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Recording by Elizabeth Klett Jane Eyre by Charlotte BRONTË Chapter Nine

But the privations, or rather the hardships, of Lowood lessened.

Spring drew on: she was indeed already come; the

frosts of winter had ceased; its snows were melted, its cutting winds ameliorated.

My wretched feet, flayed and swollen to lameness by the sharp

air of January, began to heal and subside under the gentler breathings of

April; the nights and mornings no longer by their Canadian temperature

froze the very blood in our veins; we could now endure the play-hour

passed in the garden: sometimes on a sunny day it began even to

be pleasant and genial, and a greenness grew over those brown beds, which,

freshening daily, suggested the thought that Hope traversed them at night,

and left each morning brighter traces of her steps.

Flowers peeped out amongst the leaves; snow-drops, crocuses, purple auriculas, and

golden-eyed pansies.

On Thursday afternoons (half-holidays) we now

took walks, and found still sweeter flowers opening by the wayside, under

the hedges.

I discovered, too, that a great pleasure, an enjoyment which the horizon

only bounded, lay all outside the high and spike-guarded walls of our

garden: this pleasure consisted in prospect of noble summits girdling a

great hill-hollow, rich in verdure and shadow; in a bright beck, full of

dark stones and sparkling eddies.

How different had this scene looked when I viewed it laid out beneath the iron

sky of winter, stiffened in frost, shrouded with snow!--when mists as

chill as death wandered to the impulse of east winds along those purple peaks,

and rolled down "ing" and holm till they blended with the frozen fog

of the beck!

That beck itself was then a torrent, turbid and curbless: it

tore asunder the wood, and sent a raving sound through the air, often

thickened with wild rain or whirling sleet; and for the forest on its

banks, _that_ showed only ranks of skeletons.

April advanced to May: a bright serene May it was; days of blue sky,

placid sunshine, and soft western or southern gales filled up its

duration.

And now vegetation matured with vigour; Lowood shook loose its

tresses; it became all green, all flowery; its great elm, ash, and oak

skeletons were restored to majestic life; woodland plants sprang up

profusely in its recesses; unnumbered varieties of moss filled its

hollows, and it made a strange ground-sunshine out of the wealth of its

wild primrose plants: I have seen their pale gold gleam in overshadowed

spots like scatterings of the sweetest lustre.

All this I enjoyed often and fully, free, unwatched, and almost alone:

for this unwonted liberty and pleasure there was a cause, to which it

now becomes my task to advert.

Have I not described a pleasant site for a dwelling, when I speak of it

as bosomed in hill and wood, and rising from the verge of a stream?

Assuredly, pleasant enough: but whether healthy or not is another

question.

That forest-dell, where Lowood lay, was the cradle of fog and fog-bred

pestilence; which, quickening with the quickening spring, crept into the

Orphan Asylum, breathed typhus through its crowded schoolroom and

dormitory, and, ere May arrived, transformed the seminary into an

hospital.

Semi-starvation and neglected colds had predisposed most of the pupils to

receive infection: forty-five out of the eighty girls lay ill at one

time.

Classes were broken up, rules relaxed.

The few who continued well were allowed almost unlimited license; because

the medical attendant insisted on the necessity of frequent exercise

to keep them in health: and had it been otherwise, no one had leisure

to watch or restrain them.

Miss Temple's whole attention was absorbed by the patients: she lived in

the sick-room, never quitting it except to snatch a few hours' rest at

night.

The teachers were fully occupied with packing up and making other

necessary preparations for the departure of those girls who were

fortunate enough to have friends and relations able and willing to remove

them from the seat of contagion.

Many, already smitten, went home only to die: some died at the school, and were

buried quietly and quickly, the nature of the malady forbidding delay.

While disease had thus become an inhabitant of Lowood, and death its

frequent visitor; while there was gloom and fear within its walls; while

its rooms and passages steamed with hospital smells, the drug and the

pastille striving vainly to overcome the effluvia of mortality, that

bright May shone unclouded over the bold hills and beautiful woodland out

of doors.

Its garden, too, glowed with flowers: hollyhocks had sprung up

tall as trees, lilies had opened, tulips and roses were in bloom; the

borders of the little beds were gay with pink thrift and crimson double

daisies; the sweetbriars gave out, morning and evening, their scent of

spice and apples; and these fragrant treasures were all useless for most

of the inmates of Lowood, except to furnish now and then a handful of

herbs and blossoms to put in a coffin.

But I, and the rest who continued well, enjoyed fully the beauties of the

scene and season; they let us ramble in the wood, like gipsies, from

morning till night; we did what we liked, went where we liked: we lived

better too.

Mr. Brocklehurst and his family never came near Lowood now:

household matters were not scrutinised into; the cross housekeeper was

gone, driven away by the fear of infection; her successor, who had been

matron at the Lowton Dispensary, unused to the ways of her new abode,

provided with comparative liberality.

Besides, there were fewer to feed; the sick could eat little; our breakfast-basins

were better filled; when there was no time to prepare a regular dinner,

which often happened, she would give us a large piece of cold pie, or

a thick slice of bread and cheese, and this we carried away with us to

the wood, where we each chose the spot we liked best, and dined sumptuously.

My favourite seat was a smooth and broad stone, rising white and dry from

the very middle of the beck, and only to be got at by wading through the

water; a feat I accomplished barefoot.

The stone was just broad enough to accommodate, comfortably, another girl

and me, at that time my chosen comrade--one Mary Ann Wilson; a shrewd, observant

personage, whose society I took pleasure in, partly because

she was witty and original, and partly because she had a manner which

set me at my ease.

Some years older than I, she knew more of the world,

and could tell me many things I liked to hear: with her my curiosity found

gratification: to my faults also she gave ample indulgence, never imposing

curb or rein on anything I said.

She had a turn for narrative, I for analysis; she liked to inform,

I to question; so we got on swimmingly together, deriving much

entertainment, if not much improvement, from our mutual intercourse.

And where, meantime, was Helen Burns?

Why did I not spend these sweet days of liberty with her?

Had I forgotten her?

or was I so worthless as to have grown tired of her pure society?

Surely the Mary Ann Wilson I have mentioned was inferior to my first acquaintance:

she could only tell me amusing stories, and reciprocate any racy

and pungent gossip I chose to indulge in; while, if I have spoken truth

of Helen, she was qualified to give those who enjoyed the privilege of

her converse a taste of far higher things.

True, reader; and I knew and felt this: and though I am a defective

being, with many faults and few redeeming points, yet I never tired of

Helen Burns; nor ever ceased to cherish for her a sentiment of

attachment, as strong, tender, and respectful as any that ever animated

my heart.

How could it be otherwise, when Helen, at all times and under

all circumstances, evinced for me a quiet and faithful friendship, which

ill-humour never soured, nor irritation never troubled?

But Helen was ill at present: for some weeks she had been

removed from my sight to I knew not what room upstairs.

She was not, I was told, in the hospital portion of the house with the fever patients;

for her complaint was consumption, not typhus: and by consumption

I, in my ignorance, understood something mild, which time and

care would be sure to alleviate.

I was confirmed in this idea by the fact of her once or twice coming

downstairs on very warm sunny afternoons, and being taken by Miss Temple

into the garden; but, on these occasions, I was not allowed to go and

speak to her; I only saw her from the schoolroom window, and then not

distinctly; for she was much wrapped up, and sat at a distance under the

verandah.

One evening, in the beginning of June, I had stayed out very late with

Mary Ann in the wood; we had, as usual, separated ourselves from the

others, and had wandered far; so far that we lost our way, and had to ask

it at a lonely cottage, where a man and woman lived, who looked after a

herd of half-wild swine that fed on the mast in the wood.

When we got back, it was after moonrise: a pony, which

we knew to be the surgeon's, was standing at the garden door.

Mary Ann remarked that she supposed some one must be very ill, as Mr. Bates had

been sent for at that time of the evening.

She went into the house; I stayed behind a few minutes to

plant in my garden a handful of roots I had dug up in the forest, and

which I feared would wither if I left them till the morning.

This done, I lingered yet a little longer: the flowers

smelt so sweet as the dew fell; it was such a pleasant evening, so serene,

so warm; the still glowing west promised so fairly another fine

day on the morrow; the moon rose with such majesty in the grave east.

I was noting these things and enjoying them as a child might, when it entered

my mind as it had never done before:--

"How sad to be lying now on a sick bed, and to be in danger of dying!

This world is pleasant--it would be dreary to be called from it, and to

have to go who knows where?"

And then my mind made its first earnest effort to comprehend what had

been infused into it concerning heaven and hell; and for the first time

it recoiled, baffled; and for the first time glancing behind, on each

side, and before it, it saw all round an unfathomed gulf: it felt the one

point where it stood--the present; all the rest was formless cloud and

vacant depth; and it shuddered at the thought of tottering, and plunging

amid that chaos.

While pondering this new idea, I heard the front door

open; Mr. Bates came out, and with him was a nurse.

After she had seen him mount his horse and depart, she was about

to close the door, but I ran up to her.

"How is Helen Burns?"

"Very poorly," was the answer.

"Is it her Mr. Bates has been to see?"

"Yes."

"And what does he say about her?"

"He says she'll not be here long."

This phrase, uttered in my hearing yesterday, would have only conveyed

the notion that she was about to be removed to Northumberland, to her own

home.

I should not have suspected that it meant she was dying; but I

knew instantly now!

It opened clear on my comprehension that Helen Burns

was numbering her last days in this world, and that she was going to be

taken to the region of spirits, if such region there were.

I experienced a shock of horror, then a strong thrill of

grief, then a desire--a necessity to see her; and I asked in what

room she lay.

"She is in Miss Temple's room," said the nurse.

"May I go up and speak to her?"

"Oh no, child!

It is not likely; and now it is time for you to come in;

you'll catch the fever if you stop out when the dew is falling."

The nurse closed the front door; I went in by the side entrance which led

to the schoolroom: I was just in time; it was nine o'clock, and Miss

Miller was calling the pupils to go to bed.

It might be two hours later, probably near eleven, when I--not having

been able to fall asleep, and deeming, from the perfect silence of the

dormitory, that my companions were all wrapt in profound repose--rose

softly, put on my frock over my night-dress, and, without shoes, crept

from the apartment, and set off in quest of Miss Temple's room.

It was quite at the other end of the house; but I

knew my way; and the light of the unclouded summer moon, entering here and

there at passage windows, enabled me to find it without difficulty.