Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte Deluxe Edition Chapter 5.

Five o'clock had hardly struck on the morning of the 19th of
January, when Bessie brought a candle into my closet and found me
already up and nearly dressed. I had risen half an hour before
her entrance, and had washed my face, and put on my clothes by the
light of a half moon just setting, whose rays streamed through the
narrow window near my crib. I was to leave Gateshead that day by
a coach which passed the lodge gates at six a.m. Bessie was the
only person yet risen; she had lit a fire in the nursery, where
she now proceeded to make my breakfast. Few children can eat when
excited with the thoughts of a journey; nor could I. Bessie, having
pressed me in vain to take a few spoonfuls of the boiled milk and
bread she had prepared for me, wrapped up some biscuits in a paper
and put them into my bag; then she helped me on with my pelisse
and bonnet, and wrapping herself in a shawl, she and I left the
nursery. As we passed Mrs. Reed's bedroom, she said, "Will you go
in and bid Missis good bye?"


"No, Bessie: she came to my crib last night when you were gone
down to supper, and said I need not disturb her in the morning, or
my cousins either; and she told me to remember that she had always
been my best friend, and to speak of her and be grateful to her
accordingly." "What did you say, Miss?" "Nothing: I covered my face
with the bedclothes, and turned from her to the wall."


"That was wrong, Miss Jane." "It was quite right, Bessie. Your Missis
has not been my friend: she has been my foe." "O Miss Jane! don't say so!"
"Good bye to Gateshead!" cried I, as we passed through the hall
and went out at the front door.


The moon was set, and it was very dark; Bessie carried a lantern,
whose light glanced on wet steps and gravel road sodden by a recent
thaw. Raw and chill was the winter morning: my teeth chattered
as I hastened down the drive. There was a light in the porter's lodge:
when we reached it, we found the porter's wife just kindling her fire:
my trunk, which had been carried down the evening before, stood
corded at the door. It wanted but a few minutes of six, and shortly
after that hour had struck, the distant roll of wheels announced the
coming coach; I went to the door and watched its lamps approach
rapidly through the gloom. "Is she going by herself?" asked the
porter's wife. "Yes." "And how far is it?" "Fifty miles." "What a
long way! I wonder Mrs. Reed is not afraid to trust her so far alone."



The coach drew up; there it was at the gates with its four horses
and its top laden with passengers: the guard and coachman loudly
urged haste; my trunk was hoisted up; I was taken from Bessie's
neck, to which I clung with kisses. "Be sure and take good care
of her," cried she to the guard, as he lifted me into the inside.


"Ay, ay!" was the answer: the door was slapped to, a voice exclaimed
"All right," and on we drove. Thus was I severed from Bessie and
Gateshead; thus whirled away to unknown, and, as I then deemed,
remote and mysterious regions.


I remember but little of the journey; I only know that the day
seemed to me of a preternatural length, and that we appeared to
travel over hundreds of miles of road. We passed through several
towns, and in one, a very large one, the coach stopped; the horses
were taken out, and the passengers alighted to dine. I was carried
into an inn, where the guard wanted me to have some dinner; but, as
I had no appetite, he left me in an immense room with a fireplace
at each end, a chandelier pendent from the ceiling, and a little red
gallery high up against the wall filled with musical instruments.

Here I walked about for a long time, feeling very strange, and
mortally apprehensive of some one coming in and kidnapping me; for
I believed in kidnappers, their exploits having frequently figured in
Bessie's fireside chronicles. At last the guard returned; once more I
was stowed away in the coach, my protector mounted his own seat,
sounded his hollow horn, and away we rattled over the "stony
street" of Lamesly.

The afternoon came on wet and somewhat misty: as it waned into
dusk, I began to feel that we were getting very far indeed from
Gateshead: we ceased to pass through towns; the country changed;
great grey hills heaved up round the horizon: as twilight deepened,
we descended a valley, dark with wood, and long after night had
overclouded the prospect, I heard a wild wind rushing amongst trees.


Lulled by the sound, I at last dropped asleep; I had not long slumbered
when the sudden cessation of motion awoke me; the coach door was
open, and a person like a servant was standing at it: I saw her
face and dress by the light of the lamps. "Is there a little girl called
Jane Eyre here?" she asked. I answered, "Yes," and was then lifted out;
my trunk was handed down, and the coach instantly drove away.


I was stiff with long sitting, and bewildered with the noise and
motion of the coach: Gathering my faculties, I looked about me.
Rain, wind, and darkness filled the air; nevertheless, I dimly
discerned a wall before me and a door open in it; through this door
I passed with my new guide: she shut and locked it behind her.
There was now visible a house or houses for the building spread
far with many windows, and lights burning in some; we went up
a broad pebbly path, splashing wet, and were admitted at a door;
then the servant led me through a passage into a room with a fire,
where she left me alone.


I stood and warmed my numbed fingers over the blaze, then I looked
round; there was no candle, but the uncertain light from the hearth
showed, by intervals, papered walls, carpet, curtains, shining
mahogany furniture: it was a parlour, not so spacious or splendid
as the drawing room at Gateshead, but comfortable enough. I was
puzzling to make out the subject of a picture on the wall, when the
door opened, and an individual carrying a light entered; another
followed close behind.

The first was a tall lady with dark hair, dark eyes, and a pale
and large forehead; her figure was partly enveloped in a shawl,
her countenance was grave, her bearing erect. "The child is
very young to be sent alone," said she, putting her candle down
on the table. She considered me attentively for a minute or two,
then further added "She had better be put to bed soon; she looks
tired: are you tired?" she asked, placing her hand on my shoulder.
"A little, ma'am." "And hungry too, no doubt: let her have some
supper before she goes to bed, Miss Miller. Is this the first time
you have left your parents to come to school, my little girl?"



I explained to her that I had no parents. She inquired how long
they had been dead: then how old I was, what was my name, whether
I could read, write, and sew a little: then she touched my cheek
gently with her forefinger, and saying, "She hoped I should be a
good child," dismissed me along with Miss Miller.

The lady I had left might be about twenty nine; the one who went
with me appeared some years younger: the first impressed me by her voice,
look, and air. Miss Miller was more ordinary; ruddy in complexion,
though of a careworn countenance; hurried in gait and action,
like one who had always a multiplicity of tasks on hand: she looked,
indeed, what I afterwards found she really was, an under teacher.

Led by her, I passed from compartment to compartment,
from passage to passage, of a large and irregular building; till,
emerging from the total and somewhat dreary silence pervading that
portion of the house we had traversed, we came upon the hum of many
voices, and presently entered a wide, long room, with great deal
tables, two at each end, on each of which burnt a pair of candles,
and seated all round on benches, a congregation of girls of every
age, from nine or ten to twenty.

Seen by the dim light of the dips, their number to me appeared
countless, though not in reality exceeding eighty; they were
uniformly dressed in brown stuff frocks of quaint fashion, and long
holland pinafores. It was the hour of study; they were engaged
in conning over their to morrow's task, and the hum I had
heard was the combined result of their whispered repetitions.



Miss Miller signed to me to sit on a bench near the door,
then walking up to the top of the long room she cried out
"Monitors, collect the lesson books and put them away! Four tall
girls arose from different tables, and going round, gathered the books
and removed them. Miss Miller again gave the word of command
"Monitors, fetch the supper trays!"


The tall girls went out and returned presently, each bearing a tray,
with portions of something, I knew not what, arranged thereon, and
a pitcher of water and mug in the middle of each tray. The portions
were handed round; those who liked took a draught of the water,
the mug being common to all. When it came to my turn, I drank, for
I was thirsty, but did not touch the food, excitement and fatigue
rendering me incapable of eating: I now saw, however, that it was
a thin oaten cake shaved into fragments.


The meal over, prayers were read by Miss Miller, and the classes
filed off, two and two, upstairs. Overpowered by this time with
weariness, I scarcely noticed what sort of a place the bedroom was,
except that, like the schoolroom, I saw it was very long. Tonight
I was to be Miss Miller's bed fellow; she helped me to undress: when
laid down I glanced at the long rows of beds, each of which was
quickly filled with two occupants; in ten minutes the single light was
extinguished, and amidst silence and complete darkness I fell asleep.



The night passed rapidly. I was too tired even to dream; I only
once awoke to hear the wind rave in furious gusts, and the rain
fall in torrents, and to be sensible that Miss Miller had taken
her place by my side. When I again unclosed my eyes, a loud bell
was ringing; the girls were up and dressing; day had not yet begun
to dawn, and a rushlight or two burned in the room. I too rose
reluctantly; it was bitter cold, and I dressed as well as I could
for shivering, and washed when there was a basin at liberty, which
did not occur soon, as there was but one basin to six girls, on
the stands down the middle of the room.

Again the bell rang: all formed in file, two and two, and in that order
descended the stairs and entered the cold and dimly lit schoolroom:
here prayers were read by Miss Miller; afterwards she called out.
"Form classes!" A great tumult succeeded for some minutes, during
which Miss Miller repeatedly exclaimed, "Silence!" and "Order!"
When it subsided, I saw them all drawn up in four semicircles, before
four chairs, placed at the four tables; all held books in their hands, and a
great book, like a bible, lay on each table, before the vacant seat. A pause
of some seconds succeeded, filled up by the low, vague hum of numbers;
Miss Miller walked from class to class, hushing this indefinite sound.



A distant bell tinkled: immediately three ladies entered the room,
each walked to a table and took her seat. Miss Miller assumed the
fourth vacant chair, which was that nearest the door, and around
which the smallest of the children were assembled: to this inferior
class I was called, and placed at the bottom of it.


Business now began, the day's Collect was repeated, then certain
texts of Scripture were said, and to these succeeded a protracted
reading of chapters in the bible, which lasted an hour. By the time
that exercise was terminated, day had fully dawned. The indefatigable
bell now sounded for the fourth time: the classes were marshalled
and marched into another room to breakfast: how glad I was to
behold a prospect of getting something to eat! I was now nearly
sick from inanition, having taken so little the day before.



The refectory was a great, low ceiled, gloomy room; on two long tables
smoked basins of something hot, which, however, to my dismay, sent
forth an odour far from inviting. I saw a universal manifestation of
discontent when the fumes of the repast met the nostrils of those
destined to swallow it; from the van of the procession, the tall girls
of the first class, rose the whispered words "Disgusting! The porridge
is burnt again!" "Silence!" ejaculated a voice; not that of Miss Miller,
but one of the upper teachers, a little and dark personage, smartly
dressed, but of somewhat morose aspect, who installed herself at the
top of one table, while a more buxom lady presided at the other.

I looked in vain for her I had first seen the night before; she was
not visible: Miss Miller occupied the foot of the table where I sat,
and a strange, foreign looking, elderly lady, the French teacher,
as I afterwards found, took the corresponding seat at the other
board. A long grace was said and a hymn sung; then a servant
brought in some tea for the teachers, and the meal began.


Ravenous, and now very faint, I devoured a spoonful or two of my
portion without thinking of its taste; but the first edge of hunger
blunted, I perceived I had got in hand a nauseous mess; burnt
porridge is almost as bad as rotten potatoes; famine itself soon
sickens over it. The spoons were moved slowly: I saw each girl
taste her food and try to swallow it; but in most cases the effort
was soon relinquished. Breakfast was over, and none had breakfasted.
Thanks being returned for what we had not got, and a second hymn
chanted, the refectory was evacuated for the schoolroom. I was one
of the last to go out, and in passing the tables, I saw one teacher
take a basin of the porridge and taste it; she looked at the others;
all their countenances expressed displeasure, and one of them,
the stout one, whispered "Abominable stuff! How shameful!"


A quarter of an hour passed before lessons again began, during which
the schoolroom was in a glorious tumult; for that space of time it
seemed to be permitted to talk loud and more freely, and they used
their privilege. The whole conversation ran on the breakfast, which
one and all abused roundly. Poor things! it was the sole consolation
they had. Miss Miller was now the only teacher in the room: a group
of great girls standing about her spoke with serious and sullen gestures.
I heard the name of Mr. Brocklehurst pronounced by some lips; at
which Miss Miller shook her head disapprovingly; but she made no
great effort to cheek the general wrath; doubtless she shared in it.



A clock in the schoolroom struck nine; Miss Miller left her circle, and
standing in the middle of the room, cried "Silence! To your seats!"
Discipline prevailed: in five minutes the confused throng was resolved into
order, and comparative silence quelled the Babel clamour of tongues. The upper
teachers now punctually resumed their posts: but still, all seemed to wait.

Ranged on benches down the sides of the room, the eighty girls sat
motionless and erect; a quaint assemblage they appeared, all with
plain locks combed from their faces, not a curl visible; in brown
dresses, made high and surrounded by a narrow tucker about the throat,
with little pockets of holland (shaped something like a Highlander's
purse) tied in front of their frocks, and destined to serve the purpose
of a work bag: all, too, wearing woollen stockings and country made
shoes, fastened with brass buckles.

Above twenty of those clad in this costume were full grown girls, or
rather young women; it suited them ill, and gave an air of oddity
even to the prettiest. I was still looking at them, and also at intervals
examining the teachers none of whom precisely pleased me; for the
stout one was a little coarse, the dark one not a little fierce, the
foreigner harsh and grotesque, and Miss Miller, poor thing! Looked
purple, weather beaten, and over worked when, as my eye wandered
from face to face, the whole school rose simultaneously, as if moved
by a common spring.


What was the matter? I had heard no order given: I was puzzled.
Ere I had gathered my wits, the classes were again seated: but as
all eyes were now turned to one point, mine followed the general
direction, and encountered the personage who had received me last
night. She stood at the bottom of the long room, on the hearth;
for there was a fire at each end; she surveyed the two rows of girls
silently and gravely. Miss Miller approaching, seemed to ask her
a question, and having received her answer, went back to her
place, and said aloud "Monitor of the first class, fetch the globes!"

While the direction was being executed, the lady consulted moved
slowly up the room. I suppose I have a considerable organ of
veneration, for I retain yet the sense of admiring awe with which
my eyes traced her steps. Seen now, in broad daylight, she looked
tall, fair, and shapely; brown eyes with a benignant light in their iris,
and a fine pencilling of long lashes round, relieved the whiteness
of her large front; on each of her temples her hair, of a very dark
brown, was clustered in round curls, according to the fashion of
those times, when neither smooth bands nor long ringlets were in
vogue; her dress, also in the mode of the day, was of purple cloth,
relieved by a sort of Spanish trimming of black velvet; a gold watch
(watches were not so common then as now) shone at her girdle.

Let the reader add, to complete the picture, refined features; a
complexion, if pale, clear; and a stately air and carriage, and he
will have, at least, as clearly as words can give it, a correct idea
of the exterior of Miss Temple Maria Temple, as I afterwards saw
the name written in a prayer book intrusted to me to carry to church.

The superintendent of Lowood (for such was this lady) having taken
her seat before a pair of globes placed on one of the tables, summoned
the first class round her, and commenced giving a lesson on geography;
the lower classes were called by the teachers: repetitions in history,
grammar, etc., went on for an hour; writing and arithmetic succeeded,
and music lessons were given by Miss Temple to some of the elder
girls. The duration of each lesson was measured by the clock, which at
last struck twelve. The superintendent rose "I have a word to address
to the pupils," said she. The tumult of cessation from lessons was
already breaking forth, but it sank at her voice. She went on



"You had this morning a breakfast which you could not eat; you
must be hungry: I have ordered that a lunch of bread and cheese
shall be served to all." The teachers looked at her with a sort of surprise.
"It is to be done on my responsibility," she added, in an explanatory
tone to them, and immediately afterwards left the room.

The bread and cheese was presently brought in and distributed, to the high
delight and refreshment of the whole school. The order was now given
"To the garden!" Each put on a coarse straw bonnet, with strings of
coloured calico, and a cloak of grey frieze. I was similarly equipped,
and, following the stream, I made my way into the open air.



The garden was a wide inclosure, surrounded with walls so high as
to exclude every glimpse of prospect; a covered verandah ran down
one side, and broad walks bordered a middle space divided into
scores of little beds: these beds were assigned as gardens for
the pupils to cultivate, and each bed had an owner. When full of
flowers they would doubtless look pretty; but now, at the latter
end of January, all was wintry blight and brown decay.

I shuddered as I stood and looked round me: it was an inclement day for
outdoor exercise; not positively rainy, but darkened by a drizzling yellow
fog; all under foot was still soaking wet with the floods of yesterday.
The stronger among the girls ran about and engaged in active games,
but sundry pale and thin ones herded together for shelter and warmth
in the verandah; and amongst these, as the dense mist penetrated to
their shivering frames, I heard frequently the sound of a hollow cough.



As yet I had spoken to no one, nor did anybody seem to take notice
of me; I stood lonely enough: but to that feeling of isolation I was
accustomed; it did not oppress me much. I leant against a pillar of
the verandah, drew my grey mantle close about me, and, trying to
forget the cold which nipped me without, and the unsatisfied hunger
which gnawed me within, delivered myself up to the employment
of watching and thinking.

My reflections were too undefined and fragmentary to merit record:
I hardly yet knew where I was; Gateshead and my past life seemed
floated away to an immeasurable distance; the present was vague and
strange, and of the future I could form no conjecture. I looked round
the convent like garden, and then up at the house a large building,
half of which seemed grey and old, the other half quite new. The
new part, containing the schoolroom and dormitory, was lit by
mullioned and latticed windows, which gave it a church like aspect;
a stone tablet over the door bore this inscription:


"Lowood Institution. This portion was rebuilt A.D., by Naomi
Brocklehurst, of Brocklehurst Hall, in this county." "Let your
light so shine before men, that they may see your good works,
and glorify your Father which is in heaven." St. Matt. v. 16.


I read these words over and over again: I felt that an explanation
belonged to them, and was unable fully to penetrate their import.
I was still pondering the signification of "Institution," and
endeavouring to make out a connection between the first words and
the verse of Scripture, when the sound of a cough close behind me
made me turn my head. I saw a girl sitting on a stone bench near;
she was bent over a book, on the perusal of which she seemed intent:
from where I stood I could see the title it was "Rasselas;" a
name that struck me as strange, and consequently attractive. In
turning a leaf she happened to look up, and I said to her directly.


"Is your book interesting?" I had already formed the intention of
asking her to lend it to me some day. "I like it," she answered, after a
pause of a second or two, during which she examined me. "What is
it about?" I continued. I hardly know where I found the hardihood
thus to open a conversation with a stranger; the step was contrary to
my nature and habits: but I think her occupation touched a chord of
sympathy somewhere; for I too liked reading, though of a frivolous and
childish kind; I could not digest or comprehend the serious or substantial.



"You may look at it," replied the girl, offering me the book. I did so;
a brief examination convinced me that the contents were less taking
than the title: "Rasselas" looked dull to my trifling taste; I saw nothing
about fairies, nothing about genii; no bright variety seemed spread
over the closely printed pages. I returned it to her; she received it
quietly, and without saying anything she was about to relapse into
her former studious mood: again I ventured to disturb her "Can you tell
me what the writing on that stone over the door means? What is
Lowood Institution?" "This house where you are come to live."


"And why do they call it Institution? Is it in any way different from
other schools?" "It is partly a charity school: you and I, and all the rest
of us, are charity children. I suppose you are an orphan: are not either
your father or your mother dead?" "Both died before I can remember."
"Well, all the girls here have lost either one or both parents, and this
is called an institution for educating orphans." "Do we pay no money?
Do they keep us for nothing?" "We pay, or our friends pay, fifteen
pounds a year for each." "Then why do they call us charity children?"


"Because fifteen pounds is not enough for board and teaching, and
the deficiency is supplied by subscription." "Who subscribes?"
"Different benevolent minded ladies and gentlemen in this
neighbourhood and in London." "Who was Naomi Brocklehurst?"
"The lady who built the new part of this house as that tablet
records, and whose son overlooks and directs everything here."


"Why?" "Because he is treasurer and manager of the establishment."
"Then this house does not belong to that tall lady who wears a
watch, and who said we were to have some bread and cheese?"
"To Miss Temple? Oh, no! I wish it did: she has to answer to
Mr. Brocklehurst for all she does. Mr. Brocklehurst buys all our
food and all our clothes." "Does he live here?" "No two miles
off, at a large hall." "Is he a good man?"




"He is a clergyman, and is said to do a great deal of good."
"Did you say that tall lady was called Miss Temple?" "Yes."
"And what are the other teachers called?"


"The one with red cheeks is called Miss Smith; she attends to the
work, and cuts out for we make our own clothes, our frocks, and
pelisses, and everything; the little one with black hair is Miss
Scatcherd; she teaches history and grammar, and hears the second
class repetitions; and the one who wears a shawl, and has a
pocket handkerchief tied to her side with a yellow ribband, is Madame
Pierrot: she comes from Lisle, in France, and teaches French."


"Do you like the teachers?" "Well enough." "Do you like the little
black one, and the Madame ? I cannot pronounce her name as you do."
"Miss Scatcherd is hasty you must take care not to offend her; Madame
Pierrot is not a bad sort of person." "But Miss Temple is the best isn't she?"
"Miss Temple is very good and very clever; she is above the rest, because
she knows far more than they do." "Have you been long here?" "Two years."

"Are you an orphan?" "My mother is dead." "Are you happy here?"
"You ask rather too many questions. I have given you answers enough
for the present: now I want to read." But at that moment the
summons sounded for dinner; all re entered the house. The odour
which now filled the refectory was scarcely more appetising
than that which had regaled our nostrils at breakfast: the dinner
was served in two huge tin plated vessels, whence rose
a strong steam redolent of rancid fat.

I found the mess to consist of indifferent potatoes and strange shreds of
rusty meat, mixed and cooked together. Of this preparation a tolerably
abundant plateful was apportioned to each pupil. I ate what I could, and
wondered within myself whether every day's fare would be like this.
After dinner, we immediately adjourned to the schoolroom: lessons
recommenced, and were continued till five o'clock.


The only marked event of the afternoon was, that I saw the girl
with whom I had conversed in the verandah dismissed in disgrace
by Miss Scatcherd from a history class, and sent to stand in the
middle of the large schoolroom. The punishment seemed to me in
a high degree ignominious, especially for so great a girl she looked
thirteen or upwards. I expected she would show signs of great
distress and shame; but to my surprise she neither wept nor blushed:
composed, though grave, she stood, the central mark of all eyes.

"How can she bear it so quietly so firmly?" I asked
of myself. "Were I in her place, it seems to me I should wish the
earth to open and swallow me up. She looks as if she were thinking
of something beyond her punishment beyond her situation: of
something not round her nor before her. I have heard of day dreams
is she in a day dream now? Her eyes are fixed on the floor,
but I am sure they do not see it her sight seems turned in, gone
down into her heart: she is looking at what she can remember, I
believe; not at what is really present. I wonder what sort of a
girl she is whether good or naughty."


Soon after five p.m. we had another meal, consisting of a small
mug of coffee, and half a slice of brown bread. I devoured my
bread and drank my coffee with relish; but I should have been glad
of as much more I was still hungry. Half an hour's recreation
succeeded, then study; then the glass of water and the piece of
oat cake, prayers, and bed. Such was my first day at Lowood.