Книга - Сборник лучших произведений английской классической литературы. Уровень 3

Сборник лучших произведений английской классической литературы. Уровень 3
Emily Brontë

Charlotte Bronte


Легко читаем по-английски
Данная книга представляет собой сборник самых знаменитых произведений английской классической литературы. В него вошли самые известные романы сестер Бронте: «Джейн Эйр» и «Грозовой перевал», на которых выросло не одно поколение читателей по всему миру.

Тексты адаптированы для продолжающих изучение английского языка (Уровень 3) и сопровождаются комментариями и словарем.

В формате PDF A4 сохранен издательский макет книги.





Эмили Бронте, Шарлотта Бронте

Сборник лучших произведений английской классической литературы. Уровень 3





© Демидова Д.А.

© Прокофьева О.Н.

© ООО «Издательство, АСТ», 2021





Charlotte Brontё

Jane Eyre





Chapter 1


It was impossible to take a walk that day. Since dinner the cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that further out-door exercise was out of the question. Instead, we had to amuse ourselves indoors[1 - we had to amuse ourselves indoors. – нам пришлось находить себе занятие дома.]. I was glad of it: I never liked long walks, especially on chilly afternoons. My cousins, Eliza, John and Georgiana Reed were sitting round their mama in the drawing-room by the fire-side, but I was not allowed to join the group.

“You, Jane, are excluded from our company until I hear from Bessie that you can behave like a proper, sweet little girl,” announced Mrs. Reed.

“What does Bessie say I have done?” I asked.

“Jane, I don't like questioners; don't answer me back[2 - don't answer me back – не пререкайтесь]. Be seated somewhere; and until you can speak pleasantly, remain silent.”

I went into another room, with a bookcase in it. I took one of the books, Bewick's History of British Birds, and climbed into the window seat. I drew the curtain, gathered up my feet, and sat cross-legged, like a Turk. Then I immersed myself into another world. I was now discovering the shores of Lapland, Siberia, Spitzbergen, Nova Zembla, Iceland, Greenland, with 'the vast sweep of the Arctic Zone, and that reservoir of frost and snow. Of these death white realms I formed an idea of my own: shadowy, like all the half-comprehended notions that float dim through children's brains, but strangely impressive.

The book contained pictures, and each picture told a story. These stories were as interesting as the tales Bessie sometimes told us on winter evenings when she was in good humour.

With Bewick on my knee, I was then happy: happy at least in my way. I feared nothing but interruption, and that came too soon. The breakfast-room door opened.

“Boh!” cried the voice of John Reed. Then he paused as he thought the room was empty. “Where is she? Lizzy! Georgy! Tell Mama! Jane's run out into the rain!”

“She's in the window seat,” Eliza said at once.

I came out immediately before John could drag me out.

“What do you want?” I asked.

John Reed was a fourteen-year-old schoolboy, four years older than I. He was large and stout for his age, and he bullied me continually. I hated and feared him, I could do nothing against him. The servants did not like to offend their young master, and Mrs. Reed was blind and deaf on the subject.

All at once, without speaking, John struck suddenly and strongly

“That is for your rude answer to mama, for hiding behind curtains and for the look you had in your eyes, you rat,” he said.

“What were you doing behind that curtain?”

“I was reading.”

“Show me the book.”

I gave him the book.

“You have no right to take our books. You have no money, your father left you none, you should beg, and not live with us. Now, I'll teach you a lesson. Go and stand by the door.”

I did so, then waited, flinching. He hurled the heavy book at me. It hit me and I fell, striking my head against the door and cutting it. The cut bled, the pain was sharp: suddenly my terror was gone, and I was full of anger.

“Wicked and cruel boy! You are like a murderer!”

“Did she say that to me? Did you hear her, Eliza and Georgiana? Won't I tell mama? but first-“

He grasped my hair and my shoulder. I don't very well know what I did with my hands, but he called me 'Rat! Rat!', Eliza, and Georgiana ran for Mrs. Reed.

We were parted, and Mrs. Reed was standing over me.

“Dear, dear,” said Abbott, shaking her head. “What a fury, to fly at master John!”

“Take her away to the red-room,” said Mrs. Reed, “and lock her in there.”

The red-room was the biggest bedroom in Gateshead Hall, with a red carpet, red damask drapery, red velvet curtains, and a dark mahogany bed in it. Nobody slept there. Nobody wanted to. It was here, nine years before, in that very bed that Mr. Reed had died. Ever since I had often heard the servants whispering that it was haunted.

I resisted all the way. Bessie and Abbott had to force me through the door. I only stopped struggling when they threatened to tie me to a chair.

“What shocking conduct, Miss Eyre, to strike a young gentleman! Your young master.”

“Master! How is he my master? Am I a servant?”

“No; you are less than a servant, for you do nothing for your keep,” said Miss Abbot.

“Miss Eyre, you should be grateful to Mrs. Reed for keeping you,” said Bessie, in a kinder voice. “If you don't behave, she might send you away[3 - If you don't behave, she might send you away – Если ты не будешь хорошо себя вести, она может выставить тебя на улицу], and then where would you be?”

“You'd better say your prayers, Miss, and ask for forgiveness,” said Abbott.

They left and locked the door behind them.

Left alone, holding furiously onto the chair I had been pushed into, I turned the afternoon's events over and over in my mind[4 - I turned the afternoon's events over and over in my mind. – Я вновь и вновь прокручивала в голове события этого дня.]. Why did everyone adore selfish, rude John, Georgiana and Eliza, and hate me, even though I tried to be good? Was it because they were pretty, with their golden curls and silk dresses, and I was poor and plain? “Unjust! – unjust!” said a voice in my head.

The room was silent as it was far from the nursery and kitchen. It was getting dark as the daylight faded and I had no candle. It was cold too as there was no fire. I thought about Mr. Reed. He had been my uncle-my mother's brother. When my parents had died, I was a baby, and my uncle Reed had brought me to live at Gateshead Hall. Bessie had told me that Mrs. Reed only continued to look after me because, just before his death, Mr. Reed had made her promise that she would.

He had always been kind to me. Perhaps now his spirit was watching[5 - Perhaps now his spirit was watching – Возможно, сейчас его дух наблюдал], and was angry about the way they treated me. Perhaps-I gripped the chair more tightly, and felt frightened-perhaps his ghost really lived in this room.

The thought of seeing a ghost, even kind Mr. Reed's ghost, filled me with terror. I was not quite sure whether Abbott and Bessie had locked the door; I got up and went to see. Alas! yes. I stared into the darkness in panic, convinced a phantom was about to appear.

At this moment a light gleamed on the wall and began to glide slowly across the ceiling towards me.

Looking back, I know it was probably nothing more than a footman carrying a lantern across the lawn[6 - it was probably nothing more than a footman carrying a lantern across the lawn – это был всего лишь лакей, который шёл по полю с фонарём]. But, in my terrified state of mind, I believed it was the ghost. My head grew hot, something seemed near me. I rushed to the door and shook the lock in desperate effort screaming.

I heard footsteps, the key turned, Bessie and Abbot entered.

“Take me out! Let me go into the nursery!” I cried.

“What for? Are you hurt? Have you seen something?” demanded Bessie.

“I saw a light, and I thought it was a ghost…”

“What is all this?” It was Mrs. Reed. “Bessie, I told you to leave Jane alone.”

“Miss Jane screamed so loudly, ma'am…”

“You cannot get out by these means, child,” Mrs. Reed said. “It is my duty to show you that tricks will not work. You will now stay here an hour longer.”

“O aunt! have pity! Forgive me!”

But I was only an actress in her eyes. Bessie and Abbot left first, Mrs. Reed pushed me back into the room and locked me in.

Left alone once more, I fell unconscious, as that was the last thing I remembered.




Chapter 2


When I woke up, I was somewhere warm and soft. There was a red glow and muffled voices around me. Someone lifted me, and then I rested my head against a pillow or an arm.

When I opened my eyes, I saw that I was in my own bed. The glow came from the fire. It was night. Bessie stood beside me, looking anxious, and a gentleman sat in a chair near my pillow. I knew him. It was Mr. Lloyd, an apothecary. Mrs. Reed called him sometimes when the servants were ill.

“Who am I, Jane?” he asked.

“Mr. Lloyd,” I said, offering him at the same time my hand. He took it and smiled.

“I think she'll be alright. I'll come back tomorrow.”

He departed, to my grief. I felt so sheltered when he sat in the chair, and then all the room darkened.

“Would you like to sleep, Miss Eyre?” asked Bessie, rather softly.

“I'll try.”

“Would you like something to eat or drink?”

“No thank you,” I said, puzzled[7 - puzzled – озадаченно]. Why was she so nice to me?

“Then I'll go to bed myself-it's after midnight,” she said. “But you can call me if you want anything.”

“Bessie, what is going on?” I asked. “Am I ill?”

“You fainted crying in the red-room. You'll be better soon.”

Next day I sat wrapped in a shawl by the fire. I felt weak and broken down. None of the Reeds were home, and I could be happy. Instead, my nerves were in such a state that no calm could soothe, and no pleasure excite them. Even when Bessie came in with a tart for me, I put it away. As Bessie finished dusting and tidying the room, she began making a new bonnet for Georgiana's doll and sing. Her voice was sweet but I found its melody sad.

“Why did they send me
so far and so lonely,
Up where the moors spread
and grey rocks are piled?
Men are hard-hearted,
and kind angels only
Watch o'er the steps of
a poor orphan child.”

“Miss Jane, don't cry,' said Bessie as she finished the ballad. She might as well have said to the fire, 'don't burn!'

At midday, Mr. Lloyd returned, as he had promised, and asked Bessie how I was. Bessie answered that I was doing very well.

“Then she should look more cheerful. Come here, Jane. Well, you cried, didn't you? Why?”

“She couldn't go out with the others in the carriage,” said Bessie.

“No. I hate going out in the carriage. I cry because I am miserable.”

The good apothecary seemed puzzled. “And what made you ill yesterday?”

“She had a fall,” said Bessie.

“I doubt that. She is no child,” said Mr. Lloyd.

Just then the bell rang, calling the servants to their lunch. Bessie wanted to stay but the rules were strict and she could not be late.

“Now then,” said Mr. Lloyd, when she had gone. “The fall did not make you ill; what did, then?”

“I was locked in a room where there was a ghost.”

“Ghost! You are a baby after all! Are you afraid of ghosts?”

“Mr. Reed died in that room. Nobody goes there at night. It was cruel to shut me up alone without a candle.”

“Nonsense!”

“And I am unhappy for other things.”

“What other things?”

I wanted to reply fully to the question but children can feel, but they cannot analyse their feelings.

“For one thing, I have no mother or father…”

“But you have a kind aunt and cousins.”

“John Reed hit me and Mrs. Reed shut me up in the red-room.”

“Don't you think Gateshead Hall a very beautiful house?”

“It is not my house, sir, and I have less right to be here than a servant.”

“I can't believe you want to leave such a splendid place.”

“If I had anywhere else to go, I would leave this second.”

Now I could see that Mr. Lloyd believed me.

“Would you like to go to school?”

I hardly knew what school was. John Reed hated his school. Bessie sometimes spoke of it as a place where young ladies wore backboards, and were taught to be exceedingly genteel and precise. There girls could paint and sew, sing and play the piano, and read books in French. If I went to school, I would be allowed to read all kinds of books. And it would mean leaving Gateshead Hall behind at last[8 - And it would mean leaving Gateshead Hall behind at last. – И это значило бы покинуть наконец Гейтсхед Холл.].

“I would love to go to school.”

“Well then,” he said. “I will speak to Mrs. Reed.”




Chapter 3


After that day a change seemed near, I desired and waited it in silence. Mrs. Reed dropped no hint about sending me to school but I felt she would no longer endure me under the same roof. I ate my meals alone, and Mrs. Reed told John, Eliza and Georgiana not to speak to me. I spent more time with the servants than with the Reeds. Sometimes Bessie let me dust and tidy the rooms to keep me busy.

November, December, and half of January passed away. During all Christmas and New Year parties I waited in my room, listening to the sound of the piano, the clink of glasses and the hum of conversation below. Once or twice Bessie brought me a cake from the feast.

It was the fifteenth of January, about nine o'clock in the morning. Bessie came running into the nursery. “Miss Jane! What are you doing there?” she said. “Have you washed your hands and face this morning?” She hurried me up to the washstand, scrubbed my face and quickly brushed my hair. I was wanted downstairs.

I slowly descended and stopped in front of the breakfast-room door trembling. I feared to go forward. Ten minutes I stood in hesitation till I finally decided: I MUST enter.

Mrs. Reed was in her usual seat bу the fireside, she made a signal to me to approach and introduced me to a tall grey-eyed gentleman with the words: “This is the little girl I wrote to you about.”

“She is so small. What is her age?” he said in a bass voice.

“Ten years.”

“So much? What is your name, little girl?”

“Jane Eyre, sir.”

“Well, Jane Eyre, are you a good child?”

It was impossible to answer. I thought I was good, but I knew no one else in the house would say so. I was silent. Mrs. Reed answered for me: “The less said about that, the better.''

“Sorry indeed to hear! She and I must talk. Come here.”

I came up to him. He placed me straight before him. What a face he had! What a great nose! And what a mouth!

“No sight so sad as that of a naughty child. Do you know where wicked people go, Jane, after they die?”

“They go to hell,” was my ready answer.

“Is that what you want to happen to you?”

“No, sir,” I said.

“What must you do to avoid it?”

I was at a loss. I knew I couldn't try any harder to be good. “I must take care not to die, sir.”

“Do you say your prayers night and morning?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you read your Bible?” continued my interrogator.

“Sometimes.”

“Are you fond of it?”

“I like Revelations[9 - Revelations – Откровения (Откровение Иоанна Богослова – название последней книги Нового Завета)], and the book of Daniel.”

“And the Psalms?”

“I don't like them.”

“Oh, shocking! I know a little boy, younger than you, who knows six Psalms by heart. When asked what he would prefer, a nut or a Psalm to learn, he says, 'Oh, the verse of a Psalm, please. Angels sing Psalms. I wish to be like a little angel.' He then gets two nuts as a reward for his goodness.”

“Psalms are not interesting.”

“You must pray to God to change your wicked heart and give you a clean one.”

I wanted to ask him how when Mrs. Reed broke the silence.

“Mr. Brocklehurst,” she said. “If you admit her into Lowood school, I want the superintendent and teachers keep a strict eye on her. Deceit is, indeed, a sad fault in a child.” The accusation cut me to the heart.

“Deceit is, indeed, a sad fault in a child. She will be watched, Mrs. Reed. I will speak to Miss Temple and the teachers,” said Mr. Brocklehurst.

“I wish her to be made useful and humble. She will, with your permission, spend all vacations at Lowood.”

“I approve of your decisions, madam.”

“I will send her, then, as soon as possible, Mr. Brocklehurst.”

“I will send Miss Temple notice about a new girl, so that there will be no difficulty about receiving her. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye, Mr. Brocklehurst.”

Mrs. Reed and I were left alone: some minutes passed in silence; she was sewing, I was watching her with rage in my eyes. Mrs. Reed looked up from her work

“Return to the nursery,” she ordered with irritation. But first I wanted to talk with her.

“I am not deceitful,” I said. “If I were, I would lie and say I love you, and I declare I do not love you. I dislike you, and your son, and the girls. They tell lies, not me.”

“Have you anything more to add?” she asked coldly, as if she were speaking to an adult, not a child[10 - as if she were speaking to an adult, not a child – словно она говорила со взрослым человеком, а не с ребёнком]. Shaking from head to foot, I continued: “I am glad you are no relation of mine. I will never call you aunt again as long as I live. People think you a good woman, but you are bad, hard-hearted. YOU are deceitful!”

“'Jane, you are under a mistake: what is the matter with you? I assure you, I desire to be your friend.”

“Not you. You told Mr. Brocklehurst I had a bad and deceitful character; and I'll let everybody at Lowood know what you are, and what you have done. Send me to school soon, Mrs. Reed, for I hate to live here.”

“I will indeed send her to school soon,” murmured Mrs. Reed and left the room. I won.

“All at once I heard a clear voice call, 'Miss Jane! where are you? Come to lunch!”

It was Bessie, I knew well enough, but I did not move. She came and her presence seemed cheerful. I put my two arms round her.

“You are going to school, I suppose?” she asked.

I nodded.

“And won't you be sorry to leave poor Bessie?”

“Not at all, Bessie; indeed, I'm rather sorry.”

She laughed at my words and we embraced.




Chapter 4


At five o'clock in the morning Bessie came into my room to find me already up and dressed. She prepared breakfast for me, but few children can eat when excited with the thoughts of journey.

As we passed Mrs. Reed's bedroom, she said, “Will you go in and bid Missis goodbye?” I just shook my head.

“Good-bye to Gateshead!” cried I, as we passed through the hall and went out at the front door.

The winter morning was raw and chill. At the lodge house, the porter's wife was up; I could already hear the sound of the public coach coming towards us in the distance.

“Is she going by herself?” asked the porter's wife.

“Yes, fifty miles, all on her own,” said Bessie.

The coach came into view, and the horses stopped. My trunk was taken from me and put up onto the roof. I embraced Bessie, and she kissed me on the cheek.

“Be sure to take good care of her!” said she, as I was put in the carriage and the wheels began to move. I was carried away to my new life.

I remember little of the journey. The day seemed too long took all day, we stopped at the inn once but I had no appetite. I was feeling very strange. We were getting very far from Gateshead, to a remote and mysterious place. The wind started to rush amongst trees; and lulled by the sound, I at last fell asleep.

I woke up when the carriage stopped. The door was opened, and I saw a servant standing in the rain.

“Is there a little girl called Jane Eyre here?” she asked. I said “yes”. The guard lifted me out, my trunk was put down, and seconds later the coach drove away.

I was exhausted after a long journey and chilled to the bone as rain, wind, and darkness filled the air. I could see a house or houses with many windows, and lights burning in some. The servant led me inside it and left me in a silent room by the fire.

As I looked round warming my fingers and trying to make out what was there in the room, two ladies came in. The first one was a tall lady with dark hair, dark eyes, a pale and large forehead, and a figure partly enveloped in a shawl[11 - partly enveloped in a shawl – частично укрытая шалью]. She was about twenty-nine and looked a little older than the second lady.

“The child looks tired,” said the first lady. “She should be put to bed soon, Miss Miller. And she must be hungry. Let her have supper.” Then she addressed me, “Is this the first time you have left your parents to come to school, my little girl?”

“I have no parents.”

I told her my age, my name and whether I could read, write, and sew. She seemed pleased. She touched my cheek gently and dismissed me with Miss Miller.

Led by her, I passed from passage to passage till we entered a wide, long room, with great tables, two at each end, and girls of every age, from nine up to eighteen, sitting around them on benches. Countless and similar figures, they were whispering repetitions for tomorrow's classes and their whispers grew into a hum of voices.

I was told to sit on a bench near the door, and Miss Miller walked up to the top of the long room.

“Monitors, collect the books and put them away! Then fetch the supper-trays!” Immediately four older girls got up, gathered the books, went out and returned, each carrying a tray with a pitcher of water, a mug and portions on them. The portions were handed round. Those who liked took the mug and poured water. I was thirsty, but did not touch the food as I was still too excited and tired to eat.

When the meal was over, Miss Miller read prayers, and the classes went upstairs, two by two. By now I was so exhausted, I hardly noticed what the bedroom was like, I only saw it was very long. I was helped to undress and put into bed. In ten minutes the light was switched off, and I fell asleep.




Chapter 5


The night passed rapidly. When I opened my eyes, a loud bell was ringing and girls were up and dressing all around me. It was still dark and freezing cold in the bedroom. I dressed shivering and waited for my turn at the basin. But I had hardly begun to wash my face when the bell rang again. All formed in file, two and two, we descended the stairs and entered the cold and dimly lit schoolroom. After prayers Miss Miller told us to form classes.

There were four classes, and Miss Miller put me in the one with the smallest of the children. We said prayers and read from the Bible for an hour. As I had not eaten since my departure from Gateshead, looked forward to our breakfast.

At the sound of the breakfast bell, we formed into pairs again to go to the refectory, a gloomy room, furnished with two long tables. Basins of something steaming hot stood on every table though the odour was far from inviting. The tall girls at the front murmured that the porridge had been burnt again.

“Silence,” snapped one of the teachers, a short woman with a sour face. We took our places. A long grace was said and a hymn sung; then a servant brought in some tea for the teachers, and the meal began. I was so hungry that I swallowed several mouthfuls before the revolting, gluey taste of the burned porridge made me stop. I saw each girl taste her food and try in vain to swallow. Breakfast was over, and none had breakfasted. I was one of the last to go out, and in passing the tables, I saw one teacher take a basin of the porridge, taste it and call it 'disgusting'.

We spent a quarter of an hour in a schoolroom, where mostly all conversations were held on the subject of the breakfast. A clock in the schoolroom struck nine. “Silence!” cried Miss Miller, and the conversations ceased. Ranged on benches down the sides of the room, the eighty girls sat motionless, all in brown dresses and all with plain locks combed from their faces, not a curl visible. Miss Miller ordered the monitors to fetch the globes for a geography lesson. But before we started, the dark-haired lady, who had been so kind to me the previous day, entered the room.

She walked up and down the benches inspecting us. I stared at her in awe admiring how tall, beautiful and graceful she was.

As she came to the middle of the room, and stood before us to make an announcement. “You had a breakfast this morning which you could not eat,” she said. “You must be hungry. I have ordered a lunch of bread and cheese to be served to all.”

The teachers looked at her with surprise.

“I will take full responsibility,” she added. And so the delicious fresh bread and cheese was brought in to the high delight of the whole school.

The order was now given 'To the garden!'

Outdoors there was a wide square garden surrounded by high walls. A verandah ran along it framed by broad walks. There were also cultivation beds, where in the summer we would grow flowers and vegetables. But at the end of January they were brown and bare. There was a drizzling yellow fog and most pupils huddled in groups to stay warm, only few stronger girls engaged in active games. I saw how pale the children were and heard many of them cough.

I stood lonely, as I had not spoken to anyone. No one took notice of me, and I was accustomed to isolation. I hardly yet knew where I was; Gateshead and my past life seemed long forgotten. I looked round the garden, and then up at the house-a large building, half of which seemed grey and old, the other half quite new. I saw that it had an inscription above the door:



“'Lowood Institution.-

'Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.'-

St. Matt. v. 16.”


I read these words over and over again: there must be an explanation. I was still thinking about the inscription when the sound of a cough close behind me made me turn my head. A girl a few years older than me was sitting on a stone bench, reading a book. I saw that it was called-Rasselas. It sounded exotic and exciting, as if it might be about genies and dragons. I wished I had a book to read myself, and I wondered if the girl might lend it to me one day.

As she turned the page, she looked up and I took my chance to speak.

“Is your book interesting?”

“I like it,” she said.

“What is it about?”

She handed me the book to look at. 'Rasselas' looked boring. There were no pictures, and I saw nothing about fairies, nothing about genii. I returned it, and asked instead:

“Have you seen the inscription? What is Lowood Institution?”

“This house where you are now.”

“Why isn't it called a school?”

“It's partly a charity-school for orphans.”

“Do we pay no money?”

“We pay, or our friends pay, fifteen pounds a year for each. Not enough for board and teaching, and we are also funded by kind-hearted ladies and gentlemen from the neighbourhood and London. And Mr. Brocklehurst overlooks and directs everything here.”

“Then this house does not belong to that tall lady who said we were to have some bread and cheese?”

“Miss Temple? I wish it did! But she has to answer to Mr. Brocklehurst.”

“It is that cruel man who visited Mrs. Reed at Gateshead Hall,” I thought.

“Does he live here?” I asked.

“Oh no, he lives in a big house two miles away, with his family. He's the village clergyman[12 - He's the village clergyman. – Он деревенский священник.].”

I asked her about the teachers. They were all nice and she liked them, but Miss Temple was the best. She was very clever and knew far more than the others did.

“Are you an orphan too?” I asked finally.

“My mother is dead.”

“Are you happy here?”

“You ask too many questions,” but at that moment the bell rang to call us back inside. We had dinner and more classes followed it.

The only marked event of the afternoon was that I saw Miss Scatcherd from a history class scolding my new friend. I could not see what she had done wrong, but she was sent to stand in the middle of the schoolroom, where everyone could stare at her.

If this had happened to me, I knew I would have been overwhelmed with rage and indignation[13 - I would have been overwhelmed with rage and indignation. – меня переполняли бы гнев и возмущение.]. The punishment seemed to me unfair, and I was amazed to see her standing there quietly, looking at the floor without a hint of distress and shame. I did not understand her though I wanted to.

The school day ended with brown bread and coffee, half-an-hour's recreation, then study, then the glass of water and the piece of oatcake, prayers, and bed.

Such was my first day at Lowood.




Chapter 6


The next day began as before, except that we could not wash as the water in the pitchers was frozen solid. It was now even colder, and a freezing wind blew right into the dormitory. We shivered through our early morning prayers until the breakfast bell. Today, the porridge was not burned, but there still was not enough of it and I stayed hungry again.

Until now I had only watched the lessons; today I was allowed to take part in the fourth class. If I had to struggle with learning things by heart, now I was given a pleasant task to sew, which I could do easily, and I could sit quietly in the corner and spy on the class next to ours.

It was an English history lesson. We were sitting so quietly that we could hear every word-Miss Scatcherd's questions, and each girl's response. I could see the girl I had talked to on the verandah: in fact, Miss Scatcherd seemed to be angry with her constantly.

“Burns,” (the girls here were all called by their surnames). “Burns, I insist on your holding your head up; Or: “Burns, you are standing on the side of your shoe; stop it now!”

The class read the chapter twice and closed the books. Now the girls had to answer the questions. No one but Burns could remember the details well enough to answer. Miss Scatcherd could have praised my friend but instead she suddenly cried: “You dirty, disagreeable girl! you have never cleaned your nails this morning!”

“Why doesn't she tell her that the water was frozen and nobody could do it?” I thought. But Burns was silent.

Just then, Miss Smith came up to me. She asked me whether I could knit, or darn, or stitch and whether I had been to school before. Till she dismissed me, I could not watch the history class.

When I looked back at last, Burns was given an order I could not hear and immediately left the class. She returned with a bundle of long twigs tied together at one end, which she handed to Miss Scatcherd with respectful curtsy. I paused from my sewing. Without being told, she unloosed her pinafore, and the teacher unhesitatingly gave her twelve sharp lashes on the side of her neck. I was overwhelmed by anger, but Burns kept her ordinary expression, which did not escape Miss Scatcherd's attention. “Nothing can correct you!” she exclaimed.

Burns obeyed when she was told to take the rod away. When she returned, she had her handkerchief in hand, and I could see that she had cried a little.

That evening, after our bread and milk, I wandered around the tables. I had decided that this was the best part of the day: we were free to do anything we wanted for a whole hour. I decided to look for Burns and talk to her once again.

I found her sitting by the fireside finishing the same book. I sat down beside her on the floor and, when she had closed the book, I asked: “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.”

“You must wish you leave Lowood?”

“No! Why should I? I was sent here to get an education, so I should do it before I go.”

“But Miss Scatcherd is so cruel to you.”

“Not at all! She just dislikes my faults.”

“If she struck me with that rod, I would get it from her hand; I would break it under her nose!”

“You probably would not. If you did, Mr. Brocklehurst would expel you from the school. It's better to endure patiently, than to cause problems for all connected with you. The Bible tells us to return good for evil.”

“But she humiliated you! I am far younger than you, and I could not bear it! You say you have faults, Helen: what are they? To me you seem very good.”

“I seldom put, and never keep, things, in order; I am careless; I forget rules; I read when I should learn my lessons. This is all very provoking to Miss Scatcherd, who is naturally neat, punctual, and particular.”

“And cross and cruel,” I added but Helen paid no attention to it.

“Is Miss Temple as severe to you as Miss Scatcherd?” I asked.

A soft smile appeared on Helen's face.

“Miss Temple is full of goodness: she sees my errors, and tells me of them gently, and praises me when I do anything worthy of praise.”

“And how well you replied this afternoon.”

“It was mere chance. But every time when I listen to Miss Scatcherd, I lose the very sound of her voice, I fall into a sort of dream.”

“But Helen; isn't it right to dislike those who, whatever I do to please them, persist in disliking me, to resist those who punish me unjustly, and love those who show kindness to me?”

“No. Love your enemies, do good to those who hate and use you.”

“Then I should love Mrs. Reed?”

Helen Burns asked me to explain and I told her everything about this woman with excitement and anger in my voice.

“She has been unkind to you, no doubt,” was the answer to my story. “But how clearly you remember all she has done and said to you! Life is too short to be spent in nursing hatred or rage. We are all full of faults. That is why I choose to forgive and live in calm.”

Just then, one of the monitors came up to us.

“Helen Burns, if you don't put your drawer in order this minute, I'll tell Miss Scatcherd about it!” Helen sighed and obeyed the monitor without reply.




Chapter 7


My first three months seemed an age. I tried hard to get accustomed to new rules and tasks. The freezing weather stayed during January, February, and part of March. The roads were almost impassable because of deep snow, later because it started to melt.

Sundays were the worst days in that wintry season. We had to walk two miles to Brocklebridge Church. We set out cold, we arrived at church colder. During the morning service we became almost paralysed. We longed for the light and heat of the fireside.

I was always hungry. The portions were very small, and some of the bigger girls also bullied the little ones and took their bread. I had to share with them and left practically nothing for myself.

In my first weeks at Lowood, Mr. Brocklehurst was away on business. But in February he visited us. One afternoon I looked up from my lesson to see a tall figure passing the window. When Mr. Brocklehurst, for it was him, strode into the schoolroom two minutes later, everyone stood to attention. I was afraid of seeing him, because I remembered Mrs. Reed lying to him about me, and I did not want him to scold me in front of the girls.

He began by taking Miss Temple aside, and complaining to her about the woollen stockings on the washing line. “They are full of holes, ma'am!” I heard him say. “See that they are properly mended. And furthermore, Miss Temple, on looking over the accounts with the housekeeper, I saw that that a lunch, consisting of bread and cheese, has twice been served out to the girls during the past two weeks. How is this? and by what authority?”

“I am responsible for the circumstance, sir,” said Miss Temple. “The breakfast was so ill prepared that the pupils could not possibly eat it, and I orded to bring bread and butter.

Mr. Brocklehurst was not impressed. “You are aware that my plan in bringing up these girls is, not to accustom them to habits of luxury, but to make them patient, self-denying. They should be able to withstand the occasional spoiling of a meal. Indeed, instead of rewarding them with a delicate treat, you should have lectured them upon the suffering of our Lord, and fed their immortal souls instead of their bodies.”

Miss Temple did not reply. Meantime, Mr. Brocklehurst, standing on the hearth with his hands behind his back, majestically surveyed the whole school[14 - majestically surveyed the whole school – величественно осматривая всю школу].

“Miss Temple!” he suddenly exclaimed. “Red hair, ma'am, curled-curled all over?”

“It's Julia Severn, sir,” replied Miss Temple quietly. “Her hair curls naturally.”

“Naturally! Yes, but we are not to conform to nature. I desire the hair to be arranged closely, modestly, plainly. Miss Temple, that girl's hair must be cut off entirely; I will send a barber tomorrow.”

Mr. Brocklehurst was here interrupted: three other visitors, ladies, now entered the room. All three were splendidly attired, the fine girls of sixteen and seventeen had grey beaver hats, then in fashion, and curled hair under them, and the elder lady enveloped in a costly velvet shawl had a false front of French curls.

The three ladies were politely received by Miss Temple, and I heard that the elder lady's name was Mrs. Brocklehurst. I now understood they were Mr. Brocklehurst's wife and daughters. Meanwhile, Miss Temple had to listen to their complaints about the housekeeping.

As for me, I made all precautions to hide. I pretended I was busy with my sum and held my slate to conceal my face. It would have worked, if my slate had not slipped from my hand and fallen on the floor with a dreadful crash.

“A careless girl!” cried Mr. Brocklehurst. “Let the child who broke her slate come forward!” Miss Temple gently assisted me to his very feet. “Don't be afraid, Jane, I saw it was an accident; you will not be punished.” But Mr. Brocklehurst had another opinion.

“Fetch that stool and place the child upon it!”

“Ladies,' said he, turning to his family, 'Miss Temple, teachers, and children, you all see this girl? You see she is yet young; but the Evil One had already found a servant and agent in her. You must be on your guard against her; if necessary, avoid her company. Teachers, you must watch her: keep your eyes on her movements, weigh well her words, punish her body to save her soul: if, indeed, such salvation is possible at all as this girl is a LIAR! This I learned from her benefactress; from the charitable lady who adopted her in her orphan state and brought her up as her own daughter.”

He finished his speech, bowed to Miss Temple and the others, and added, “Let her stand half an hour longer like that, and let no one speak to her till tomorrow.”

I could not bear the shame of standing on my natural feet in the middle of the room but could do nothing about it. But just as everyone rose, Helen came up and passed me lifting up her eyes to look at me. She looked at me as if I were a true martyr or a hero. I mastered the rising hysteria, lifted up my head, and took a firm stand on the stool. Helen smiled at me as she passed me again, and I knew I could now endure anything[15 - I could now endure anything. – Теперь я могла вынести все.].




Chapter 8


When my half an hour punishment ended, five o'clock struck. School was dismissed, and all were gone into the refectory to tea. I descended from the stool and felt suddenly lonely and miserable. Helen Burns was not here, nothing sustained me, I sank with my face to the ground and felt my tears fill my eyes.

I had tried so hard. I had meant to be so good. I had reached the top of my class. Miss Miller had praised me warmly. Miss Temple had promised to teach me drawing, and to let me learn French, if I continued to make similar improvement two months longer. I was well received by my fellow-pupils; treated as an equal by those of my own age, and not bullied by any. Now everything was ruined.

I heard someone approach-again Helen Burns was near me. She brought my coffee and bread.

“Come, eat something,” she said kindly, and sat down next to me, but I put both away from me.

“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 it, and the world contains hundreds of millions.”

“I do not care about millions. The eighty I know now despise me.”

“You are wrong, probably not one in the school either despises or dislikes you. Many though pity you.”

“How can they pity me after what Mr. Brocklehurst's words?”

“Mr. Brocklehurst is not a god. No one here likes him. If he had treated you as an especial favourite, you would have found enemies. As it is, you might find people look at you coldly for a day or two, but they sympathise with you in their hearts. Besides…”

“Well, Helen?” I said putting my hand into hers.

“If all the world hated you, you would not be without friends.”

“I cannot bear to be hated.”

“You think too much of the love of human beings. Remember, our life is very short, and we should not sink into distress. Besides this earth, and besides the race of men, there is an invisible world of spirits: that world is round us, for it is everywhere; and those spirits watch us and guard us. They always recognise innocence.”

I was silent; Helen had calmed me. There was sadness in her voice I could still not understand, she breathed a little fast and coughed a little. I momentarily forgot my sorrows feeling concern about her. Resting my head on Helen's shoulder, I put my arms round her waist. That was how Miss Temple found us.

“I came on purpose to find you, Jane Eyre. I want you in my room; and as Helen Burns is with you, I want her to come too.”

We followed her away from the schoolroom along passages I had never seen and up a staircase before we reached her apartment. It contained a good fire, cozy low armchairs around and looked cheerful.

We sat down, and Miss Temple asked: “Is it all over, Jane? Have you cried your sorrows away?”

“I am afraid I will never do that,” I said. “I have been wrongly accused, and now everyone will think I am wicked.”

“We will consider you to be what you prove yourself to be, my child. Continue to act as a good girl, and we will never think you are wicked.”

I could hardly believe her kindness.

“And now tell me about this benefactress of yours. Why did she call you a liar? Defend yourself to me as well as you can, but add nothing and exaggerate nothing.”

I told her all about Mrs. Reed, and John Reed, and the red-room, and all the things that happened at Gateshead Hall. I tried to restrain myself, the story turned out to be less emotional than usual but more credible.

When I finished, Miss Temple regarded me a few minutes in silence, and then said, “I know Mr. Lloyd, and I will write to him. If his reply agrees with your story, I will know you are not a liar, and I will clear your name, and tell the whole school you are innocent. But I believe you already.”

She kissed me, and then addressed Helen Burns, “How are you tonight, Helen? Have you coughed much?”

“Not quite so much, I think, ma'am.”

“And the pain in your chest?”

“It is a little better.”

Miss Temple checked Helen's pulse and sighed. But then she smiled cheerfully and said, “But you two are my guests tonight, I must treat you as such.”

She called her servant and ordered tea, bread and butter. But the servant came back only with plates and teacups for three but only one toast. She explained the cook would not provide more bread and butter. She was too afraid that Mr. Brocklehurst would find out.

As soon as we were left alone, Miss Temple invited Helen and me to approach the table and gave each of us a cup of tea with one delicious but thin morsel of toast[16 - delicious but thin morsel of toast – вкусный, но тонкий ломтик тоста]. Then she got up, opened a cupboard, and took out a whole fruitcake with nuts on top, wrapped in wax paper.

“I wanted to give each of you some of this to take with you,” she said, “but as there is so little toast, you will have cake now.”

What an earthly heaven I was in that night!

The china teacups looked so pretty in the firelight, with their patterns of tiny flowers. The steam from the teapot, the aroma of hot toast, and the sight of the thick slices of cake on the plates filled me with joy. As we feasted, and I listened to Helen talking to Miss Temple about French books and faraway places, I couldn't think of a time when I had been happier. Not only was I eating well for the first time in weeks, but I was with beautiful, kind, wise Miss Temple, and I felt safe and warm.

Just a week later, Miss Temple stood before the school to make an announcement. She had made inquiries, she told us, and she had discovered, from a reliable source, that the allegations made against Miss Jane Eyre were false. Everyone applauded, and all the teachers hugged me. My name was cleared.

From that day onward, I resolved to work harder than ever. Soon I was put up to the next class, and, as I had been promised, started to learn French and drawing. Now I would not have exchanged Lowood with all its hardships for Gateshead with its daily luxuries.




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 - If we had all been strong and well-fed – если бы все мы были крепкими и сытыми], 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 - An inquiry was held into how the disease could have broken out – Было проведено расследование, чтобы выяснить, как могла начаться болезнь], 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 - superintendent – директор] 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 - I've given you one near to mine, at the back of the house. – Я выделила для вас комнату рядом с моей, в задней части дома.]. 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 - they must have given the house its name – наверняка дом назвали в их честь]. 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.




Chapter 13


The promise of a smooth career was coming true. Never before had I been granted such a pleasant existence[22 - Never before had I been granted such a pleasant existence. – Никогда раньше не доводилось мне так счастливо жить.]. Mrs. Fairfax turned out to be what she appeared, a calm woman of average intelligence. My pupil was a lively child, spoilt but teachable and obedient. She made progress, and her efforts to please me inspired me, thus, we were both content in each other's society.

Yet now and then, when I was left alone and took a walk by myself in the grounds or climbed up to the attic to admire the view, I longed for the busy world, towns, regions full of life. I desired more of practical experience than I possessed and more people around me to talk to. Then my only relief was to walk along the corridor of the third storey, backwards and forwards, safe in the silence and solitude, and to open my inward ear to a tale that was never ended-a tale my imagination created, a tale full of incident, life, fire, feeling, that I desired and had not in my actual life.

When I was near the attic, I often heard Grace Poole's laugh-the same low, slow ha! ha! which was followed by her eccentric murmurs.

October, November and December passed away. One afternoon in January, Mrs. Fairfax asked for a holiday for Adèle, because she had a cold, and I agreed.

It was a fine, calm day, though very cold. I was tired of sitting still in the library through a whole long morning and, as Mrs. Fairfax had just written a letter, I volunteered to carry it to Hay and post it. The distance of two miles could become a pleasant winter afternoon walk.

I walked fast till I got warm. Then I walked slowly, and after a mile or so I stopped to rest. A sheet of ice lay across the track where a stream had run over it and frozen solid. From where I was, I could see Thornfield, with its dark battlements and woods. Looking the other way, I saw chimney smoke rising from the houses at the top of the hill. Behind them, the moon was rising. I stayed there in absolute peace, listening to the faint sound of the rivers in the valley.

Just as I was about to set off again, I heard the metallic clatter of horses' hooves approaching. I couldn't see anything, as the lane was narrow and winding, but someone was certainly coming. I stood back to let them pass.

When the noise was close, but there was still no one in sight, I was startled to see a huge dog sniffing right next to me. It was brown and white, with a long coat, and such a large, hairy head that it reminded me of a lion. I shrank back, but the dog ran past without even looking at me. Almost at once the rider galloped past too-a man on a tall, sturdy horse-and I continued my journey.

Then I heard a scraping sound, and the man cursing. I turned back to see that both horse and rider were on the ground: they had slipped on the ice I had been looking at[23 - I turned back to see that both horse and rider were on the ground: they had slipped on the ice I had been looking at. – Я обернулась и увидела, что и лошадь, и наездник были на земле: они поскользнулись на том самом льду, на который я смотрела ранее.]. The dog sniffed around them, then came up to me, barking. I followed him back down the track.

“Are you injured, sir?” I asked. “Can I do anything?”

“You must just stand on one side,” he answered as he rose, first to his knees, and then to his feet. Then he helped the horse. Meanwhile, the dog was barking and leaping around, and was at last silenced with a 'Down, Pilot!'.

Luckily, the horse was unharmed. But the rider felt his foot and leg and limped.

“If you are hurt, and want help, sir, I can fetch someone either from Thornfield Hall or from Hay.”

“Thank you, but I have no broken bones, – only a sprain,” he said. As he stood up and tried his foot, he gave an involuntary 'Ugh!'

The sun had not set yet, and I could see him clearly. His figure was enveloped in a riding cloak, but I traced middle height and a considerable breadth of chest. He had a dark face, with stern features, he was past youth. I concluded he was about thirty-five. I felt no fear of him, probably just little shyness. He was not a handsome, heroic-looking young gentleman, he had not smiled and been good-humoured to me. If he had, I would have long been gone. But now when he waved to me to go, I announced, “I cannot think of leaving you, sir, at so late an hour till I see you are fit to mount your horse.”

He looked at me when I said this; he had hardly turned his eyes in my direction before.

“I should think you ought to be at home yourself,” he said. “If you have a home in this neighbourhood, where do you come from?'”

“From just below. And I will run over to Hay for you with pleasure, if you wish it. Indeed, I am going there to post a letter.”

“You live just below-do you mean at that house?” he pointed to Thornfield Hall.

“Yes, sir.”

“Whose house is it?”

“Mr. Rochester's.”

“Do you know Mr. Rochester?”

“No, I have never seen him.”

“Can you tell me where he is?”

“I cannot.”

“You are not a servant at the hall, of course. You are-“

He stopped, looked at my plain dress, puzzled to decide what I was. I helped him.

“I am the governess.”

“Ah, the governess!”

In two minutes he rose, and his face expressed pain when he tried to move.

“I will not ask you to fetch help, but you may help me a little yourself, if you are so kind.”

I went over to him, and he leaned on my shoulder. With much grimacing, we reached his horse, and he hauled himself into the saddle. “Thank you; now hurry with the letter to Hay, and return as fast as you can.'” He spurred the horse on, the dog followed, and they all disappeared.

I went on my way to Hay. The incident was over-there was no need to think about it. Yet as I walked into the village, as I posted the letters, as I tramped down the hill in the dark, I couldn't help thinking about the man. His face hung in the air before me, so stern and strong, unlike the face of anyone else I knew. When I was on my way back, I stopped and wondered for a moment if I might meet him again. I could see yellow light shining from the windows of Thornfield Hall, reminding me that I was late, and I hurried on.

When I got in, the hallway was dark, but there was a warm glow coming from the dining room, as the door was half-open. I heard voices inside, including Adèle's, as I walked past. I went into Mrs. Fairfax's little office. There was a fire burning in the grate, but Mrs. Fairfax was not there. Instead, I was amazed to see a large, hairy dog sitting on the hearth rug, exactly like the one I had seen a few hours before. It was so similar that I called out “Pilot!”, and the thing got up and came to me and snuffed me. I caressed him, and he wagged his great tail.

I rang the bell, for I wanted a candle, and I wanted, too, to ask Leah a few questions about the dog.

“What dog is this?”

“He came with master.”

“With whom?”

“With master-Mr. Rochester-he is just arrived.”

“Oh! and is Mrs. Fairfax with him?”

“Yes, and Miss Adèle. They are in the dining-room. But the master has had an accident. His horse fell and his ankle is sprained.”

“Did the horse fall on the road to Hay?”

“Yes, it slipped on some ice.”

“Ah! Bring me a candle, will you Leah?”

Leah brought it. When she returned, Mrs. Fairfax entered the room with her and repeated the news. The surgeon had arrived and was now with Mr. Rochester. Then she hurried out to give orders about tea, and I went upstairs to take off my things.




Chapter 14


Mr. Rochester, it seems, by the surgeon's orders, went to bed early that night. Did he rise soon next morning. Adèle and I had now to vacate the library. Mr. Rochester needed it as a reception-room for visitors.

Adèle was not easy to teach that day. The doorbell rang constantly all day as various visitors arrived. My pupil kept running to the top of the bannisters to see if she could get a glimpse of Mr. Rochester. She invented pretexts to go downstairs in order to visit the library, where she was not wanted. Even when I got a little angry and made her sit still, she continued to talk of her dear friend Mr. Rochester and the presents he must have brought for her. “And yesterday he asked me a lot about you, Mademoiselle,” she added in French: “He must have a present for you, too.”

At dark I allowed Adele to put away books and work, and to run downstairs. It had been silent there and I thought that Mr. Rochester was no longer busy.

Mrs. Fairfax came in. “Mr. Rochester would like you and your pupil to take tea with him in the drawing-room this evening,” she said: “he has been so busy all day that he could not ask to see you before.”

“When does he expect us?”

“Oh, at six o'clock. You had better change your frock now.”

“Is it necessary to change my frock?”

“Yes, you had better: I always dress for the evening when Mr. Rochester is here.”

She came with me to my room and helped me to put on my black silk dress.

“You want a brooch,” said Mrs. Fairfax. I had a little pearl ornament, which Miss Temple gave me as a parting keepsake. I put it on, and then we went downstairs.

Mr. Rochester was resting on a sofa, with his bad foot raised up on a cushion, while Adèle played with Pilot by the fire.

“Here is Miss Eyre, sir,” said Mrs. Fairfax, in her quiet way. He bowed, still not taking his eyes from the group of the dog and child. While Mrs. Fairfax fetched the tea, I sat down, feeling just as I had before-that his lack of courtesy made things easier for me. It meant that I felt no obligation to be polite.

“Did you bring Miss Eyre a present?” Adèle asked suddenly, running over to Mr. Rochester.

Mr. Rochester raised his eyebrows, and turned to me. “Did you expect a present, Miss Eyre? Are you fond of presents?” he asked searching my face with eyes that I saw were dark and piercing.

“I hardly know, sir. I have little experience of them. They are generally thought pleasant things.”

“But what do YOU think?”

“A present has many faces to it, has it not? and one should consider all, before pronouncing an opinion.”

“Miss Eyre, you are not so unsophisticated as Adèle. The moment she sees me, she demands presents.”

“I have less confidence in my deserts than Adèle has. If I had to make out a case I should be puzzled, since I am a stranger and have done nothing worth of acknowledgement.”

“That's not true at all,” he replied. “I can see what good work you have done with Adèle. She is not bright, she has no talents; yet in a short time she has made much progress.”

“Sir, you have now given me my present, as this praise is the best present you could ever give a teacher,” I said.

Mr. Rochester grunted, and took his cup of tea from Mrs. Fairfax.

“You have been here how long?”

“Three months, sir.”

“And you came from —?”

“From Lowood school, in – shire.”

“How long were you there?”

“Eight years.”

“Eight years! No wonder you have rather the look of another world. When I saw you last night, I thought of fairy tales. I decided you had bewitched my horse. I am not sure yet. Who are your parents?”

“I have none.”

“So when you standing there, you were waiting for your real family, the elves and the fairies.”

I shook my head. “The men in green all left England a hundred years ago,” said I, speaking as seriously as he had done.

Mrs. Fairfax had dropped her knitting, and, with raised eyebrows, tried to understand what sort of talk this was.

“Who recommended you to come here?”

“I advertised, and Mrs. Fairfax answered my advertisement.”

“Yes,” said the good lady, who now knew what we were talking about, “and I am daily thankful for the choice Providence let me make. Miss Eyre has been an invaluable companion to me, and a kind teacher to Adèle.”

“I will judge for myself. First of all, I have to thank her for this sprain.”

Mrs. Fairfax wanted to object, but Mr. Rochester did not let her do it. He interrogated me about Lowood and things I had been taught there. He asked me to go to the piano in the library and play a tune there. “You play rather better than some school-girls but not well,” was his judgement. “Adèle showed me some sketches this morning, which she said were yours. Has any master helped you?”

“No, indeed!”

“Ah! that pricks pride.” He wanted to see more works. I brought the portfolio from the library. He deliberately scrutinised each sketch and painting.

“Were you happy when you painted these pictures?”

“To paint them was to enjoy one of the few pleasures I have ever known.”

“You had not enough of the artist's skill and science to give it full being. Yet the drawings are, for a school-girl, peculiar.”

Then looking at his watch, he said abruptly, “It is nine o'clock: Miss Eyre, you should not let Adèle sit up so long. Take her to bed. I wish you all good-night, now.”

I took my portfolio. We curtseyed to him, received a frigid bow in return, and left the room.

“You said he was not strikingly peculiar,” I told Mrs. Fairfax after putting the girl to bed. “I think he is very changeful.”

“I am so accustomed to his manner, I never think of it,” she said. “He has had a few family troubles. He lost his elder brother nine years ago.”

“Was he so very fond of his brother?”

“Why, no-perhaps not. I believe there were some misunderstandings between them. He is not very forgiving: he broke with his family, and now for many years he has led an unsettled kind of life. I don't think he has ever stayed at Thornfield for a fortnight, since the death of his brother without a will left him master of the mansion. Indeed, no wonder he shuns the place.”

“Why should he shun it?”

“Perhaps he thinks it gloomy.”

The answer was evasive. It was evident that Mrs. Fairfax wished me to drop the subject.




Chapter 15


For the next few days I hardly saw Mr. Rochester. In the mornings he was busy with visitors and, since his sprain was better, he often went out riding. He generally did not come back till late at night. I occasionally bumped into him on the stairs or in the hall. Sometimes he would bow and smile; other times he seemed irritated, and barely glanced at me.

One day after a dinner party with some friends, he asked Mrs. Fairfax to bring Adèle and me to the drawing room. His things had at last arrived from Millcote, and he gave Adèle her box of presents. While she sat on the sofa ecstatically examining her treasure, Mr. Rochester asked me to come and seat in a chair near his own.

“I am really not fond of children. Don't draw that chair farther off, Miss Eyre; sit down exactly where I placed it-if you please, that is.”

He then proceeded to stare into the fire in silence. He had placed my chair so close to him, I could do nothing but sit and look at him. Mr. Rochester looked different to what I had seen him look before; not quite so stern- much less gloomy. There was a smile on his lips, and his eyes sparkled. He had great, dark eyes, not without a certain change in their depths sometimes, which, if it was not softness, reminded you, at least, of that feeling.

Suddenly he turned and caught me looking at him.

“You examine me, Miss Eyre,” he said. “Do you think I am handsome?”

I should have replied to this question by something polite and vague but instead I answered with 'No, sir'.

“Ah! There is something special about you! You are so quiet, grave, and simple, but when one asks you a question, or makes a remark to which you are obliged to reply, you are blunt and straight-forward.”

Yet he seemed to like this honesty in me; he was intrigued by it. He told me that I was unlike anyone else he had met, especially of so young an age, and that since I was so honest with him, he could not help but be honest with me.

“It would please me now to draw you out-to learn more of you-therefore speak.”

Instead of speaking, I smiled. “What about, sir?”

“Whatever you like.”

I said nothing.

“Stubborn?” he said, “and annoyed. Ah! I put my request in an absurd form. I am sorry. I did not mean to make you feel inferior to me, I just wanted you to talk to me a little and divert my thoughts.”

“I would love to help, but I cannot introduce a topic. How do I know what will interest you?”

“Do you agree I have a right to be a little masterful with you?”

“I don't think, sir, you have a right to command me.”

We talked more. Once he said something strange-that he had many regrets, but that he now intended to become a good person. I did not understand, though I wanted to. As if he felt that I was not indifferent to his sorrows, he promised:

“I'll explain all this some day. Good-night.”




Chapter 16


Mr. Rochester explained later everything. At least, he told me a little about his past. It was one afternoon when he met me and Adèle in the grounds. While the girl played with Pilot, he asked me to walk within sight of her.

He said that she was the daughter of a French opera-dancer, Celine Varens, whom he had loved passionately once. She called him her Apollo Belvidere and he thought he was her idol, though he was ugly. “I gave her a complete establishment of servants, a carriage, diamonds,” he continued. “I was blind with love. But one night, when I came unexpectedly, I found her out. The carriage stopped, as I had expected, at the hotel door. I recognised her at once and was about to call her by name when I saw another figure jump from the carriage after her.”

Some time later, Celine ran away to Italy with her new lover. But she left her daughter behind in Paris, claiming that Rochester should look after her.

“I am not her father,” Mr. Rochester explained. “And I don't know who is. But she had no one, and I could not leave her like that.”

“How strange that I am telling you all this,” he added, “and how odd that you listen so calmly-you are not shocked for a moment. But there is something about you-something that makes me want to confide in you.” I did not reply. “And so here she is, a little French flower, transplanted to an English country garden here at Thornfield,” he continued. “And because she is here, you are here too. Mrs. Fairfax found you to train her; but now you know that it is an illegitimate offspring of a French opera-girl, you will perhaps think differently of your post and pupil. Some day you will tell me that you have found another place and beg me to look out for a new governess.”

“No: Adèle is not to blame for her mother's faults or yours. Now that I know that she is, in a sense, parentless-abandoned by her mother and disowned by you, sir-I'll cling closer to her than before. How should I possibly prefer the spoilt pet of a wealthy family, who would hate her governess, to a lonely little orphan, who treats her as a friend?”

“Oh, that is the light in which you view it!”

He looked up at the house. “I like this house,” he said, thoughtfully. “I like its worn stone, and the old thorn trees. And yet, how I've struggled to stay away, how I've hated the thought of…” He fell silent, staring up at Thornfield's windows. As I watched, I saw a range of feelings pass across his face: first a kind of impatience, then disgust and hatred, followed by guilt and pain. Finally, he hardened his features into stony determination, and said, “It's time to go in.”

After a while Mr. Rochester, who had previously been nothing but an employer to me, became my friend. As time went on, he became less moody, and was always pleased to see me. He often wanted to talk, he trusted me and treated me as his equal, even though I was still a governess paid thirty pounds a year.

I had called him plain and even ugly, but his was the face I now most wanted to see. Thanks to him I forgot about my loneliness. Now I had all the intelligent conversation I had longed for, and I enjoyed it as much as I could. I laughed more, and my complexion looked brighter and healthier. I guess, I could say I was really happy then.

As all other people in the world Mr. Rochester had his faults. He could be rude and harsh, moody and sarcastic. But he was good at heart. And whatever sorrows and troubles tormented him, I wanted desperately to help him.

Late that night, I lay in bed wide awake thinking about Mr. Rochester. I thought about the way he had looked up at the house, seeming to suffer such agony. Eight weeks had passed since he arrived; but Mrs. Fairfax had told me he hardly ever came to Thornfield for more than a fortnight. Was he leaving soon? Spring was nearly here, and summer and autumn lay ahead. How lonely they would be for me if he went away! What was it, I wondered, that made it so hard for him to be here?

I blew out my candle, but just as I was drifting off, I heard something that made me start awake again-a low, murmuring noise, very close by. I sat up suddenly, alert and listening. After a while, I heard the clock in the hallway strike two. Just then, it seemed that someone, or something, walked past the door of my room.

“Who is there?” I asked. Then I remembered Pilot. Perhaps the kitchen door had been left open, and he had come upstairs to look for his master. This calmed me down, and I turned over again to sleep.

And there it was again! The dreadful low laugh I had heard so many times in the attic passageway! Now it seemed to be right outside my door, almost as if it came in through the keyhole. In a panic I got up, ran up to the door and drew the bolt across. Trembling, I repeated: “Who is there?”

There was a murmur followed by footsteps moving along the hall and up the attic stairs. “Was that Grace Poole? Is she possessed with a devil?” Had she started wandering the house by night? I decided to wake Mrs. Fairfax, to tell her about the laugh and steps.

Still shaking all over with fear[24 - still shaking all over with fear – все еще дрожа от страха], I put on a dress and a shawl, and unbolted my door. There was a candle burning just outside. I was also amazed to find the air quite dim, as if filled with smoke. Then I was more aware of the strong smell of burning.

As I soon saw, the smoke was coming from Mr. Rochester's room. The door was ajar, and I ran in. I thought no more of Mrs. Fairfax. I thought no more of Grace Poole.

Through the smoke I saw flames on the curtains of the bed, and Mr. Rochester lying motionless, in deep sleep.

“Wake up!” I shook him, but he only murmured and turned- the smoke had dulled his senses. I rushed to his basin, where I found a water jug as well. Both were full of water and I lifted them up in turn, carried them over to the bed and drenched the curtains and blankets. I flew back to my own room, brought my own water jug and extinguished the fire.

The hiss of the dying fire and the splash of water woke Mr. Rochester at last.

“Is there a flood?” he cried.

“No, sir,' I answered, 'but there has been a fire. Get up. You are wet now. I will fetch you a candle.”

“Is that Jane Eyre?” he demanded. “What have you done with me, witch? Have you plotted to drown me?”

I fetched the candle from outside my door. When I returned, Mr. Rochester was wearing his dressing gown. He took the candle from me and inspected the blackened wet bed.

“What happened?” he asked. “Who did this?”

I told him everything-how I had heard the murmur and the strange laugh, which I knew from before, and footsteps going up to the attic, and how the candle had been left outside my room.

“Should I fetch Mrs. Fairfax?” I asked.

“No-no, don't fetch anyone,” he said. “Stay here in this chair, and wait for me. I am going upstairs for a minute, and I will be back soon. Don't move.”

I waited there in the darkness for what seemed like hours. Soon he came back, looking gloomy.

“I have sorted it all out,” he said. He stared at me. “I forget whether you said you saw anything when you opened your chamber door.”

“No, sir, only the candlestick on the ground.”

“But you heard an odd laugh? You have heard that laugh before, I think, or something like it?”

“Yes, sir: there is a woman who sews here, called Grace Poole, – she laughs in that way.”

“Grace Poole-you have guessed it. She's-well, she's a little eccentric. Meantime, I am glad that you are the only person, besides myself, acquainted with the precise details of tonight's incident. Say nothing about it. I will take care of it myself.”

“Good-night then, sir.”

He seemed surprised. “What!” he exclaimed, “are you quitting me already, and in that way?”

“You just said I should go back to my room, sir.”

“Yes, but not in that brief, dry fashion. Why, you have saved my life! Let us at least shake hands.”

He held out his hand. I gave him mine. He took it first in one, them in both his own.

“You have saved my life: I have a pleasure in owing you so immense a debt. I cannot say more.”

“Good-night again, sir. There is no debt, sir,” I said. “I am glad I happened to be awake, and was able to help[25 - I am glad I happened to be awake, and was able to help. – Я рада, что не спала и смогла помочь.].”

But he would not let go of my hand.

“I knew…” he said, “I knew as soon as I saw you, that you would do me good in some way.” He stared at me intensely.

“I think I hear Mrs. Fairfax stirring, sir,” I said.

“Well, then you must go,” he said, releasing me.

Back in my bed, I could not sleep for a second. My brain turned over and over the strange and dramatic events of the night, until I was exhausted. Feelings of terror, when I thought of what might have happened, constantly changed places with joy, when I thought of the touch of his hand, and the look I had seen in his eyes. Too excited to rest, I rose as soon as day dawned.




Chapter 17


I both wished and feared to see Mr. Rochester on the day, which followed this sleepless night. I wanted to hear his voice again, yet feared to meet his eye. But the morning passed just as usual. Nothing interrupted the studies. Later I heard Mrs. Fairfax and the servants talking about the fire as if it had been nothing but an accident, which Mr. Rochester himself had dealt with.

“What a blessing he was not burnt in his bed!” they exclaimed. “It is always dangerous to keep a candle lit at night.” “It's a mercy he thought of using the water jug.”

When I walked past Mr. Rochester's room, I saw that everything had been cleaned up. The curtains were gone from the bed, and Leah was busy scrubbing the smoke-stained window panes.

I was about to go in and speak to her, when I saw someone else sitting in the room. It was Grace Poole. She was sewing new bed curtains, and looked as plain and poker-faced as ever. How could she still be here, after what she had done last night? I was sure she would have been dismissed immediately. I stepped into the room.

“Good morning, Grace,” I said. “Has anything happened here? I thought I heard the servants all talking together a while ago…”

“Only master had been reading in his bed last night. He fell asleep with his candle lit, and the curtains got on fire, but he woke up just in time to put out the fire.”

There was not a hint of guilt in her face.

“It's a wonder no one heard anything,” I said. “Didn't he wake anyone?”

“The servants sleep so far off,” said Grace, concentrating on her sewing. “Only you and Mrs. Fairfax sleep near this room, and she is an old lady and sleeps soundly. Why, did you hear something, Miss?” With this she looked up at me, and at last I thought I could see awareness behind her eyes.

“I did,” I said, “but I thought it was just Pilot. But then… Pilot does not laugh, does he? I heard a laugh.”

Grace took another piece of thread and threaded her needle purposefully. “I hardly think the master would laugh, Miss, when he was in such danger,” she remarked. “Perhaps you were dreaming.”

“I was not dreaming.”

“Have you told master that you heard a laugh?”

“I have not had the opportunity of speaking to him this morning.”

“You did not think of opening your door and looking out into the gallery?” she further asked.

She seemed to interrogate me in return trying to find out how much I knew.

“On the contrary,” said I, “I bolted my door.”

“Don't you bolt it every night?”

“No.”

“It will be wise so to do.”

She looked down and our conversation was over.

For the rest of the day I puzzled over this mystery. What strange hold did Grace Poole have over Mr. Rochester? She had tried to murder him-he had told me as much last night-yet he had chosen to cover up her crime, and seemed to have no intention of getting rid of her.

I longed to see him, so I could ask him what was going on. We knew each other well enough by now, and I was sure I could raise the matter without offending him. But there was no sign of him. When I asked Mrs. Fairfax where he was, she was surprised I did not know that he was not in Thornfield.

“Mr. Rochester has gone to visit friends on the other side of Millcote,” she said. “They are having quite a party.”

“Is he expected back tonight?”

“No, nor tomorrow either-I should think he will stay a week or more. He's very popular among his friends, you know-especially the ladies.”

I felt a chill around my heart, but I pulled myself together while Mrs. Fairfax continued on: “One might not think him the best-looking of gentlemen, I suppose, but perhaps it is his wealth and his accomplishments that make the ladies like him.”

“Are there ladies at this party?” I asked.

“Oh, of course-Mrs. Eshton, and her three daughters, and Maria and Blanche Ingram-Blanche is the most beautiful of them all. I saw her when she came to a Christmas ball here, some years ago-the room fairly lit up when she walked in.”

“What is she like?”

“Tall and shapely, with lovely olive skin, and dark eyes, so sparkling they are, like jewels, and the thickest, glossiest black hair you ever saw, all in curls. On that night, she was wearing a white gown-how perfect she looked! She and Mr. Rochester sang a duet, I remember.”

“Mr. Rochester can sing?” I asked, trying to sound as calm as I could.

“Yes, he has a fine voice, like Miss Blanche.”

“How nice,” I smiled.

Alone in my room that night, I hated myself for ever thinking Mr. Rochester could like me. A few kind words, a look in his eye in a dark room filled with smoke-and I had dared to imagine he had feelings for me. Well, he did not. Why should he, when there were women like Blanche Ingram in his world-beautiful, accomplished, and of his own class? He would never choose me over someone like her. I had to stop dreaming.

I forced myself to look in the mirror at my plain little face, my thin lips, sallow skin and flat brown hair. I resolved to paint two pictures-one of myself, just as I was, and one of Blanche Ingram, beautiful and glowing, just as Mrs. Fairfax had described her. I kept my word. An hour or two sufficed to sketch my own portrait in crayons; and in less than a fortnight I completed a miniature of an imaginary Blanche Ingram. Then, whenever I thought about Mr. Rochester, I looked at the pictures, and the contrast was as great as self-control could only desire.




Chapter 18


A week passed, and there was no news of Mrs. Rochester. I worked hard with Adèle, and busied myself with my painting and sewing. Mrs. Fairfax said she would not be surprised if he went straight from his friends' place to London, and then to the Continent, and not show his face again at Thornfield for a whole year. After hearing that I told myself, “You have nothing to do with the master of Thornfield.”

Yet when, two weeks after Mr. Rochester's departure Mrs. Fairfax received a letter from him, and my calmness and self-control faded once again.

“Well, I sometimes think we are too quiet; but we will be busy enough now,” she said. “The master's coming back in three days, and not alone either,” she said. “I don't know how many of the fine people are coming with him, but he wants all the bedrooms prepared. I need to bring in extra kitchen staff. The ladies will bring their maids and the gentlemen their valets: so we will have a full house of it.”





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notes


Примечания





1


we had to amuse ourselves indoors. – нам пришлось находить себе занятие дома.




2


don't answer me back – не пререкайтесь




3


If you don't behave, she might send you away – Если ты не будешь хорошо себя вести, она может выставить тебя на улицу




4


I turned the afternoon's events over and over in my mind. – Я вновь и вновь прокручивала в голове события этого дня.




5


Perhaps now his spirit was watching – Возможно, сейчас его дух наблюдал




6


it was probably nothing more than a footman carrying a lantern across the lawn – это был всего лишь лакей, который шёл по полю с фонарём




7


puzzled – озадаченно




8


And it would mean leaving Gateshead Hall behind at last. – И это значило бы покинуть наконец Гейтсхед Холл.




9


Revelations – Откровения (Откровение Иоанна Богослова – название последней книги Нового Завета)




10


as if she were speaking to an adult, not a child – словно она говорила со взрослым человеком, а не с ребёнком




11


partly enveloped in a shawl – частично укрытая шалью




12


He's the village clergyman. – Он деревенский священник.




13


I would have been overwhelmed with rage and indignation. – меня переполняли бы гнев и возмущение.




14


majestically surveyed the whole school – величественно осматривая всю школу




15


I could now endure anything. – Теперь я могла вынести все.




16


delicious but thin morsel of toast – вкусный, но тонкий ломтик тоста




17


If we had all been strong and well-fed – если бы все мы были крепкими и сытыми




18


An inquiry was held into how the disease could have broken out – Было проведено расследование, чтобы выяснить, как могла начаться болезнь




19


superintendent – директор




20


I've given you one near to mine, at the back of the house. – Я выделила для вас комнату рядом с моей, в задней части дома.




21


they must have given the house its name – наверняка дом назвали в их честь




22


Never before had I been granted such a pleasant existence. – Никогда раньше не доводилось мне так счастливо жить.




23


I turned back to see that both horse and rider were on the ground: they had slipped on the ice I had been looking at. – Я обернулась и увидела, что и лошадь, и наездник были на земле: они поскользнулись на том самом льду, на который я смотрела ранее.




24


still shaking all over with fear – все еще дрожа от страха




25


I am glad I happened to be awake, and was able to help. – Я рада, что не спала и смогла помочь.