Сборник лучших произведений английской классической литературы. Уровень 3

Chapter 9

But the hardships of Lowood lessened. Spring came. The snows of winter melted. The nights and mornings were not so freezing cold any longer. First flowers started to appear amongst leaves. On Thursday afternoons we now took walks, and I realized that in spring the countryside around Lowood was beautiful. There was a clear stream nearby, and the school stood in the middle of a pretty wooded valley surrounded by high hills, purple with heather.

May followed April and brought days of blue skies and sunshine with it. All this beauty I enjoyed often and fully, free, unwatched, and almost alone. For this liberty and pleasure there was, however, an unpleasant cause.

Even though Lowood had a beautiful setting, it was not a healthy one. The nearby forest was full of for that crept into the school and breathed typhus through its crowded schoolroom and dormitory. Ere May arrived, our school was transformed into a hospital.

If we had all been strong and well-fed^[17], it wouldn't have mattered so much. But, semi-starvation and neglected colds made forty-five girls ill at one time. Classes were broken up, rules relaxed. The teachers spent every moment looking after the ill or packing things of those who were fortunate enough to have friends and relatives and could leave Lowood at once. Many went home to die, some died at school and were buried quietly and quickly.

While the disease had become an inhabitant of Lowood, and death its frequent visitor, gardens glowed with flowers: lilies, roses and tulips were in bloom. Some of these lovely flowers ended up as a humble decoration for the coffins.

But I, and the rest who continued well, enjoyed the beauties of the scene and season. We walked in the wood 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 driven away by the fear of infection. The servants and teachers were kinder to us. They gave us slices of pie, apples and parcels of bread and cheese to take out on our explorations.

I usually found a large, flat stone in the middle of the stream, where I had a picnic every day with my chosen friend Mary Ann. She was witty and original, and 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. She could tell stories well, I could analyse; she liked to inform, I liked to question, and we spent hours talking.

And where, meantime, was Helen Burns? Why did I not spend these sweet days of liberty with her? Had I forgotten her?

No doubt she was far better than Mary Ann, as the latter could only tell funny stories. But Helen was gravely ill. She was kept separately and Miss Temple took care of her personally. She had been taken to a room upstairs, and I saw her once in the garden with Miss Temple but was not allowed to speak with her. She did not have typhus, but an even more serious disease-consumption. How serious the disease was I learnt only later.

One evening, in the beginning of June, I had stayed out very late with Mary Ann in the wood. We had wandered so far that lost our way and it was only thanks to a man and woman, whose cottage we accidentally found that we found our way back. When we returned, we saw the doctor's pony at the gate. Mary Ann went inside, and I stayed behind a few minutes to plant in my garden a handful of roots I had dug up in the forest. It was such a pleasant evening that I felt sorry for the sick who were lying in their beds now.

I was still there when the doctor came out, accompanied by a servant. He climbed onto his pony and left, and I ran over to the servant to ask about Helen.

“Is it Helen Burns Mr. Bates has been to see?”

“Yes,” was the reply.

“What does he say about her?”

“She is doing very poorly. He says she'll not be here long.”

I knew instantly what this meant. It did not mean that Helen was going to her own home. She was going to be taken to the region of spirits. She was about to die. I felt a desire-a necessity to see her, I asked in what room she lay.

“She's in Miss Temple's room,” said the nurse.

“May I go up and speak to her?”

“Oh, no, child! And now it's time for you to come inside.” The nurse closed the front door.

I went in by the side entrance which led to the schoolroom and was just in time to hear Miss Miller call the pupils to go to bed.

I could not fall asleep. I was thinking about Helen all the time. At last, after lying in bed for a while I made up my mind and got up quietly. Everybody was fast asleep and I crept away to Miss Temple's room unnoticed. “I must embrace her before she dies,” I thought. “I must exchange with her one last word.”

A light shone through the keyhole of Miss Temple's room. I opened the door gently without knocking, and went in. Miss Temple was not there-she was usually up all night, taking care of the sick. The servant I had spoken to earlier was asleep in one of the armchairs. My eye sought Helen, and feared to find death.

I felt slight relief as I saw Helen, heavily breathing and pale but alive and awake. She was calm as usual, and recognized me at once.

“Can it be you, Jane?” she asked, in her own gentle voice.

“Perhaps she won't die,” I suddenly hoped. “They must be mistaken.”

“Why are you here, Jane? It is past eleven o'clock.”

“I came to see you, Helen: I heard you were very ill, and I could not sleep till I had spoken to you.”

“You came to bid me good-bye, then: you are just in time probably.”

“No, no, Helen!” I tried to stop my tears.

Helen started to cough. It did not, however, wake the nurse. When the cough was over, Helen lay some minutes exhausted. Then she whispered, “Your feet are bare. Lie down and cover yourself.”

I did so. She put her arm over me and continued, “I am very happy, Jane; and when you hear that I am dead, you must not grieve: there is nothing to grieve about. We all must die one day. My illness is gentle, I am in no pain, my mind is at rest. I have only a father; and he has lately married, and will not miss me. I am happy to die young; I will avoid so many sufferings.”

I felt so comfortable by her side, and did not want to leave her. I stayed with her that night and we both soon fell asleep.

When I woke up, it was day. I was in somebody's arms; the nurse held me; she was carrying me through the passage back to the dormitory.

A day or two afterwards I learned that Miss Temple, on returning to her own room at dawn, had found me on Helen's bed; my face against Helen Burns's shoulder, my arms round her neck. I was asleep, and Helen was-dead.

She was buried in Brocklebridge churchyard with no headstone. Now a grey marble tablet marks the spot, inscribed with her name, and the word 'Resurgam' meaning “I will rise again.”

Chapter 10

When the typhus fever had fulfilled its mission at Lowood, it gradually disappeared. But news of the disease spread, its victims had drawn public attention on the school. An inquiry was held into how the disease could have broken out^[18], and soon the public found out about the unhealthy nature of the site, our poor diet and clothing, about our cold overcrowded dormitories. The discovery brought changes to our institution and shame to Mr. Brocklehurst.

He had been spending only a small part of the school's funds on the students. Some said he spent the rest on himself and his family; but it could not be proved.

Because of his wealth and family connections, Mr. Brocklehurst retained the post of treasurer, but now he had to answer to a committee of new governors. The committee decided to move the school to a new building on the hillside, where there was no fog. We were given bigger helpings, good clothes and proper boots, and more space and time to ourselves. And so Lowood was transformed from a miserable, cruel institution, into a flourishing school with happy, healthy pupils.

I stayed there for eight years. My life was uniform: but not unhappy. My teachers supported me. In time I rose to be the first girl of the first class. Since sixteen I became an assistant teacher to the younger girls.

Through all changes Miss Temple stayed at Lowood. For me, she was a mother, governess, and, latterly, companion. When I grew up, she became a dear friend. Looking at her, I turned calm and quiet and started to appear disciplined even to myself.

But at this period she married, removed with her husband (a clergyman, an excellent man) to a distant county, and was lost to me. Destiny, in the shape of the Rev. Mr. Nasmyth, came between me and Miss Temple. I watched her leave in a carriage and with her was gone every feeling, every association that had made Lowood in some degree a home to me.

With her all calmness I had acquired previously was gone, too. Now I was left in my natural element, and beginning to feel old emotions.

My world had for some years been in Lowood: my experience had been of its rules and systems; now I remembered that the real world was wide, and that a field of hopes and fears, of sensations and excitements, awaited those who had courage to go forth.

I went to the window, opened it, and looked out. My eye passed all other objects to rest on those most remote. I traced the white road going round the base of one mountain, and vanishing in a gorge between two. How I longed to follow it farther! I recalled the time when I had travelled that very road when I was brought to Lowood. I had never quitted it since. My vacations had all been spent at school. Moreover, I had had no communication by letter or message with the outer world. I knew nothing but school-rules, school-duties, school-habits and the voices, faces, phrases, costumes, and preferences of the Lowood people.

And now I felt that it was not enough. I got tired of the routine of eight years in one afternoon. I desired liberty.

Here a bell for supper called me downstairs, and I descended planning to return to my thoughts at bedtime.

Unfortunately, I shared my room with another young teacher, Miss Gryce. She could talk endlessly about trivial matters I hardly cared about, and I often forced myself to look interested. Tonight she insisted on chattering and gossiping as usual. And I felt a great amount of relief when she snored at last.

I sat up in bed. It was a chilly night; I covered my shoulders with a shawl, and then I proceeded TO THINK again with all my might.

“What do I want? A new place, in a new house, amongst new faces, under new circumstances. How do people do to get a new place? I have no friends. But many people have no friends. What is their resource?”

I could not tell. I got up and took a turn in the room, then again crept to bed. As I lay down the suggestion came to me all of a sudden. “Advertisement! You must advertise in the paper! You will need money, you will go to the post in Lowton and ask to be addressed as J.E. The letters could come to the post-office there. A week after you could go and collect the replies.”

As the plan was ready, I felt satisfied and fell asleep.

In the morning I wrote my advertisement. Here is what I put in it:

“A young lady with experience of teaching desires to work in a private family where the children are under fourteen (I thought that as I was barely eighteen, it would not do to undertake the guidance of pupils nearer my own age). She is qualified to teach the usual branches of a good English education, together with French, Drawing, and Music.”

I kept the document locked in my drawer.

I asked the new superintendent^[19] to go to Lowton, in order to perform some small commissions for myself and one or two of my fellow-teachers. Permission was given, and I went. It was a walk of two miles, the evening was wet, but the days were still long. I brought the letter to the post-office, and came back through heavy rain with a relieved heart.

The next week seemed unbearably long. I counted days and was excited when it was time to go. So, I took another evening walk to the Lowton thinking whether any letters were awaiting me in the post-office.

The old postmistress looked at me suspiciously when I asked if there were any letters for J.E. She looked through a drawer full of envelopes for so long that my hopes began to fade.

Finally, she handed me an envelope.

“Is there only one?” I asked.

“There are no more,” she said, and putting it into my pocket I hurried back to Lowood. I had to be back by eight, and it was half-past seven already. I decided to open the letter in my own room.

When I got back, there were things to do. I had to sit with the girls during their hour of study; then it was my turn to read prayers; to see them to bed. At last, I had supper with the other teachers. Then I had to wait again until my inevitable companion Miss Gryce fell asleep, hoping she would do it before our candle burned down to nothing. There still remained an inch of candle when I heard her snoring. I now took out my letter; the seal was an initial F.; I broke it; the contents were brief.

“If J.E. possesses the acquirements mentioned, and if she possesses a satisfactory character, a situation can be offered her, where there is one pupil, a little girl, under ten years, and where the salary is thirty pounds per year. J.E. is requested to send references, name, address, and all particulars to the direction: Mrs. Fairfax, Thornfield, near Millcote, – shire.”

I read it again and again. The handwriting was old-fashioned and uncertain, like that of elderly women. Mrs. Fairfax! I saw her in a black gown and widow's cap, a model of elderly English respectability. Thornfield! that, doubtless, was the name of her house: a neat orderly spot.-shire was seventy miles nearer London than the remote county where I now resided. I longed to go where there was life and movement. It would be a complete change at least.

Here the candle went out.

My plans could no longer wait. I told superintendent that I had a chance to get a new situation where the salary would be double what I now received (for at Lowood I only got 15 pounds per year), and I needed references from Mr. Brocklehurst, or some of the committee. She was glad to help me. The next day she spoke with Mr. Brocklehurst, who said that Mrs. Reed must be written to, as she was my guardian. Mrs. Reed's reply was brief, I could do as I pleased as she had no desire to interfere in any of my affairs. Right after that, formal leave was given me to better my condition if I could. I also got an assurance, that as I had always conducted myself well, both as teacher and pupil, at Lowood, which was signed by the inspectors of the institution.

I sent all the references to Mrs. Fairfax, and got that lady's reply, stating that she was satisfied, and fixing that day fortnight as the period for my assuming the post of governess in her house. I busied myself with preparation immediately.

On my way to Thornfield I was thinking that a phase of my life was closing tonight, a new one opening tomorrow.

Chapter 11

It had been a long day. The road took sixteen hours, then I waited for two more hours in the George Inn at Millcote, feeling anxious and distressed as there was no one to meet me. I asked the waiter about Thornfield but he did not know the place. But some time later he returned and called me by my name. “Person here waiting for you,” he added.

I jumped up, a man was standing by the open door, and in the lamp-lit street I dimly saw a one-horse carriage. He hardly spoke, he put my luggage on the roof and helped me in. As I asked him how far Thornfield was, he answered that the road usually took about an hour and a half.

I was again alone with my thoughts. I concluded that Mrs. Fairfax was not very rich and felt better as I had never lived amongst fine people but once, and I had been very miserable with them. I wondered if she lived alone except this little girl. If so, I was sure I would get along with her. At least, I resolved to do my best. At Lowood, I had taken the same resolution and I had kept it.

The roads were heavy, the night misty. About two hours later the driver got down and opened a pair of gates. We continued up a long drive and stopped in front of the house. Candlelight glowed from one window at the front; the rest were dark. I climbed out of the buggy with my suitcase, and went to the front door, where a maid was waiting.

“Will you walk this way, ma'am?” she said, and I followed her across the large, square hallway with high doors all round.

She opened a door and showed me through. I couldn't have hoped for a happier scene. The room was small, lit by candles and warmed by a crackling fire. In an armchair sat a plump old lady in a black dress, a cap and a shawl. She was knitting, and at her feet, close to the hearth, curled a contented-looking cat. It was Mrs. Fairfax, just as I had imagined her-except that she looked much friendlier than I had hoped.

“How do you do, my dear?” she said. “I'm afraid you've had a long journey-John drives so slowly-and you must be freezing. Come to the fireside.”

“Mrs. Fairfax?”

“Yes, that's me,” she said. She got up and conducted me to her own chair, where she helped me with my shawl and bonnet strings.

“Please, you do not have to…”

“Oh, it's no trouble! Your hands are almost numbed with cold. Leah, bring Miss Eyre something hot to drink, and a sandwich or two. Here are the keys of the storeroom.”

She was so kind and welcoming, it was as if I were a visiting lady, not the new governess. And I anticipated only coldness and stiffness. I felt rather confused at being the object of more attention than I had ever before received.

“Will I have the pleasure of seeing Miss Fairfax tonight?” I asked.

“Miss Fairfax? Oh, you mean Miss Varens! Varens is the name of your future pupil.”

“Then she is not your daughter?”

“No, no-I have no family,” said Mrs. Fairfax.

I wanted to know how Miss Varens was connected with her, but I remembered it was not polite to ask too many questions.

“I am so glad you have come; it will be quite pleasant living here now with a companion. It's lovely here anyway, of course-this is a fine old house, and very respectable-but it can get dreary in the wintertime, especially when one is alone. Leah's a nice girl, and John and Mary are good people, but they're servants and keep to themselves. One needs someone intelligent to talk to! You know, all last winter, I swear not a soul came to the house but the butcher and the postman with their deliveries. I felt quite cut off. The spring and summer were more pleasant, of course, and then, just recently, Adèle arrived with her nurse. A child always livens up a house. And now you are here too, I'm sure I'll be quite content!”

My heart warmed as I listened to her talking of friendship and conversation. I wished with all my heart that I could be as good a friend as she hoped.

“But I'll not keep you up any longer,” she said. “It's midnight, and I'm sure you're quite exhausted. I'll show you to your room. I've given you one near to mine, at the back of the house^[20]. It's quite small, but I think you'll like it better than the big rooms at the front.”

I agreed I was very tired, and we went upstairs. Mrs. Fairfax opened the door to my room, which was small, but welcoming. After a long journey I was now at last in safe haven. I was too tired to stay awake any longer. I quickly unpacked my things, and within minutes I was in a deep sleep.

Chapter 12

When I woke up, I thought that a brighter era of life was beginning for me, one that was to have its flowers and pleasures, as well as its thorns and toils. I dressed myself with care. I wished, as I often had before, that I wasn't so small and plain. I wished I were taller and prettier. Meanwhile, I was pale, little and had irregular features.

I left my room tidy and went downstairs. There was no one around, I walked through the hall, taking in the paintings, the bronze lamps and the clock. The front door stood half-open, so I stepped outside and across the dewy lawn into the sunshine, and looked up at the house. Now I looked respectable enough to appear in front of Mrs. Fairfax and my new pupil.

I descended the slippery steps, then I reached the hall. I looked at some pictures on the walls and at a great clock whose case was of oak curiously carved. Everything seemed so luxurious to me though I was so little accustomed to luxury. I looked out of the open window. A row of old thorn trees divided the grounds from the meadows all around-they must have given the house its name^[21]. In the distance there were moors, and on a nearby hilltop I could see a little village with a church.

I was yet enjoying the calm prospect and pleasant fresh air, when that lady appeared at the door.

“What! out already?” she said. “I see you're an early riser! So, how do you like Thornfield?”

“I like it very much.”

“It is a pretty place,” she said. “But I fear it will get out of order, unless Mr. Rochester resides here permanently.”

“Mr. Rochester!” I exclaimed. “Who is he?”

“The owner of Thornfield,” she said. “Did you not know he was called Rochester?”

“No. I thought Thornfield belonged to you.”

“To me? Bless you, child!” she laughed. “No, I'm just the housekeeper, the manager! I am distantly related to the Rochesters by the mother's side, or at least my husband was. But this connection is nothing to me. I consider myself an ordinary housekeeper and him my employer.”

I felt better pleased than ever. The equality between her and me was real.

“And the little girl-my pupil?”

“She is Mr. Rochester's ward. He asked me to find a teacher for her. He wants her to be brought up here, in-shire.”

As I was thinking about this discovery, a little girl, followed by her nurse, came running up the lawn. My pupil was quite a child, perhaps seven or eight years old, with a pale, small-featured face, and curls to her waist.

“Good morning, Miss Adèle,” said Mrs. Fairfax. “Come and speak to the lady who is to teach you, and to make you a clever woman some day.”

“Bonjour,” said Adèle, and turned to her nurse, talking excitedly in French. She came and shook hand with me when she heard, that I was her governess.

“Are they foreigners?” I inquired, amazed at hearing the French language.

“The nurse is a foreigner, and Adèle was born in France. I believe, she had never left it till within six months ago. When she first came here, she could speak no English. She can shift between the languages now but I don't understand her, she mixes it so with French. But it will be no problem to you, won't it?”

Fortunately I had been taught French by a French lady, and I had talked with Madame Pierrot as often as I could. Now I could easily communicate with my pupil. When Adèle heard I could speak French, she replied briefly but then started to speak fluently and complimented my skills. “You speak my language as well as Mr. Rochester does: I can talk to you as I can to him, and so can Sophie. She will be glad: nobody here understands her: Madame Fairfax is all English,” she said.

I led her in to breakfast.

“Sophie is my nurse; she came with me over the sea in a great ship with a chimney that smoked-how it did smoke! – and I was sick, and so was Sophie, and so was Mr. Rochester,” the girl continued. Then she suddenly asked, “And what is your name, Mademoiselle?”

“Eyre-Jane Eyre.”

She repeated it with a French accent and got upset that she could not pronounce it correctly.

After breakfast, Adèle and I withdrew to the library, the room Mr. Rochester had ordered to be used as the schoolroom. There was a bookcase containing everything that could be needed in the way of elementary works, a piano, a pair of globes and an easel for painting.

Adèle was docile and eager to study but she was not accustomed to any kind of discipline. I felt it would be cruel to keep her all day the first time, and I allowed her to return to her nurse at noon.

I decided to draw some little sketches for her use and was on my way upstairs to fetch my pencils when Mrs. Fairfax called me, “Your school hours are over now, I suppose,” she said. “Would you like to see the house?”

I followed her into every room, gazing in wonder at the beautiful furniture, the rich deep carpets, and the grand empty bedrooms with their velvet drapes. Mrs. Fairfax dusted here and there as she showed me around.

“In what order you keep these rooms, Mrs. Fairfax!” I said. “Except that the air feels chilly, one would think they were inhabited daily.”

“Why, Miss Eyre, though Mr. Rochester's visits here are rare, they are always sudden and unexpected. So, I thought it would be best to keep the rooms in readiness.”

“What is Mr. Rochester like? Do you like him? Is he generally liked?” I asked

“Oh, yes; the family have always been respected here. And I have no cause to do otherwise than like him. He has always been just and noble. But he is rather peculiar, I suppose.”

“In what way is he peculiar?” I asked.

“I don't know-it is not easy to describe-nothing striking, but you feel it when he speaks to you; you cannot be always sure whether he is pleased or the contrary; you don't thoroughly understand him, in short-at least, I don't: but he is a very good master.”

We were already upstairs; now I followed her through a doorway and up a narrow staircase to the attic. We went along a gloomy passageway, then up a ladder and through a trapdoor onto the roof.

We were as high up as the rooks in the trees behind the house, and I could look right into their nests. Walking around the battlements, I saw the grounds laid out like a map, with the meadows, the village and the hills beyond all lying peacefully in the warm autumn sun.

By now it was almost time for lunch. While Mrs. Fairfax stayed to fasten the trapdoor, I climbed down the ladder. My eyes had grown used to the bright sunshine, and now the attic passageway seemed pitch-black. I had to feel my way along the walls in the silence.

As I was nearing the top of the attic stairs, I heard a very strange sound. It was a kind of laugh, but not a happy one. It sounded loud, hollow and inhuman-almost like a bark. If I had been alone, and if it hadn't been the middle of the day, I would have feared it was a ghost. I hurried down the staircase and through the door into the upstairs hallway.

“Mrs. Fairfax,” I called. She emerged a few moments later.

“Did you hear that loud laugh? Who is it?” I asked.

“Some of the servants, very likely,” she answered: “perhaps Grace Poole. I often hear her: she sews in one of these rooms.”

The laugh was repeated in a low tone and ended with a murmur.

“Grace!” exclaimed Mrs. Fairfax.

I really did not expect any Grace to answer; but the door nearest me opened, and a servant came out, – a woman of between thirty and forty; a red-haired figure with a hard, plain face. If she were an apparition, there were no apparition less ghostly.

“Too much noise, Grace,” said Mrs. Fairfax.

As we went on, my companion asked me about Adèle, and the conversation about the girl continued till we reached the light and cheerful region downstairs.

Adèle met us there, and we found dinner ready, and waiting for us in Mrs. Fairfax's room.