; new regulations were made; improvements i and clothing introduced; the funds of the school were intrusted to the ma of a ittee. Mr. Brocklehurst, who, from his wealth and family es, could not be overlooked, still retaihe 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 ior, too, was shared by those who knew how to bine reason with striess, fort with ey, passion with uprightness. The school, thus improved, became in time a truly useful and noble institution. I remained an inmate of its walls, after its regeion, fht 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 ied 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 ges, had thus far tinued superinte of the seminary: to her instru I owed the best part of my acquirements; her friendship and society had been my tinual solace; she had stood me iead of moverness, and, latterly, panion. At this period she married, removed with her husband (a clergyman, an excellent man, almost worthy of such a wife) to a distant ty, and sequently was lost to me.

    From the day she left I was no lohe 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 bee the inmates of my mind. I had given in allegiao duty and order; I was quiet; I believed I was tent: 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 iravelling dress step into a post-chaise, shortly after the marriage ceremony; I watched the chaise mount the hill and disappear beyond its brow; and theired 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 refles were cluded, and I looked up and found that the afternoon was gone, and evening far advanced, another discovery dawned on me, namely, that ierval I had undergoransf process; that my mind had put off all it had borrowed of Miss Temple—or rather that she had taken with her the seremosphere I had beehing in her viity—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 go 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 aements, awaited those who had ce to go forth into its expao seek real knowledge of life amidst its perils.

    I went to my window, ope, 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 loo surmount; all within their boundary of rod heath seemed prison-ground, exile limits. I<var>..</var> traced the white road winding round the base of one mountain, and vanishing in a ge between two; how I loo follow it farther! I recalled the time when I had travelled that very road in a coach; I remembered desding that hill at twilight; an age seemed to have elapsed sihe day which brought me first to Lowood, and I had never quitted it since. My vacations had all bee at srs. Reed had never sent for me to Gateshead; her she nor any of her family had ever been to visit me. I had had no unication by letter or message with the outer world: school-rules, school-duties, school-habits and notions, and voices, and faces, and phrases, and es, 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 iernoon. I desired liberty; for liberty I gasped; for liberty I uttered a prayer; it seemed scattered on the wind then faintly blowing. I aba and framed a humbler supplication; for ge, stimulus: that petition, too, seemed swept off into vague space: “Then,” I cried, half desperate, “gra least a new servitude!”

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

    I was not free to resume the interrupted  of my refles till bedtime: even then a teacher who occupied the same room with me kept me from the subject to which I loo 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 iive suggestion would rise for my relief.

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

    “A new servitude! There is something in that,” I soliloquised (mentally, be it uood; 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.  I not get so muy 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 anythier. 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 aheir 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  came of its efforts. Feverish with vain labour, I got up and took a turn in the room; uhe curtain, noted a star or two, shivered with cold, and agaio 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 moo 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  go and inquire in about a week after you send your letter, if any are e, and act accly.”

    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 : I had my advertisement written, enclosed, and directed before the bell rang to rouse the school; it ran thus:—

    “A young lady aced 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 uake 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 aplishments, would have beeolerably prehensive). “Address, J.E., Post-office, Lowton,—shire.”

    This dot remained locked in my drawer all day: after tea, I asked leave of the new superinteo go to Lowton, in order to perform some small issions 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 bed through the sweetest curves of the dale: but that day I thought more of the letters, that might ht not be awaiti 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  and quiet little street from the shoemaker’s to the post-office: it was kept by an old dame, who wore horacles on her nose, and black mittens on her hands.

    “Are there aers for J.E.?” I asked.

    She peered at me over her spectacles, and then she opened a drawer and fumbled among its tents for a long time, so long that my hopes began to falter. At last, having held a dot before her glasses for nearly five minutes, she prese across the ter, apanying the act by another inquisitive and mistrustful gla 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 faeward: 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 iable Miss Gryce was still my panion: we had only a short end of dle in our dlestick, 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 sn before I had finished undressing. There still remained an inch of dle: I now took out my letter; the seal was an initial F.; I broke it; the tents 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 petency, a situation  be offered her where there is but one pupil, a little girl, uen 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 dire:—

    “Mrs. Fairfax, Thornfield, near Millcote,—shire.”

    I examihe dot long: the writing was old-fashioned and rather uain, like that of in elderly lady. This circumstance was satisfactory: a private fear had haunted me, that in thus ag for myself, and by my own guidance, I ran the r<q></q>isk of getting into some scrape; and, above all things, I wished the result of my endeavours to be respectable, proper, en règle. 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  orderly spot, I was sure; though I failed in my efforts to ceive a correct plan of the premises. Millcote, — shire; I brushed up my recolles of the map of England, yes, I saw it; both the shire and the town. —shire was seventy miles nearer London than the remote ty where I now resided: that was a reendation to me. I loo go where there was life and movement: Millcote was a large manufacturing town on the banks of the A-; a busy plaough, doubtless: so much the better; it would be a plete ge at least. Not that my fancy was much captivated by the idea of long eys and clouds of smoke—“but,” I argued, “Thornfield will, probably, be a good way from the town.”

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

    day eps were to be taken; my plans could no longer be fio my ow; I must impart them in order to achieve their success. Having sought and obtained an audience of the superinte during the noontide recreation, I told her I had a prospect of getting a new situation bbr>9９ｌｉｂ.</abbr>where the salary would be double what I now received (for at Lowood I only got ￡15 per annum); and requested she would break the matter for me to Mr. Brocklehurst, or some of the ittee, and ascertaiher they would permit me to mention them as references. She obligingly seo act as mediatrix iter. The  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 accly addressed to that lady, who returned for ahat “I might do as I pleased: she had long relinquished all interferen my affairs.” This note went the round of the ittee, and at last, after peared to me most tedious delay, formal leave was giveo better my dition if I could; and an assurance added, that as I had always ducted myself well, both as teacher and pupil, at Lowood, a testimonial of character and capacity, signed by the iors of that institution, should forthwith be furnished me.

    This testimonial I accly 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 fht as the period for my assuming the post of governess in her house.

    I now busied myself in preparations: the fht 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 agateshead.

    The box was corded, the card nailed on. In half-an-hour the carrier was to call for it to take it to Lowton, whether I myself was to repair at an early hour the  m to meet the coach. I had brushed my black stuff travelling-dress, prepared my bo, 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 ierval; I must watch feverishly while the ge was being aplished.

    “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 assing the back-parlour or teachers’ sitting-room, the door of which was half open, to go to the kit, 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 plexion.

    “Well, who is it?” she asked, in a void with a smile I half reised; “you’ve not quite fotten me, I think, Miss Jane?”

    In another sed I was embrag and kissing her rapturously: “Bessie! Bessie! Bessie!” that was all I said; whereat she half laughed, half cried, ah went into the parlour. By the fire stood a little fellow of three years old, in plaid frod trousers.

    “That is my little boy,” said Bessie directly.

    “Then you are married, Bessie?”

    “Yes; nearly five years sio Robert Leaven, the an; 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, e 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,” tinued Mrs. Leaven. “I dare say they’ve not kept you too well at siss Reed is the head and shoulders taller than you are; and Miss Geiana would make two of you ih.”

    “Geiana 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 Geiana 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, a—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.”

    “And Mrs. Reed?”

    “Missis looks stout and well enough in the face, but I think she’s not quite easy in her mind: Mr. John’s duct does not please her—he spends a deal of money.”

    “Did she send you here, Bessie?”

    “No, indeed: but I have long wao see you, and when I heard that there had been a letter from you, and that you were going to another part of the try, I thought I’d just set of, a a look at you before you were quite out of my reach.”

    “I am afraid you are disappointed in me, Bessie.” I said this laughing: I perceived that Bessie’s glahough it expressed regard, did in no shape denote admiration.

    “No, Miss Jane, ly: yenteel enough; you look like a lady, and it is as much as ever I expected of you: you were y as a child.”

    I smiled at Bessie’s frank answer: I felt that it was correct, but I fess I was not quite indifferent to its import: at eighteen most people wish to please, and the vi that they have not aerior likely to sed that desire brings anything but gratification.

    “I dare say you are clever, though,” tinued Bessie, by way of solace. “What  you do?  you play on the piano?”

    “A little.”

    There was one in the room; Bessie went and ope, and then asked me to sit down and give her a tune: I played a waltz or two, and she was charmed.

    “The Miss Reeds could not play as well!” said she exultingly. “I always said you would surpass them in learning: and  you draw?”

    “That is one of my paintings over the ey-piece.” It was a landscape in water colours, of which I had made a present to the superinte, in aowledgment of her obligiion with the ittee on my behalf, and which she had framed and glazed.

    “Well, that is beautiful, Miss Ja is as fine a picture as any Miss Reed’s drawing-master could paint, let <var>..</var>alohe young ladies themselves, who could not e near it: and have you learnt French?”

    “Yes, Bessie, I  both read it and speak it.”

    “And you  work on muslin and vas?”

    “I .”

    “Oh, you are quite a lady, Miss Jane! I knew you would be: you will get oher your relations notice you or not. There was something I wao ask you. Have you ever heard anything from your father’s kinsfolk, the Eyres?”

    “Never in my life.”

    “Well, you know Missis always said they were poor and quite despicable: and they may be poor; but I believe they are as much gentry as the Reeds are; for one day, nearly seven years ago, a Mr. Eyre came to Gateshead and wao see you; Missis said you were it school fifty miles off; he seemed so much disappointed, for he could not stay: he was going on a voyage to a fn try, and the ship was to sail from London in a day or two. He looked quite a gentleman, and I believe he was your father’s brother.”

    “What fn try was he going to, Bessie?”

    “An island thousands of miles off, where they make wihe butler did tell me—”

    “Madeira?” I suggested.

    “Yes, that is it—that is the very word.”

    “So he went?”

    “Yes; he did not stay many minutes in the house: Missis was very high with him; she called him afterwards a ‘sneaking tradesman.’ My Robert believes he was a wine-mert.”

    “Very likely,” I returned; “or perhaps clerk ent to a wine- mert.”

    Bessie and I versed about old times an hour longer, and then she was obliged to leave me: I saw her again for a few mihe  m at Lowton, while I was waiting for the coach. We parted finally at the door of the Brocklehurst Arms there: each went her separate way; she set off for the brow of Lowood Fell to meet the veyance which was to take her back to Gateshead, I mouhe vehicle which was to bear me to new duties and a new life in the unknown environs of Millcote.

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