Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte Deluxe Edition Chapter 6.

The next day commenced as before, getting up and dressing by
rushlight; but this morning we were obliged to dispense with the
ceremony of washing; the water in the pitchers was frozen. A change
had taken place in the weather the preceding evening, and a keen
north east wind, whistling through the crevices of our bedroom
windows all night long, had made us shiver in our beds, and turned
the contents of the ewers to ice.


Before the long hour and a half of prayers and bible reading
was over, I felt ready to perish with cold. Breakfast time came
at last, and this morning the porridge was not burnt; the quality
was eatable, the quantity small. How small my portion seemed! I
wished it had been doubled.


In the course of the day I was enrolled a member of the fourth class,
and regular tasks and occupations were assigned me: hitherto, I
had only been a spectator of the proceedings at Lowood; I was now
to become an actor therein. At first, being little accustomed to
learn by heart, the lessons appeared to me both long and difficult;
the frequent change from task to task, too, bewildered me; and
I was glad when, about three o'clock in the afternoon, Miss Smith
put into my hands a border of muslin two yards long, together with
needle, thimble, etc, and sent me to sit in a quiet corner of the
schoolroom, with directions to hem the seam.

At that hour most of the others were sewing likewise; but one
class still stood round Miss Scatcherd's chair reading, and as all was
quiet, the subject of their lessons could be heard, together with the
manner in which each girl acquitted herself, and the animadversions or
commendations of Miss Scatcherd on the performance. It was English
history: among the readers I observed my acquaintance of the verandah:
at the commencement of the lesson, her place had been at the top of
the class, but for some error of pronunciation, or some inattention to
stops, she was suddenly sent to the very bottom. Even in that obscure
position, Miss Scatcherd continued to make her an object of constant
notice: she was continually addressing to her such phrases as the following:



"Burns" (such it seems was her name: the girls here were all called by
their surnames, as boys are elsewhere), "Burns, you are standing on
the side of your shoe; turn your toes out immediately." "Burns, you poke
your chin most unpleasantly; draw it in." "Burns, I insist on your holding
your head up; I will not have you before me in that attitude," etc. etc.



A chapter having been read through twice, the books were closed
and the girls examined. The lesson had comprised part of the reign
of Charles I., and there were sundry questions about tonnage and
poundage and ship money, which most of them appeared unable to
answer; still, every little difficulty was solved instantly when
it reached Burns: her memory seemed to have retained the substance
of the whole lesson, and she was ready with answers on every point.
I kept expecting that Miss Scatcherd would praise her attention; but,
instead of that, she suddenly cried out, "You dirty, disagreeable girl!
You have never cleaned your nails this morning!"



Burns made no answer: I wondered at her silence. "Why," thought
I, "does she not explain that she could neither clean her nails nor
wash her face, as the water was frozen?" My attention was now
called off by Miss Smith desiring me to hold a skein of thread:
while she was winding it, she talked to me from time to time,
asking whether I had ever been at school before, whether I
could mark, stitch, knit, etc.; till she dismissed me, I could not
pursue my observations on Miss Scatcherd's movements.

When I returned to my seat, that lady was just delivering an order
of which I did not catch the import; but Burns immediately left
the class, and going into the small inner room where the books were
kept, returned in half a minute, carrying in her hand a bundle of
twigs tied together at one end.

This ominous tool she presented to Miss Scatcherd with a respectful
curtesy; then she quietly, and without being told, unloosed her
pinafore, and the teacher instantly and sharply inflicted on her neck
a dozens trokes with the bunch of twigs. Not a tear rose to Burns'
eye; and, while I paused from my sewing, because my fingers
quivered at this spectacle with a sentiment of unavailing and impotent
anger, not a feature of her pensive face altered its ordinary expression.



"Hardened girl!" exclaimed Miss Scatcherd; "nothing can correct
you of your slatternly habits: carry the rod away." Burns obeyed:
I looked at her narrowly as she emerged from the book closet;
she was just putting back her handkerchief into her pocket,
and the trace of a tear glistened on her thin cheek.


The play hour in the evening I thought the pleasantest fraction
of the day at Lowood: the bit of bread, the draught of coffee
swallowed at five o'clock had revived vitality, if it had not satisfied
hunger: the long restraint of the day was slackened; the schoolroom
felt warmer than in the morning its fires being allowed to burn a
little more brightly, to supply, in some measure, the place of candles,
not yet introduced: the ruddy gloaming, the licensed uproar, the
confusion of many voices gave one a welcome sense of liberty.



On the evening of the day on which I had seen Miss Scatcherd flog
her pupil, Burns, I wandered as usual among the forms and tables
and laughing groups without a companion, yet not feeling lonely:
when I passed the windows, I now and then lifted a blind, and looked
out; it snowed fast, a drift was already forming against the lower
panes; putting my ear close to the window, I could distinguish from
the gleeful tumult within, the disconsolate moan of the wind outside.

Probably, if I had lately left a good home and kind parents, this
would have been the hour when I should most keenly have regretted
the separation; that wind would then have saddened my heart; this
obscure chaos would have disturbed my peace! as it was, I derived
from both a strange excitement, and reckless and feverish, I wished
the wind to howl more wildly, the gloom to deepen to darkness, and
the confusion to rise to clamour.


Jumping over forms, and creeping under tables, I made my way to
one of the fire places; there, kneeling by the high wire fender, I
found Burns, absorbed, silent, abstracted from all round her by the
companionship of a book, which she read by the dim glare of the embers.
"Is it still 'Rasselas'?" I asked, coming behind her. "Yes," she said, "and I
have just finished it." And in five minutes more she shut it up. I was glad
of this. "Now," thought I, "I can perhaps get her to talk." I sat down by
her on the floor. "What is your name besides Burns?" "Helen."


"Do you come a long way from here?" "I come from a place farther north,
quite on the borders of Scotland." "Will you ever go back?" "I hope so;
but nobody can be sure of the future." "You must wish to leave Lowood?"
"No! why should I? I was sent to Lowood to get an education; and it would
be of no use going away until I have attained that object." "But that teacher,
Miss Scatcherd, is so cruel to you?" "Cruel? Not at all! She is severe: she
dislikes my faults." "And if I were in your place I should dislike her; I should resist
her. If she struck me with that rod, I should get it from her hand; I should break
it under her nose."


"Probably you would do nothing of the sort: but if you did, Mr.
Brocklehurst would expel you from the school; that would be a great
grief to your relations. It is far better to endure patiently a smart which
nobody feels but yourself, than to commit a hasty action whose evil
consequences will extend to all connected with you; and besides,
the bible bids us return good for evil."

"But then it seems disgraceful to be flogged, and to be sent to
stand in the middle of a room full of people; and you are such a
great girl: I am far younger than you, and I could not bear it."
"Yet it would be your duty to bear it, if you could not avoid it:
it is weak and silly to say you CANNOT BEAR what it is your fate
to be required to bear."


I heard her with wonder: I could not comprehend this doctrine of
endurance; and still less could I understand or sympathise with
the forbearance she expressed for her chastiser. Still I felt that
Helen Burns considered things by a light invisible to my eyes. I
suspected she might be right and I wrong; but I would not ponder
the matter deeply; like Felix, I put it off to a more convenient season.
"You say you have faults, Helen: what are they? To me you seem
very good."


"Then learn from me, not to judge by appearances: I am, as Miss
Scatcherd said, slatternly; I seldom put, and never keep, things, in
order; I am careless; I forget rules; I read when I should learn my
lessons; I have no method; and sometimes I say, like you, I cannot BEAR
to be subjected to systematic arrangements. This is all very provoking
to Miss Scatcherd, who is naturally neat, punctual, and particular." "And
cross and cruel," I added; but Helen Burns would not admit my addition:
she kept silence. "Is Miss Temple as severe to you as Miss Scatcherd?"


At the utterance of Miss Temple's name, a soft smile flitted over her
grave face. "Miss Temple is full of goodness; it pains her to be
severe to anyone, even the worst in the school: she sees my errors,
and tells me of them gently; and, if I do anything worthy of praise,
she gives me my meed liberally. One strong proof of my wretchedly
defective nature is, that even her expostulations, so mild, so rational, have
not influence to cure me of my faults; and even her praise, though I value
it most highly, cannot stimulate me to continued care and foresight."



"That is curious," said I, "It is so easy to be careful."
"For YOU I have no doubt it is. I observed you in your class this
morning, and saw you were closely attentive: your thoughts never
seemed to wander while Miss Miller explained the lesson and questioned
you. Now, mine continually rove away; when I should be listening
to Miss Scatcherd, and collecting all she says with assiduity, often
I lose the very sound of her voice; I fall into a sort of dream.

Sometimes I think I am in Northumberland, and that the noises I
hear round me are the bubbling of a little brook which runs through
Deepden, near our house; then, when it comes to my turn to reply,
I have to be awakened; and having heard nothing of what was read
for listening to the visionary brook, I have no answer ready."
"Yet how well you replied this afternoon."


"It was mere chance; the subject on which we had been reading had
interested me. This afternoon, instead of dreaming of Deepden, I
was wondering how a man who wished to do right could act so unjustly
and unwisely as Charles the First sometimes did; and I thought what
a pity it was that, with his integrity and conscientiousness, he
could see no farther than the prerogatives of the crown. If he had
but been able to look to a distance, and see how what they call the
spirit of the age was tending! Still, I like Charles I respect him I pity
him, poor murdered king! Yes, his enemies were the worst: they
shed blood they had no right to shed. How dared they kill him!"



Helen was talking to herself now: she had forgotten I could not
very well understand her that I was ignorant, or nearly so, of
the subject she discussed. I recalled her to my level. "And
when Miss Temple teaches you, do your thoughts wander then?"
"No, certainly, not often; because Miss Temple has generally
something to say which is newer than my own reflections; her language
is singularly agreeable to me, and the information she communicates
is often just what I wished to gain."

"Well, then, with Miss Temple you are good?" "Yes, in a passive way:
I make no effort; I follow as inclination guides me. There is no merit in
such goodness." "A great deal: you are good to those who are good to
you. It is all I ever desire to be. If people were always kind and
obedient to those who are cruel and unjust, the wicked people would
have it all their own way: they would never feel afraid, and so they
would never alter, but would grow worse and worse. When we are
struck at without a reason, we should strike back again very hard;
I am sure we should so hard as to teach the person who struck
us never to do it again."


"You will change your mind, I hope, when you grow older: as yet you
are but a little untaught girl." "But I feel this, Helen; I must dislike those
who, whatever I do to please them, persist in disliking me; I must resist
those who punish me unjustly. It is as natural as that I should love those
who show me affection, or submit to punishment when I feel it is deserved."
"Heathens and savage tribes hold that doctrine, but christians and
civilised nations disown it." "How? I don't understand."

"It is not violence that best overcomes hate nor vengeance that
most certainly heals injury." "What then?" "Read the New Testament,
and observe what christ says, and how he acts; make his word
your rule, and his conduct your example." "What does he say?"
"Love your enemies; bless them that curse you; do good to them that
hate you and despitefully use you."


"Then I should love Mrs. Reed, which I cannot do; I should bless
her son John, which is impossible." In her turn, Helen Burns asked
me to explain, and I proceeded forthwith to pour out, in my own way,
the tale of my sufferings and resentments. Bitter and truculent
when excited, I spoke as I felt, without reserve or softening.

Helen heard me patiently to the end: I expected she would then
make a remark, but she said nothing. "Well," I asked impatiently,
"is not Mrs. Reed a hard hearted, bad woman?" "She has been
unkind to you, no doubt; because you see, she dislikes your cast
of character, as Miss Scatcherd does mine; but how minutely you
remember all she has done and said to you! What a singularly
deep impression her injustice seems to have made on your heart!
No ill usage so brands its record on my feelings. Would you not
be happier if you tried to forget her severity, together with the
passionate emotions it excited? Life appears to me too short to
be spent in nursing animosity or registering wrongs.

We are, and must be, one and all, burdened with faults in
this world: but the time will soon come when, I trust, we shall
put them off in putting off our corruptible bodies; when debasement
and sin will fall from us with this cumbrous frame of flesh, and only
the spark of the spirit will remain, the impalpable principle of light
and thought, pure as when it left the creator to inspire the creature:
whence it came it will return; perhaps again to be communicated
to some being higher than man perhaps to pass through gradations of
glory, from the pale human soul to brighten to the seraph!

Surely it will never, on the contrary, be suffered to degenerate
from man to fiend? No; I cannot believe that: I hold another
creed: which no one ever taught me, and which I seldom
mention; but in which I delight, and to which I cling: for it
extends hope to all: it makes Eternity a rest a mighty home, not
a terror and an abyss. Besides, with this creed, I can so clearly
distinguish between the criminal and his crime; I can so sincerely
forgive the first while I abhor the last: with this creed revenge
never worries my heart, degradation never too deeply disgusts me,
injustice never crushes me too low: I live in calm, looking to the end."

Helen's head, always drooping, sank a little lower as she finished this
sentence. I saw by her look she wished no longer to talk to me, but
rather to converse with her own thoughts. She was not allowed much
time for meditation: a monitor, a great rough girl, presently came up,
exclaiming in a strong Cumberland accent "Helen Burns, if you don't
go and put your drawer in order, and fold up your work this minute,
I'll tell Miss Scatcherd to come and look at it!" Helen sighed as her reverie
fled, and getting up, obeyed the monitor without reply as without delay.

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte Deluxe Edition Chapter 7.>