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

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

  • Ere the half-hour ended, five o'clock struck; school was dismissed, and

  • all were gone into the refectory to tea.

  • I now ventured to descend: it was deep dusk; I retired into a corner and

  • sat down on the floor.

  • The spell by which I had been so far supported

  • began to dissolve; reaction took place, and soon, so overwhelming was

  • the grief that seized me, I sank prostrate with my face to the ground.

  • Now I wept: Helen Burns was not here; nothing sustained me; left to myself

  • I abandoned myself, and my tears watered the boards.

  • I had meant to be so good, and to do so much at Lowood: to make so many friends, to earn

  • respect and win affection.

  • Already I had made visible progress: that very morning I had reached the

  • head of my class; Miss Miller had praised me warmly; Miss Temple had

  • smiled approbation; she had promised to teach me drawing, and to let me

  • learn French, if I continued to make similar improvement two months

  • longer: and then I was well received by my fellow-pupils; treated as an

  • equal by those of my own age, and not molested by any; now, here I lay

  • again crushed and trodden on; and could I ever rise more?

  • "Never," I thought; and ardently I wished to die.

  • While sobbing out this wish in broken accents, some one approached:

  • I started up--again Helen Burns was near me; the fading fires just showed

  • her coming up the long, vacant room; she brought my coffee and bread.

  • "Come, eat something," she said; but I put both away from me, feeling as

  • if a drop or a crumb would have choked me in my present condition.

  • Helen regarded me, probably with surprise: I could

  • not now abate my agitation, though I tried hard; I continued to weep aloud.

  • She sat down on the ground near me, embraced her knees with her

  • arms, and rested her head upon them; in that attitude she remained silent

  • as an Indian.

  • I was the first who spoke--

  • "Helen, why do you stay with a girl whom everybody believes to be a

  • liar?"

  • "Everybody, Jane?

  • Why, there are only eighty people who have heard you

  • called so, and the world contains hundreds of millions."

  • "But what have I to do with millions?

  • The eighty, I know, despise me."

  • "Jane, you are mistaken: probably not one in the school either despises

  • or dislikes you: many, I am sure, pity you much."

  • "How can they pity me after what Mr. Brocklehurst has said?"

  • "Mr. Brocklehurst is not a god: nor is he even a great and admired man:

  • he is little liked here; he never took steps to make himself liked.

  • Had he treated you as an especial favourite, you

  • would have found enemies, declared or covert, all around you; as it

  • is, the greater number would offer you sympathy if they dared.

  • Teachers and pupils may look coldly on you for a day or two, but friendly feelings

  • are concealed in their hearts; and if you persevere in doing well,

  • these feelings will ere long appear so much the more evidently for their

  • temporary suppression.

  • Besides, Jane"--she paused.

  • "Well, Helen?" said I, putting my hand into hers: she chafed my fingers

  • gently to warm them, and went on--

  • "If all the world hated you, and believed you wicked, while your own

  • conscience approved you, and absolved you from guilt, you would not be

  • without friends."

  • "No; I know I should think well of myself; but that is not enough: if

  • others don't love me I would rather die than live--I cannot bear to be

  • solitary and hated, Helen.

  • Look here; to gain some real affection from you, or Miss Temple, or any other whom I truly

  • love, I would willingly submit to have the bone of my arm broken,

  • or to let a bull toss me, or to stand behind a kicking horse, and let it dash

  • its hoof at my chest--"

  • "Hush, Jane!

  • you think too much of the love of human beings; you are too

  • impulsive, too vehement; the sovereign hand that created your frame, and

  • put life into it, has provided you with other resources than your feeble

  • self, or than creatures feeble as you.

  • Besides this earth, and besides the race of men, there is an invisible world

  • and a kingdom of spirits: that world is round us, for it is everywhere;

  • and those spirits watch us, for they are commissioned to guard us; and

  • if we were dying in pain and shame, if scorn smote us on all sides, and

  • hatred crushed us, angels see our tortures, recognise our innocence (if

  • innocent we be: as I know you are of this charge which Mr. Brocklehurst

  • has weakly and pompously repeated at second-hand from Mrs. Reed; for

  • I read a sincere nature in your ardent eyes and on your clear front),

  • and God waits only the separation of spirit from flesh to crown us

  • with a full reward.

  • Why, then, should we ever sink overwhelmed with

  • distress, when life is so soon over, and death is so certain an entrance

  • to happiness--to glory?"

  • I was silent; Helen had calmed me; but in the tranquillity she imparted

  • there was an alloy of inexpressible sadness.

  • I felt the impression of woe as she spoke, but I could not tell whence

  • it came; and when, having done speaking, she breathed a little fast

  • and coughed a short cough, I momentarily forgot my own sorrows to yield

  • to a vague concern for her.

  • Resting my head on Helen's shoulder, I put my arms round her waist; she

  • drew me to her, and we reposed in silence.

  • We had not sat long thus, when another person came in.

  • Some heavy clouds, swept from the sky by a rising wind, had left the moon bare; and her

  • light, streaming in through a window near, shone full both on us and on

  • the approaching figure, which we at once recognised as Miss Temple.

  • "I came on purpose to find you, Jane Eyre," said she; "I want you in my

  • room; and as Helen Burns is with you, she may come too."

  • We went; following the superintendent's guidance, we had to thread some

  • intricate passages, and mount a staircase before we reached her

  • apartment; it contained a good fire, and looked cheerful.

  • Miss Temple told Helen Burns to be seated in a low arm-chair

  • on one side of the hearth, and herself taking another, she called

  • me to her side.

  • "Is it all over?"

  • she asked, looking down at my face.

  • "Have you cried your grief away?"

  • "I am afraid I never shall do that."

  • "Why?"

  • "Because I have been wrongly accused; and you, ma'am, and everybody else,

  • will now think me wicked."

  • "We shall think you what you prove yourself to be, my child.

  • Continue to act as a good girl, and you will satisfy us."

  • "Shall I, Miss Temple?"

  • "You will," said she, passing her arm round me.

  • "And now tell me who is the lady whom Mr. Brocklehurst called your

  • benefactress?"

  • "Mrs. Reed, my uncle's wife.

  • My uncle is dead, and he left me to her care."

  • "Did she not, then, adopt you of her own accord?"

  • "No, ma'am; she was sorry to have to do it: but my uncle, as I have often

  • heard the servants say, got her to promise before he died that she would

  • always keep me."

  • "Well now, Jane, you know, or at least I will tell you, that when a

  • criminal is accused, he is always allowed to speak in his own defence.

  • You have been charged with falsehood; defend yourself to me as well as

  • you can.

  • Say whatever your memory suggests is true; but add nothing and

  • exaggerate nothing."

  • I resolved, in the depth of my heart, that I would be most moderate--most

  • correct; and, having reflected a few minutes in order to arrange

  • coherently what I had to say, I told her all the story of my sad

  • childhood.

  • Exhausted by emotion, my language was more subdued than it

  • generally was when it developed that sad theme; and mindful of Helen's

  • warnings against the indulgence of resentment, I infused into the

  • narrative far less of gall and wormwood than ordinary.

  • Thus restrained and simplified, it sounded more credible:

  • I felt as I went on that Miss Temple fully believed me.

  • In the course of the tale I had mentioned Mr. Lloyd as having come to see

  • me after the fit: for I never forgot the, to me, frightful episode of the

  • red-room: in detailing which, my excitement was sure, in some degree, to

  • break bounds; for nothing could soften in my recollection the spasm of

  • agony which clutched my heart when Mrs. Reed spurned my wild supplication

  • for pardon, and locked me a second time in the dark and haunted chamber.

  • I had finished: Miss Temple regarded me a few minutes in silence; she

  • then said--

  • "I know something of Mr. Lloyd; I shall write to him; if his reply agrees

  • with your statement, you shall be publicly cleared from every imputation;

  • to me, Jane, you are clear now."

  • She kissed me, and still keeping me at her side (where I was well

  • contented to stand, for I derived a child's pleasure from the

  • contemplation of her face, her dress, her one or two ornaments, her white

  • forehead, her clustered and shining curls, and beaming dark eyes), she

  • proceeded to address Helen Burns.

  • "How are you to-night, Helen?

  • Have you coughed much to-day?"

  • "Not quite so much, I think, ma'am."

  • "And the pain in your chest?"

  • "It is a little better."

  • Miss Temple got up, took her hand and examined her pulse; then she

  • returned to her own seat: as she resumed it, I heard her sigh low.

  • She was pensive a few minutes, then rousing herself,

  • she said cheerfully--

  • "But you two are my visitors to-night; I must treat you as such."

  • She rang her bell.

  • "Barbara," she said to the servant who answered it, "I have not yet had

  • tea; bring the tray and place cups for these two young ladies."

  • And a tray was soon brought.

  • How pretty, to my eyes, did the china cups and bright teapot look, placed on the little

  • round table near the fire!

  • How fragrant was the steam of the beverage, and the scent of the toast!

  • of which, however, I, to my dismay (for I was beginning to be hungry)

  • discerned only a very small portion: Miss Temple discerned it too.

  • "Barbara," said she, "can you not bring a little more bread and butter?

  • There is not enough for three."

  • Barbara went out: she returned soon--

  • "Madam, Mrs. Harden says she has sent up the usual quantity."

  • Mrs. Harden, be it observed, was the housekeeper: a woman after Mr.

  • Brocklehurst's own heart, made up of equal parts of whalebone and iron.

  • "Oh, very well!"

  • returned Miss Temple; "we must make it do, Barbara, I

  • suppose."

  • And as the girl withdrew she added, smiling, "Fortunately, I

  • have it in my power to supply deficiencies for this once."

  • Having invited Helen and me to approach the table, and placed before each

  • of us a cup of tea with one delicious but thin morsel of toast, she got

  • up, unlocked a drawer, and taking from it a parcel wrapped in paper,

  • disclosed presently to our eyes a good-sized seed-cake.

  • "I meant to give each of you some of this to take with you," said she,

  • "but as there is so little toast, you must have it now," and she

  • proceeded to cut slices with a generous hand.

  • We feasted that evening as on nectar and ambrosia; and not the least

  • delight of the entertainment was the smile of gratification with which

  • our hostess regarded us, as we satisfied our famished appetites on the

  • delicate fare she liberally supplied.

  • Tea over and the tray removed, she again summoned us to the fire; we sat

  • one on each side of her, and now a conversation followed between her and

  • Helen, which it was indeed a privilege to be admitted to hear.

  • Miss Temple had always something of serenity in her air, of state in her

  • mien, of refined propriety in her language, which precluded deviation

  • into the ardent, the excited, the eager: something which chastened the

  • pleasure of those who looked on her and listened to her, by a controlling

  • sense of awe; and such was my feeling now: but as to Helen Burns, I was

  • struck with wonder.

  • The refreshing meal, the brilliant fire, the presence and kindness of her

  • beloved instructress, or, perhaps, more than all these, something in her

  • own unique mind, had roused her powers within her.

  • They woke, they kindled: first, they glowed in the bright

  • tint of her cheek, which till this hour I had never seen but pale and bloodless;

  • then they shone in the liquid lustre of her eyes, which had suddenly

  • acquired a beauty more singular than that of Miss Temple's--a beauty

  • neither of fine colour nor long eyelash, nor pencilled brow, but of meaning,

  • of movement, of radiance.

  • Then her soul sat on her lips, and language flowed, from what

  • source I cannot tell.

  • Has a girl of fourteen a heart large enough, vigorous enough, to hold the swelling spring

  • of pure, full, fervid eloquence?

  • Such was the characteristic of Helen's discourse on that, to

  • me, memorable evening; her spirit seemed hastening to live within a very

  • brief span as much as many live during a protracted existence.

  • They conversed of things I had never heard of; of nations and times past;

  • of countries far away; of secrets of nature discovered or guessed at:

  • they spoke of books: how many they had read!

  • What stores of knowledge they possessed!

  • Then they seemed so familiar with French names and

  • French authors: but my amazement reached its climax when Miss Temple

  • asked Helen if she sometimes snatched a moment to recall the Latin her

  • father had taught her, and taking a book from a shelf, bade her read and

  • construe a page of Virgil; and Helen obeyed, my organ of veneration

  • expanding at every sounding line.

  • She had scarcely finished ere the bell announced bedtime!

  • no delay could be admitted; Miss Temple embraced us

  • both, saying, as she drew us to her heart--

  • "God bless you, my children!"

  • Helen she held a little longer than me: she let her go more reluctantly;

  • it was Helen her eye followed to the door; it was for her she a second

  • time breathed a sad sigh; for her she wiped a tear from her cheek.

  • On reaching the bedroom, we heard the voice of Miss Scatcherd: she was

  • examining drawers; she had just pulled out Helen Burns's, and when we

  • entered Helen was greeted with a sharp reprimand, and told that to-morrow

  • she should have half-a-dozen of untidily folded articles pinned to her

  • shoulder.

  • "My things were indeed in shameful disorder," murmured Helen to me, in a

  • low voice: "I intended to have arranged them, but I forgot."

  • Next morning, Miss Scatcherd wrote in conspicuous characters on a piece

  • of pasteboard the word "Slattern," and bound it like a phylactery round

  • Helen's large, mild, intelligent, and benign-looking forehead.

  • She wore it till evening, patient, unresentful, regarding

  • it as a deserved punishment.

  • The moment Miss Scatcherd withdrew after afternoon school, I

  • ran to Helen, tore it off, and thrust it into the fire: the fury of which

  • she was incapable had been burning in my soul all day, and tears, hot and

  • large, had continually been scalding my cheek; for the spectacle of her

  • sad resignation gave me an intolerable pain at the heart.

  • About a week subsequently to the incidents above narrated, Miss Temple,

  • who had written to Mr. Lloyd, received his answer: it appeared that what

  • he said went to corroborate my account.

  • Miss Temple, having assembled the whole school, announced that inquiry had

  • been made into the charges alleged against Jane Eyre, and that she was

  • most happy to be able to pronounce her completely cleared from every

  • imputation.

  • The teachers then shook hands with me and kissed me, and

  • a murmur of pleasure ran through the ranks of my companions.

  • Thus relieved of a grievous load, I from that hour set to work afresh,

  • resolved to pioneer my way through every difficulty: I toiled hard, and

  • my success was proportionate to my efforts; my memory, not naturally

  • tenacious, improved with practice; exercise sharpened my wits; in a few

  • weeks I was promoted to a higher class; in less than two months I was

  • allowed to commence French and drawing.

  • I learned the first two tenses of the verb _Etre_, and sketched my first

  • cottage (whose walls, by-the- bye, outrivalled in slope those of the leaning

  • tower of Pisa), on the same day.

  • That night, on going to bed, I forgot to prepare in

  • imagination the Barmecide supper of hot roast potatoes, or white bread

  • and new milk, with which I was wont to amuse my inward cravings: I

  • feasted instead on the spectacle of ideal drawings, which I saw in the

  • dark; all the work of my own hands: freely pencilled houses and trees,

  • picturesque rocks and ruins, Cuyp-like groups of cattle, sweet paintings

  • of butterflies hovering over unblown roses, of birds picking at ripe

  • cherries, of wren's nests enclosing pearl-like eggs, wreathed about with

  • young ivy sprays.

  • I examined, too, in thought, the possibility of my

  • ever being able to translate currently a certain little French story

  • which Madame Pierrot had that day shown me; nor was that problem solved

  • to my satisfaction ere I fell sweetly asleep.

  • Well has Solomon said--"Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a

  • stalled ox and hatred therewith."

  • I would not now have exchanged Lowood with all its privations for

  • Gateshead and its daily luxuries.

  • End of Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT of Jane Eyre This is a Librivox recording.

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Jane Eyre by Charlotte BRONTË Chapter 08

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    林宜悉 發佈於 2023 年 07 月 20 日
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