《Jane Eyre (1847)》Chapter VII
Advertisement
My first quarter at Lowood seemed an age; and not the golden age either; it comprised an irksome struggle with difficulties in habituating myself to new rules and unwonted tasks. The fear of failure in these points harassed me worse than the physical hardships of my lot; though these were no trifles.
During January, February, and part of March, the deep snows, and, after their melting, the almost impassable roads, prevented our stirring beyond the garden walls, except to go to church; but within these limits we had to pass an hour every day in the open air. Our clothing was insufficient to protect us from the severe cold: we had no boots, the snow got into our shoes and melted there: our ungloved hands became numbed and covered with chilblains, as were our feet: I remember well the distracting irritation I endured from this cause every evening, when my feet inflamed; and the torture of thrusting the swelled, raw, and stiff toes into my shoes in the morning. Then the scanty supply of food was distressing: with the keen appetites of growing children, we had scarcely sufficient to keep alive a delicate invalid. From this deficiency of nourishment resulted an abuse, which pressed hardly on the younger pupils: whenever the famished great girls had an opportunity, they would coax or menace the little ones out of their portion. Many a time I have shared between two claimants the precious morsel of brown bread distributed at tea-time; and after relinquishing to a third half the contents of my mug of coffee, I have swallowed the remainder with an accompaniment of secret tears, forced from me by the exigency of hunger.
Sundays were dreary days in that wintry season. We had to walk two miles to Brocklebridge Church, where our patron officiated. We set out cold, we arrived at church colder: during the morning service we became almost paralysed. It was too far to return to dinner, and an allowance of cold meat and bread, in the same penurious proportion observed in our ordinary meals, was served round between the services.
At the close of the afternoon service we returned by an exposed and hilly road, where the bitter winter wind, blowing over a range of snowy summits to the north, almost flayed the skin from our faces.
I can remember Miss Temple walking lightly and rapidly along our drooping line, her plaid cloak, which the frosty wind fluttered, gathered close about her, and encouraging us, by precept and example, to keep up our spirits, and march forward, as she said, “like stalwart soldiers.” The other teachers, poor things, were generally themselves too much dejected to attempt the task of cheering others.
How we longed for the light and heat of a blazing fire when we got back! But, to the little ones at least, this was denied: each hearth in the schoolroom was immediately surrounded by a double row of great girls, and behind them the younger children crouched in groups, wrapping their starved arms in their pinafores.
A little solace came at tea-time, in the shape of a double ration of bread—a whole, instead of a half, slice—with the delicious addition of a thin scrape of butter: it was the hebdomadal treat to which we all looked forward from Sabbath to Sabbath. I generally contrived to reserve a moiety of this bounteous repast for myself; but the remainder I was invariably obliged to part with.
The Sunday evening was spent in repeating, by heart, the Church Catechism, and the fifth, sixth, and seventh chapters of St. Matthew; and in listening to a long sermon, read by Miss Miller, whose irrepressible yawns attested her weariness. A frequent interlude of these performances was the enactment of the part of Eutychus by some half-dozen of little girls, who, overpowered with sleep, would fall down, if not out of the third loft, yet off the fourth form, and be taken up half dead. The remedy was, to thrust them forward into the centre of the schoolroom, and oblige them to stand there till the sermon was finished. Sometimes their feet failed them, and they sank together in a heap; they were then propped up with the monitors’ high stools.
Advertisement
I have not yet alluded to the visits of Mr. Brocklehurst; and indeed that gentleman was from home during the greater part of the first month after my arrival; perhaps prolonging his stay with his friend the archdeacon: his absence was a relief to me. I need not say that I had my own reasons for dreading his coming: but come he did at last.
One afternoon (I had then been three weeks at Lowood), as I was sitting with a slate in my hand, puzzling over a sum in long division, my eyes, raised in abstraction to the window, caught sight of a figure just passing: I recognised almost instinctively that gaunt outline; and when, two minutes after, all the school, teachers included, rose en masse, it was not necessary for me to look up in order to ascertain whose entrance they thus greeted. A long stride measured the schoolroom, and presently beside Miss Temple, who herself had risen, stood the same black column which had frowned on me so ominously from the hearthrug of Gateshead. I now glanced sideways at this piece of architecture. Yes, I was right: it was Mr. Brocklehurst, buttoned up in a surtout, and looking longer, narrower, and more rigid than ever.
I had my own reasons for being dismayed at this apparition; too well I remembered the perfidious hints given by Mrs. Reed about my disposition, &c.; the promise pledged by Mr. Brocklehurst to apprise Miss Temple and the teachers of my vicious nature. All along I had been dreading the fulfilment of this promise,—I had been looking out daily for the “Coming Man,” whose information respecting my past life and conversation was to brand me as a bad child for ever: now there he was.
He stood at Miss Temple’s side; he was speaking low in her ear: I did not doubt he was making disclosures of my villainy; and I watched her eye with painful anxiety, expecting every moment to see its dark orb turn on me a glance of repugnance and contempt. I listened too; and as I happened to be seated quite at the top of the room, I caught most of what he said: its import relieved me from immediate apprehension.
“I suppose, Miss Temple, the thread I bought at Lowton will do; it struck me that it would be just of the quality for the calico chemises, and I sorted the needles to match. You may tell Miss Smith that I forgot to make a memorandum of the darning needles, but she shall have some papers sent in next week; and she is not, on any account, to give out more than one at a time to each pupil: if they have more, they are apt to be careless and lose them. And, O ma’am! I wish the woollen stockings were better looked to!—when I was here last, I went into the kitchen-garden and examined the clothes drying on the line; there was a quantity of black hose in a very bad state of repair: from the size of the holes in them I was sure they had not been well mended from time to time.”
He paused.
“Your directions shall be attended to, sir,” said Miss Temple.
“And, ma’am,” he continued, “the laundress tells me some of the girls have two clean tuckers in the week: it is too much; the rules limit them to one.”
“I think I can explain that circumstance, sir. Agnes and Catherine Johnstone were invited to take tea with some friends at Lowton last Thursday, and I gave them leave to put on clean tuckers for the occasion.”
Advertisement
Mr. Brocklehurst nodded.
“Well, for once it may pass; but please not to let the circumstance occur too often. And there is another thing which surprised me; I find, in settling accounts with the housekeeper, that a lunch, consisting of bread and cheese, has twice been served out to the girls during the past fortnight. How is this? I looked over the regulations, and I find no such meal as lunch mentioned. Who introduced this innovation? and by what authority?”
“I must be responsible for the circumstance, sir,” replied Miss Temple: “the breakfast was so ill prepared that the pupils could not possibly eat it; and I dared not allow them to remain fasting till dinner-time.”
“Madam, allow me an instant. You are aware that my plan in bringing up these girls is, not to accustom them to habits of luxury and indulgence, but to render them hardy, patient, self-denying. Should any little accidental disappointment of the appetite occur, such as the spoiling of a meal, the under or the over dressing of a dish, the incident ought not to be neutralised by replacing with something more delicate the comfort lost, thus pampering the body and obviating the aim of this institution; it ought to be improved to the spiritual edification of the pupils, by encouraging them to evince fortitude under temporary privation. A brief address on those occasions would not be mistimed, wherein a judicious instructor would take the opportunity of referring to the sufferings of the primitive Christians; to the torments of martyrs; to the exhortations of our blessed Lord Himself, calling upon His disciples to take up their cross and follow Him; to His warnings that man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God; to His divine consolations, “If ye suffer hunger or thirst for My sake, happy are ye.” Oh, madam, when you put bread and cheese, instead of burnt porridge, into these children’s mouths, you may indeed feed their vile bodies, but you little think how you starve their immortal souls!”
Mr. Brocklehurst again paused—perhaps overcome by his feelings. Miss Temple had looked down when he first began to speak to her; but she now gazed straight before her, and her face, naturally pale as marble, appeared to be assuming also the coldness and fixity of that material; especially her mouth, closed as if it would have required a sculptor’s chisel to open it, and her brow settled gradually into petrified severity.
Meantime, Mr. Brocklehurst, standing on the hearth with his hands behind his back, majestically surveyed the whole school. Suddenly his eye gave a blink, as if it had met something that either dazzled or shocked its pupil; turning, he said in more rapid accents than he had hitherto used—
“Miss Temple, Miss Temple, what—what is that girl with curled hair? Red hair, ma’am, curled—curled all over?” And extending his cane he pointed to the awful object, his hand shaking as he did so.
“It is Julia Severn,” replied Miss Temple, very quietly.
“Julia Severn, ma’am! And why has she, or any other, curled hair? Why, in defiance of every precept and principle of this house, does she conform to the world so openly—here in an evangelical, charitable establishment—as to wear her hair one mass of curls?”
“Julia’s hair curls naturally,” returned Miss Temple, still more quietly.
“Naturally! Yes, but we are not to conform to nature; I wish these girls to be the children of Grace: and why that abundance? I have again and again intimated that I desire the hair to be arranged closely, modestly, plainly. Miss Temple, that girl’s hair must be cut off entirely; I will send a barber to-morrow: and I see others who have far too much of the excrescence—that tall girl, tell her to turn round. Tell all the first form to rise up and direct their faces to the wall.”
Miss Temple passed her handkerchief over her lips, as if to smooth away the involuntary smile that curled them; she gave the order, however, and when the first class could take in what was required of them, they obeyed. Leaning a little back on my bench, I could see the looks and grimaces with which they commented on this manoeuvre: it was a pity Mr. Brocklehurst could not see them too; he would perhaps have felt that, whatever he might do with the outside of the cup and platter, the inside was further beyond his interference than he imagined.
He scrutinised the reverse of these living medals some five minutes, then pronounced sentence. These words fell like the knell of doom—
“All those top-knots must be cut off.”
Miss Temple seemed to remonstrate.
“Madam,” he pursued, “I have a Master to serve whose kingdom is not of this world: my mission is to mortify in these girls the lusts of the flesh; to teach them to clothe themselves with shame-facedness and sobriety, not with braided hair and costly apparel; and each of the young persons before us has a string of hair twisted in plaits which vanity itself might have woven; these, I repeat, must be cut off; think of the time wasted, of—”
Mr. Brocklehurst was here interrupted: three other visitors, ladies, now entered the room. They ought to have come a little sooner to have heard his lecture on dress, for they were splendidly attired in velvet, silk, and furs. The two younger of the trio (fine girls of sixteen and seventeen) had grey beaver hats, then in fashion, shaded with ostrich plumes, and from under the brim of this graceful head-dress fell a profusion of light tresses, elaborately curled; the elder lady was enveloped in a costly velvet shawl, trimmed with ermine, and she wore a false front of French curls.
These ladies were deferentially received by Miss Temple, as Mrs. and the Misses Brocklehurst, and conducted to seats of honour at the top of the room. It seems they had come in the carriage with their reverend relative, and had been conducting a rummaging scrutiny of the room upstairs, while he transacted business with the housekeeper, questioned the laundress, and lectured the superintendent. They now proceeded to address divers remarks and reproofs to Miss Smith, who was charged with the care of the linen and the inspection of the dormitories: but I had no time to listen to what they said; other matters called off and enchanted my attention.
Hitherto, while gathering up the discourse of Mr. Brocklehurst and Miss Temple, I had not, at the same time, neglected precautions to secure my personal safety; which I thought would be effected, if I could only elude observation. To this end, I had sat well back on the form, and while seeming to be busy with my sum, had held my slate in such a manner as to conceal my face: I might have escaped notice, had not my treacherous slate somehow happened to slip from my hand, and falling with an obtrusive crash, directly drawn every eye upon me; I knew it was all over now, and, as I stooped to pick up the two fragments of slate, I rallied my forces for the worst. It came.
“A careless girl!” said Mr. Brocklehurst, and immediately after—“It is the new pupil, I perceive.” And before I could draw breath, “I must not forget I have a word to say respecting her.” Then aloud: how loud it seemed to me! “Let the child who broke her slate come forward!”
Of my own accord I could not have stirred; I was paralysed: but the two great girls who sit on each side of me, set me on my legs and pushed me towards the dread judge, and then Miss Temple gently assisted me to his very feet, and I caught her whispered counsel—
“Don’t be afraid, Jane, I saw it was an accident; you shall not be punished.”
The kind whisper went to my heart like a dagger.
“Another minute, and she will despise me for a hypocrite,” thought I; and an impulse of fury against Reed, Brocklehurst, and Co. bounded in my pulses at the conviction. I was no Helen Burns.
“Fetch that stool,” said Mr. Brocklehurst, pointing to a very high one from which a monitor had just risen: it was brought.
“Place the child upon it.”
And I was placed there, by whom I don’t know: I was in no condition to note particulars; I was only aware that they had hoisted me up to the height of Mr. Brocklehurst’s nose, that he was within a yard of me, and that a spread of shot orange and purple silk pelisses and a cloud of silvery plumage extended and waved below me.
Mr. Brocklehurst hemmed.
“Ladies,” said he, turning to his family, “Miss Temple, teachers, and children, you all see this girl?”
Of course they did; for I felt their eyes directed like burning-glasses against my scorched skin.
“You see she is yet young; you observe she possesses the ordinary form of childhood; God has graciously given her the shape that He has given to all of us; no signal deformity points her out as a marked character. Who would think that the Evil One had already found a servant and agent in her? Yet such, I grieve to say, is the case.”
A pause—in which I began to steady the palsy of my nerves, and to feel that the Rubicon was passed; and that the trial, no longer to be shirked, must be firmly sustained.
“My dear children,” pursued the black marble clergyman, with pathos, “this is a sad, a melancholy occasion; for it becomes my duty to warn you, that this girl, who might be one of God’s own lambs, is a little castaway: not a member of the true flock, but evidently an interloper and an alien. You must be on your guard against her; you must shun her example; if necessary, avoid her company, exclude her from your sports, and shut her out from your converse. Teachers, you must watch her: keep your eyes on her movements, weigh well her words, scrutinise her actions, punish her body to save her soul: if, indeed, such salvation be possible, for (my tongue falters while I tell it) this girl, this child, the native of a Christian land, worse than many a little heathen who says its prayers to Brahma and kneels before Juggernaut—this girl is—a liar!”
Now came a pause of ten minutes, during which I, by this time in perfect possession of my wits, observed all the female Brocklehursts produce their pocket-handkerchiefs and apply them to their optics, while the elderly lady swayed herself to and fro, and the two younger ones whispered, “How shocking!” Mr. Brocklehurst resumed.
“This I learned from her benefactress; from the pious and charitable lady who adopted her in her orphan state, reared her as her own daughter, and whose kindness, whose generosity the unhappy girl repaid by an ingratitude so bad, so dreadful, that at last her excellent patroness was obliged to separate her from her own young ones, fearful lest her vicious example should contaminate their purity: she has sent her here to be healed, even as the Jews of old sent their diseased to the troubled pool of Bethesda; and, teachers, superintendent, I beg of you not to allow the waters to stagnate round her.”
With this sublime conclusion, Mr. Brocklehurst adjusted the top button of his surtout, muttered something to his family, who rose, bowed to Miss Temple, and then all the great people sailed in state from the room. Turning at the door, my judge said—
“Let her stand half-an-hour longer on that stool, and let no one speak to her during the remainder of the day.”
Advertisement
Rigel: The Savage World
Summary Our lives depend on our dreams. We live for them; we depend on them, and when they shatter, they shatter our spirits. Love is a dream and the most important of all. When it shatters, it shatters more than just our spirit. It shatters our souls Born a slave, Rigel still dared to dream of love. Stripped of his rights, he lost his love to the fate and then he lost himself avenging her. Thrown into a hellhole, he once again meets his inner demons as he is pitted against the worst of the society. Dark emotions riddled his heart and violent thoughts plagued his mind. Follow Rigel as he conquers them all in his life's journey where he tries to regain everything he had ever lost Official Website - has Faster Releases If you have a moment, please vote for my story at Top Web Fiction . No sign up required, just press the button. Voting refreshes every week. Vote Now If you enjoyed this story then please rate it. I appreciate every vote. Just scroll down to the button of the screen, and click the stars then submit.
8 689Unexpected Reincarnation
A mage gets reincarnated after many years of floating around in limbo. Thank god, he's born in another world with magic as well. But eh? Why's the magic here so weak? Aren't I stuck here? Casting magic using wands.... What the hell kind of a low-level world is this? He has been reincarnated in the world of Harry Potter. Watch... well rather read on as our protagonist, Sol Balor, influence the world of Harry Potter with no knowledge of it. (The copyright for the world of Harry Potter and its characters belongs to J. K Rowling)
8 280Aethernea
[Best Fantasy Story Winner at Wattpad Fiction Awards 2016] ? Adventure ? Mystery ? Humor ? Romance ? Systematic, almost scientific Magic ? Strategy in Fights ? Character Development Gallery | Wikia | Official Site | Patreon | Facebook | Twitter ————————————————————————————————————- Summary ————————————————————————————————————- In a world where everyone can use magic, where treasure hunters, alchemists, and warlocks are common professions, and where mage duels are the most popular form of entertainment, Kiel is a "non-mage" - a person who doesn't have the aptitude to use magic on regular basis - until he meets Elaru - a spell breaker of mysterious origin, wielder of the fabled 'Aethernea of Sight' - eyes that can see magic, who claims she can give him the power to become the greatest mage world of Halnea has ever seen. Coerced into binding his soul to hers, Kiel finds himself pulled into a web of secrets, where one wrong step could end in his untimely demise. Who, or what is Elaru Wayvin really? What is her relation to the ruling 15 noble mage families? What is the source of The Ink - a mysterious plague spreading through the continent? What is the Aetherneal bond between them and what has it turned them into? What is the truth behind gods and divine magic? Why has the third race of Halnea - the Ascended, mysteriously disappeared, and what is the connection between the remaining two races? In the search for truth, Kiel and Elaru enroll at the most prestigious University of Magic. Yet, between awkward social events, falling in love, thrilling competitions, blood curling battles, irritating peers, and damnable love rivals, there is little time for studying. And as if avoiding sinister plots from all sides wasn't difficult enough, their new detestable mentor takes them on a voyage into the uncharted forbidden zone filled with unspeakable secrets, ancient riddles, man-eating monsters, and deadly traps. A quest that just might end up changing the fate of the entire world. ————————————————————————————————————- What do readers say about it? ————————————————————————————————————- "Aethernea is my absolute favorite read on wattpad, I love it as much as I love Harry Potter and The Mortal Instruments. You have such an amazing way to make the words flow and unbelievable descriptions. Unique characters and a great story line. All the small clues and mystery in the humor and fantasy just makes the book perfect in my opinion. I read all chapters in two days! Less than 48 hours even! I'm REALLY looking forward to the next update, the world of Aethernea is so deep and well thought out, it's beautiful and magical. God I can't believe how creative you are, so many small details with so many families and stories everywhere. Purely fantastical, I admire you." - astro-logical from Wattpad "I love love love Aethernea so much! It is amazing how you created this new world with different creatures, magics, looks, illnesses, and evil! I was blown away by your explanation of the Mana pools and how to weave magic! Simply stunning really! You are one of my favorite authors and Wattpad and I am so glad I stumbled upon Aethernea because it is worth all of my time reading!" - Adriana_V_Blade from Wattpad "I absolutely am loving Aethernea so far. I am certain you belong in the ranks among J.K. Rowling, Rick Riordan, Suzane Collinings, and many more great and wonderful authors. You opened up a whole new world for me, which only a few great authors have accomplished. While it's true I am pulled into each and every book, few are able to capture me to the point of inescapability. Though, somehow, you have managed this feat. I thank you for this and more! You are a wonderful author and can't wait for more to come!" - daughterofpercabeth7 from Wattpad "WOW! just caught Aethernea in gravity tales! Just when I was getting tired of most xianxia novels this appears and completely blows my mind! I really like the depth and the humorous touch you give the characters and it seems you have the storyline well thought out since you are always hinting about things in the past and the future. It has been such an enjoyable experience that I couldn't stop reading, finishing it in just one day and laughing my way through most of the episodes. But what keeps me so excited for what's coming is the magic system and the professions of the world you are creating.The magic mechanics have such a huge potential! They are simple but at the same time they open so many possibilities. Even though we still only understand the basics of transmutation and augmentation, I expect them to enable fights where there is need of quick thinking and skill, and not just brainless overpower of every opponent. In a way this makes me reminiscent about The Mistborn Series by Brandon Sanderson, which are one of my favorite series ever. The thing that sets Mistborn apart from any other series is that the mechanics are so well thought out that they could be used to create a super cool triple A video game and I cannot help but hope Aethernea reaches the same level or even surpass it. I really think it has that potential. Really hope this series gets the attention it deserves. As for me, Thursdays and Sundays just got a whole more exciting! =)" - AlexMLion "Your writing is fantastic and riveting, the chapters and character flow so smooth, and it captivates the reader with the many twist and turns that tricks one mind into thinking this is about to happen, when suddenly the exact opposite happens. You truly are in inspirational writer with a brilliant mind that can see and put words into chapters and into this one truly awesome book. Thank you!" - AshleyStaar from Wattpad "I loved this story, such detailed description and accurate words, both Kiel and Elaru completely caught my attention, your writing style is just beautiful and the plot is astounding and it's just the first episode! This kind of fantasy stories are my favourite, it has a lot of magic in it, rivalry and sense of humour." - BlackWhiteD from Wattpad
8 73Lemur Goes to Forash
[participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge] Rakkel arrives in Forash City with nothing but the contents of xir messenger bag and a desire to see the legendary Forash Marketplace. The only catch is that xir body was long ago converted to that of an anthropomorphic lemur. This sort of thing is commonplace where xe comes from. In Forash, not so much. Will the people of Forash accept xir among them? Will anyone even buy the trinkets xe brought along to sell? And in a city full of stock humans, what sort of attention might xe attract from the handful of fellow body-modders who already live there?
8 82Kantai Collection: Two Front War
Just when the Imperial Navy thought they had their hands full with the Abyssals a new force goes up against them, and they are rightfully pissed off! With yet another world war as a possibility how much more can the Imperial Navy take when both the Abyssals AND the Kriegsmarine want their heads?!
8 178Zodiac Signs (Anime Version)
All in the title
8 149