'They go to hell,' was my ready and orthodox answer.
'And what is hell? Can you tell me that?'
'A pit full of fire.'
'And should you like to fall into that pit, and to be burning therefor ever?'
'No, sir.'
'What must you do to avoid it?'
I deliberated a moment; my answer, when it did come, wasobjectionable: 'I must keep in good health, and not die.'
'How can you keep in good health? Children younger than you diedaily. I buried a little child of five years old only a day or twosince,- a good little child, whose soul is now in heaven. It is tobe feared the same could not be said of you were you to be calledhence.'
Not being in a condition to remove his doubt, I only cast my eyesdown on the two large feet planted on the rug, and sighed, wishingmyself far enough away.
'I hope that sigh is from the heart, and that you repent of everhaving been the occasion of discomfort to your excellentbenefactress.'
'Benefactress! benefactress!' said I inwardly: 'they all callMrs. Reed my benefactress; if so, a benefactress is a disagreeablething.'
'Do you say your prayers night and morning?' continued myinterrogator.
'Yes, sir.'
'Do you read your Bible?'
'Sometimes.'
'With pleasure? Are you fond of it?'
'I like Revelations, and the book of Daniel, and Genesis andSamuel, and a little bit of Exodus, and some parts of Kings andChronicles, and Job and Jonah.'
'And the Psalms? I hope you like them?'
'No, sir.'
'No? oh, shocking! I have a little boy, younger than you, who knowssix Psalms by heart: and when you ask him which he would ratherhave, a gingerbread-nut to eat or a verse of a Psalm to learn, hesays: "Oh! the verse of a Psalm! angels sing Psalms;" says he, "I wishto be a little angel here below;" he then gets two nuts inrecompense for his infant piety.'
'Psalms are not interesting,' I remarked.
'That proves you have a wicked heart; and you must pray to God tochange it: to give you a new and clean one: to take away your heart ofstone and give you a heart of flesh.'
I was about to propound a question, touching the manner in whichthat operation of changing my heart was to be performed, when Mrs.Reed interposed, telling me to sit down; she then proceeded to carryon the conversation herself.
'Mr. Brocklehurst, I believe I intimated in the letter which Iwrote to you three weeks ago, that this little girl has not quitethe character and disposition I could wish: should you admit herinto Lowood school, I should be glad if the superintendent andteachers were requested to keep a strict eye on her, and, above all,to guard against her worst fault, a tendency to deceit. I mention thisin your hearing, Jane, that you may not attempt to impose on Mr.Brocklehurst.'
Well might I dread, well might I dislike Mrs. Reed; for it washer nature to wound me cruelly; never was I happy in her presence;however carefully I obeyed, however strenuously I strove to pleaseher, my efforts were still repulsed and repaid by such sentences asthe above. Now, uttered before a stranger, the accusation cut me tothe heart; I dimly perceived that she was already obliterating hopefrom the new phase of existence which she destined me to enter; Ifelt, though I could not have expressed the feeling, that she wassowing aversion and unkindness along my future path; I saw myselftransformed under Mr. Brocklehurst's eye into an artful, noxiouschild, and what could I do to remedy the injury?
'Nothing, indeed,' thought I, as I struggled to repress a sob,and hastily wiped away some tears, the impotent evidences of myanguish.
'Deceit is, indeed, a sad fault in a child,' said Mr. Brocklehurst;'it is akin to falsehood, and all liars will have their portion in thelake burning with fire and brimstone; she shall, however, bewatched, Mrs. Reed. I will speak to Miss Temple and the teachers.'
'I should wish her to be brought up in a manner suiting herprospects,' continued my benefactress; 'to be made useful, to bekept humble: as for the vacations, she will, with your permission,spend them always at Lowood.'
'Your decisions are perfectly judicious, madam,' returned Mr.Brocklehurst. 'Humility is a Christian grace, and one peculiarlyappropriate to the pupils of Lowood; I, therefore, direct thatespecial care shall be bestowed on its cultivation amongst them. Ihave studied how best to mortify in them the worldly sentiment ofpride; and, only the other day, I had a pleasing proof of mysuccess. My second daughter, Augusta, went with her mama to visitthe school, and on her return she exclaimed: "Oh, dear papa, how quietand plain all the girls at Lowood look, with their hair combedbehind their ears, and their long pinafores, and those littleholland pockets outside their frocks- they are almost like poorpeople's children! and," said she, "they looked at my dress andmama's, as if they had never seen a silk gown before."'
'This is the state of things I quite approve,' returned Mrs.Reed; 'had I sought all England over, I could scarcely have found asystem more exactly fitting a child like Jane Eyre. Consistency, mydear Mr. Brocklehurst; I advocate consistency in all things.'
'Consistency, madam, is the first of Christian duties; and it hasbeen observed in every arrangement connected with the establishment ofLowood: plain fare, simple attire, unsophisticated accommodations,hardy and active habits; such is the order of the day in the house andits inhabitants.'
'Quite right, sir. I may then depend upon this child being receivedas a pupil at Lowood, and there being trained in conformity to herposition and prospects?'
'Madam, you may: she shall be placed in that nursery of chosenplants, and I trust she will show herself grateful for the inestimableprivilege of her election.'
'I will send her, then, as soon as possible, Mr. Brocklehurst; for,I assure you, I feel anxious to be relieved of a responsibility thatwas becoming too irksome.'
'No doubt, no doubt, madam; and now I wish you good morning. Ishall return to Brocklehurst Hall in the course of a week or two: mygood friend, the Archdeacon, will not permit me to leave him sooner. Ishall send Miss Temple notice that she is to expect a new girl, sothat there will be no difficulty about receiving her. Good-bye.'
'Good-bye, Mr. Brocklehurst; remember me to Mrs. and MissBrocklehurst, and to Augusta and Theodore, and Master BroughtonBrocklehurst.'
'I will, madam. Little girl, here is a book entitled the Child'sGuide; read it with prayer, especially that part containing "Anaddicted to falsehood and deceit."'
With these words Mr. Brocklehurst put into my hand a thinpamphlet sewn in a cover, and having rung for his carriage, hedeparted.
Mrs. Reed and I were left alone: some minutes passed in silence;she was sewing, I was watching her. Mrs. Reed might be at that timesome six or seven and thirty; she was a woman of robust frame,square-shouldered and strong-limbed, not tall, and, though stout,not obese: she had a somewhat large face, the under jaw being muchdeveloped and very solid; her brow was low, her chin large andprominent, mouth and nose sufficiently regular; under her lighteyebrows glimmered an eye devoid of ruth; her skin was dark andopaque, her hair nearly flaxen; her constitution was sound as abell- illness never came near her; she was an exact, clever manager;her household and tenantry were thoroughly under her control; herchildren only at times defied her authority and laughed it to scorn;she dressed well, and had a presence and port calculated to set offhandsome attire.
Sitting on a low stool, a few yards from her arm-chair, Iexamined her figure; I perused her features. In my hand I held thetract containing the sudden death of the Liar, to which narrative myattention had been pointed as to an appropriate warning. What had justpassed; what Mrs. Reed had said concerning me to Mr. Brocklehurst; thewhole tenor of their conversation, was recent, raw, and stinging in mymind; I had felt every word as acutely as I had heard it plainly,and a passion of resentment fomented now within me.
Mrs. Reed looked up from her work; her eye settled on mine, herfingers at the same time suspended their nimble movements.
'Go out of the room; return to the nursery,' was her mandate. Mylook or something else must have struck her as offensive, for shespoke with extreme though suppressed irritation. I got up, I went tothe door; I came back again; I walked to the window, across theroom, then close up to her.
Speak I must: I had been trodden on severely, and must turn: buthow? What strength had I to dart retaliation at my antagonist? Igathered my energies and launched them in this blunt sentence-
'I am not deceitful: if I were, I should say I loved you; but Ideclare I do not love you: I dislike you the worst of anybody in theworld except John Reed; and this book about the liar, you may giveto your girl, Georgiana, for it is she who tells lies, and not I.'
Mrs. Reed's hands still lay on her work inactive: her eye of icecontinued to dwell freezingly on mine.
'What more have you to say?' she asked, rather in the tone in whicha person might address an opponent of adult age than such as isordinarily used to a child.
That eye of hers, that voice stirred every antipathy I had. Shakingfrom head to foot, thrilled with ungovernable excitement, I continued-
'I am glad you are no relation of mine: I will never call youaunt again so long as I live. I will never come to see you when I amgrown up; and if any one asks me how I liked you, and how youtreated me, I will say the very thought of you makes me sick, and thatyou treated me with miserable cruelty.'
'How dare you affirm that, Jane Eyre?'
'How dare I, Mrs. Reed? How dare I? Because it is the truth. Youthink I have no feelings, and that I can do without one bit of love orkindness; but I cannot live so: and you have no pity. I shall rememberhow you thrust me back- roughly and violently thrust me back- into thered-room, and locked me up there, to my dying day; though I was inagony; though I cried out, while suffocating with distress, "Havemercy! Have mercy, Aunt Reed!" And that punishment you made mesuffer because your wicked boy struck me- knocked me down for nothing.I will tell anybody who asks me questions, this exact tale. Peoplethink you a good woman, but you are bad, hard-hearted. You aredeceitful!'
Ere I had finished this reply, my soul began to expand, to exult,with the strangest sense of freedom, of triumph, I ever felt. Itseemed as if an invisible bond had burst, and that I had struggled outinto unhoped-for liberty. Not without cause was this sentiment: Mrs.Reed looked frightened; her work had slipped from her knee; she waslifting up her hands, rocking herself to and fro, and even twistingher face as if she would cry.
'Jane, you are under a mistake: what is the matter with you? Why doyou tremble so violently? Would you like to drink some water?'
'No, Mrs. Reed.'
'Is there anything else you wish for, Jane? I assure you, Idesire to be your friend.'
'Not you. You told Mr. Brocklehurst I had a bad character, adeceitful disposition; and I'll let everybody at Lowood know whatyou are, and what you have done.'
'Jane, you don't understand these things: children must becorrected for their faults.'
'Deceit is not my fault!' I cried out in a savage, high voice.
'But you are passionate, Jane, that you must allow: and nowreturn to the nursery- there's a dear- and lie down a little.'
'I am not your dear; I cannot lie down: send me to school soon,Mrs. Reed, for I hate to live here.'
'I will indeed send her to school soon,' murmured Mrs. Reed sottovoce; and gathering up her work, she abruptly quitted the apartment.
I was left there alone- winner of the field. It was the hardestbattle I had fought, and the first victory I had gained: I stoodawhile on the rug, where Mr. Brocklehurst had stood, and I enjoyedmy conqueror's solitude. First, I smiled to myself and felt elate; butthis fierce pleasure subsided in me as fast as did the acceleratedthrob of my pulses. A child cannot quarrel with its elders, as I haddone; cannot give its furious feelings uncontrolled play, as I hadgiven mine, without experiencing afterwards the pang of remorse andthe chill of reaction. A ridge of lighted heath, alive, glancing,devouring, would have been a meet emblem of my mind when I accused andmenaced Mrs. Reed: the same ridge, black and blasted after theflames are dead, would have represented as meetly my subsequentcondition, when half an hour's silence and reflection had shown me themadness of my conduct, and the dreariness of my hated and hatingposition.
Something of vengeance I had tasted for the first time; as aromaticwine it seemed, on swallowing, warm and racy: its after-flavour,metallic and corroding, gave me a sensation as if I had been poisoned.Willingly would I now have gone and asked Mrs. Reed's pardon; but Iknew, partly from experience and partly from instinct, that was theway to make her repulse me with double scorn, thereby re-excitingevery turbulent impulse of my nature.
I would fain exercise some better faculty than that of fiercespeaking; fain find nourishment for some less fiendish feeling thanthat of sombre indignation. I took a book- some Arabian tales; I satdown and endeavoured to read. I could make no sense of the subject; myown thoughts swam always between me and the page I had usually foundfascinating. I opened the glass-door in the breakfast-room: theshrubbery was quite still: the black frost reigned, unbroken by sun orbreeze, through the grounds. I covered my head and arms with the skirtof my frock, and went out to walk in a part of the plantation whichwas quite sequestered; but I found no pleasure in the silent trees,the falling fir-cones, the congealed relics of autumn, russetleaves, swept by past winds in heaps, and now stiffened together. Ileaned against a gate, and looked into an empty field where no sheepwere feeding, where the short grass was nipped and blanched. It wasa very grey day; a most opaque sky, 'onding on snaw,' canopied all;thence flakes fell at intervals, which settled on the hard path and onthe hoary lea without melting. I stood, a wretched child enough,whispering to myself over and over again, 'What shall I do?- whatshall I do?'
All at once I heard a clear voice call, 'Miss Jane! where areyou? Come to lunch!'
