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  • CHAPTER SIX of Jane Eyre This is a Librivox recording.

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  • Recording by Elizabeth Klett Jane Eyre by Charlotte BRONTË Chapter Six

  • 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, &c., and sent me to sit in

  • a quiet corner of the schoolroom, with directions to hem the same.

  • 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," &c.

  • &c.

  • 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, &c.; 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 dozen strokes 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 any one,

  • 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.

  • End of Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX of Jane Eyre This is a Librivox recording.

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Jane Eyre by Charlotte BRONTË Chapter 06

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    林宜悉 發佈於 2023 年 07 月 20 日
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