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,
etc.). 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 in front of
the house, the door-bell rang loudly, the new-comer was admitted.
All this being nothing to me, my vacant attention soon found
livelier attraction in the spectacle of a little hungry robin, which
came and chirruped on the twigs of the leafless cherry-tree nailed
against the wall near the casement. The remains of my breakfast of
bread and milk stood on the table, and having crumbled a morsel of
roll, I was tugging at the sash to put out the crumbs on the
window-sill, when Bessie came running upstairs into the nursery.
'Miss Jane, take off your pinafore; what are you doing there?
Have you washed your hands and face this morning?' I gave another
tug before I answered, for I wanted the bird to be secure of its
bread: the sash yielded; I scattered the crumbs, some on the stone
sill, some on the cherry-tree bough, then, closing the window, I
replied-
'No, Bessie; I have only just finished dusting.'
'Troublesome, careless child! and what are you doing now? You
look quite red, as if you have been about some mischief: what were you
opening the window for?'
I was spared the trouble of answering, for Bessie seemed in too
great a hurry to listen to explanations; she hauled me to the
washstand, inflicted a merciless, but happily brief scrub on my face
and hands with soap, water, and a coarse towel; disciplined my head
with a bristly brush, denuded me of my pinafore, and then hurrying
me to the top of the stairs, bid me go down directly, as I was
wanted in the breakfast-room.
I would have asked who wanted me: I would have demanded if Mrs.
Reed was there; but Bessie was already gone, and had closed the
nursery-door upon me. I slowly descended. For nearly three months, I
had never been called to Mrs. Reed's presence; restricted so long to
the nursery, the breakfast, dining, and drawing-rooms were become
for me awful regions, on which it dismayed me to intrude.
I now stood in the empty hall; before me was the breakfast-room
door, and I stopped, intimidated and trembling. What a miserable
little poltroon had fear, engendered of unjust punishment, made of
me in those days! I feared to return to the nursery, and feared to
go forward to the parlour; ten minutes I stood in agitated hesitation;
the vehement ringing of the breakfast-room bell decided me; I must
enter.
'Who could want me?' I asked inwardly, as with both hands I
turned the stiff door-handle, which, for a second or two, resisted
my efforts. 'What should I see besides Aunt Reed in the apartment?-
a man or a woman?' The handle turned, the door unclosed, and passing
through and curtseying low, I looked up at- a black pillar!- such,
at least, appeared to me, at first sight, the straight, narrow,
sable-clad shape standing erect on the rug: the grim face at the top
was like a carved mask, placed above the shaft by way of capital.
Mrs. Reed occupied her usual seat by the fireside; she made a
signal to me to approach; I did so, and she introduced me to the stony
stranger with the words: 'This is the little girl respecting whom I
applied to you.'
He, for it was a man, turned his head slowly towards where I stood,
and having examined me with the two inquisitive-looking grey eyes
which twinkled under a pair of bushy brows, said solemnly, and in a
bass voice, 'Her size is small: what is her age?'
'Ten years.'
'So much?' was the doubtful answer; and he prolonged his scrutiny
for some minutes. Presently he addressed me-
'Your name, little girl?'
'Jane Eyre, sir.'
In uttering these words I looked up: he seemed to me a tall
gentleman; but then I was very little; his features were large, and
they and all the lines of his frame were equally harsh and prim.
'Well, Jane Eyre, and are you a good child?'
Impossible to reply to this in the affirmative: my little world
held a contrary opinion: I was silent. Mrs. Reed answered for me by an
expressive shake of the head, adding soon, 'Perhaps the less said on
that subject the better, Mr. Brocklehurst.'
'Sorry indeed to hear it! she and I must have some talk;' and
bending from the perpendicular, he installed his person in the
arm-chair opposite Mrs. Reed's. 'Come here,' he said.
I stepped across the rug; he placed me square and straight before
him. What a face he had, now that it was almost on a level with
mine! what a great nose! and what a mouth! and what large prominent
teeth!
'No sight so sad as that of a naughty child,' he began, 'especially
a naughty little girl. Do you know where the wicked go after death?'
'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 there
for ever?'
'No, sir.'
'What must you do to avoid it?'
I deliberated a moment; my answer, when it did come, was
objectionable: 'I must keep in good health, and not die.'
'How can you keep in good health? Children younger than you die
daily. I buried a little child of five years old only a day or two
since,- a good little child, whose soul is now in heaven. It is to
be feared the same could not be said of you were you to be called
hence.'
Not being in a condition to remove his doubt, I only cast my eyes
down on the two large feet planted on the rug, and sighed, wishing
myself far enough away.
'I hope that sigh is from the heart, and that you repent of ever
having been the occasion of discomfort to your excellent
benefactress.'
'Benefactress! benefactress!' said I inwardly: 'they all call
Mrs. Reed my benefactress; if so, a benefactress is a disagreeable
thing.'
'Do you say your prayers night and morning?' continued my
interrogator.
'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 and
Samuel, and a little bit of Exodus, and some parts of Kings and
Chronicles, 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 knows
six Psalms by heart: and when you ask him which he would rather
have, a gingerbread-nut to eat or a verse of a Psalm to learn, he
says: "Oh! the verse of a Psalm! angels sing Psalms;" says he, "I wish
to be a little angel here below;" he then gets two nuts in
recompense for his infant piety.'
'Psalms are not interesting,' I remarked.
'That proves you have a wicked heart; and you must pray to God to
change it: to give you a new and clean one: to take away your heart of
stone and give you a heart of flesh.'
I was about to propound a question, touching the manner in which
that operation of changing my heart was to be performed, when Mrs.
Reed interposed, telling me to sit down; she then proceeded to carry
on the conversation herself.
'Mr. Brocklehurst, I believe I intimated in the letter which I
wrote to you three weeks ago, that this little girl has not quite
the character and disposition I could wish: should you admit her
into Lowood school, I should be glad if the superintendent and
teachers were requested to keep a strict eye on her, and, above all,
to guard against her worst fault, a tendency to deceit. I mention this
in 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 was
her nature to wound me cruelly; never was I happy in her presence;
however carefully I obeyed, however strenuously I strove to please
her, my efforts were still repulsed and repaid by such sentences as
the above. Now, uttered before a stranger, the accusation cut me to
the heart; I dimly perceived that she was already obliterating hope
from the new phase of existence which she destined me to enter; I
felt, though I could not have expressed the feeling, that she was
sowing aversion and unkindness along my future path; I saw myself
transformed under Mr. Brocklehurst's eye into an artful, noxious
child, 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 my
anguish.
'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 the
lake burning with fire and brimstone; she shall, however, be
watched, Mrs. Reed. I will speak to Miss Temple and the teachers.'
'I should wish her to be brought up in a manner suiting her
prospects,' continued my benefactress; 'to be made useful, to be
kept 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 peculiarly
appropriate to the pupils of Lowood; I, therefore, direct that
especial care shall be bestowed on its cultivation amongst them. I
have studied how best to mortify in them the worldly sentiment of
pride; and, only the other day, I had a pleasing proof of my
success. My second daughter, Augusta, went with her mama to visit
the school, and on her return she exclaimed: "Oh, dear papa, how quiet
and plain all the girls at Lowood look, with their hair combed
behind their ears, and their long pinafores, and those little
holland pockets outside their frocks- they are almost like poor
people's children! and," said she, "they looked at my dress and
mama'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 a
system more exactly fitting a child like Jane Eyre. Consistency, my
dear Mr. Brocklehurst; I advocate consistency in all things.'
'Consistency, madam, is the first of Christian duties; and it has
been observed in every arrangement connected with the establishment of
Lowood: plain fare, simple attire, unsophisticated accommodations,
hardy and active habits; such is the order of the day in the house and
its inhabitants.'
'Quite right, sir. I may then depend upon this child being received
as a pupil at Lowood, and there being trained in conformity to her
position and prospects?'
'Madam, you may: she shall be placed in that nursery of chosen
plants, and I trust she will show herself grateful for the inestimable
privilege 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 that
was becoming too irksome.'
'No doubt, no doubt, madam; and now I wish you good morning. I
shall return to Brocklehurst Hall in the course of a week or two: my
good friend, the Archdeacon, will not permit me to leave him sooner. I
shall send Miss Temple notice that she is to expect a new girl, so
that there will be no difficulty about receiving her. Good-bye.'
'Good-bye, Mr. Brocklehurst; remember me to Mrs. and Miss
Brocklehurst, and to Augusta and Theodore, and Master Broughton
Brocklehurst.'
'I will, madam. Little girl, here is a book entitled the Child's
Guide; read it with prayer, especially that part containing "An
addicted to falsehood and deceit."'
With these words Mr. Brocklehurst put into my hand a thin
pamphlet sewn in a cover, and having rung for his carriage, he
departed.
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 time
some 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 much
developed and very solid; her brow was low, her chin large and
prominent, mouth and nose sufficiently regular; under her light
eyebrows glimmered an eye devoid of ruth; her skin was dark and
opaque, her hair nearly flaxen; her constitution was sound as a
