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Recording by Elizabeth Klett Jane Eyre by Charlotte BRONTË Chapter Five

Five o'clock had hardly struck on the morning of the 19th of January,

when Bessie brought a candle into my closet and found me already up and

nearly dressed.

I had risen half-an-hour before her entrance, and had

washed my face, and put on my clothes by the light of a half-moon just

setting, whose rays streamed through the narrow window near my crib.

I was to leave Gateshead that day by a coach

which passed the lodge gates at six a.m.

Bessie was the only person yet risen; she had lit a fire in

the nursery, where she now proceeded to make my breakfast.

Few children can eat when excited with the thoughts of

a journey; nor could I. Bessie, having pressed me in vain to take a few spoonfuls

of the boiled milk and bread she had prepared for me, wrapped up

some biscuits in a paper and put them into my bag; then she helped me on

with my pelisse and bonnet, and wrapping herself in a shawl, she and I

left the nursery.

As we passed Mrs. Reed's bedroom, she said, "Will

you go in and bid Missis good- bye?"

"No, Bessie: she came to my crib last night when you were gone down to

supper, and said I need not disturb her in the morning, or my cousins

either; and she told me to remember that she had always been my best

friend, and to speak of her and be grateful to her accordingly."

"What did you say, Miss?"

"Nothing: I covered my face with the bedclothes, and turned from her to

the wall."

"That was wrong, Miss Jane."

"It was quite right, Bessie.

Your Missis has not been my friend: she has been my foe."

"O Miss Jane!

don't say so!"

"Good-bye to Gateshead!"

cried I, as we passed through the hall and went

out at the front door.

The moon was set, and it was very dark; Bessie carried a lantern, whose

light glanced on wet steps and gravel road sodden by a recent thaw.

Raw and chill was the winter morning: my teeth

chattered as I hastened down the drive.

There was a light in the porter's lodge: when we reached it,

we found the porter's wife just kindling her fire: my trunk, which had

been carried down the evening before, stood corded at the door.

It wanted but a few minutes of six, and shortly

after that hour had struck, the distant roll of wheels announced the coming

coach; I went to the door and watched its lamps approach rapidly through

the gloom.

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

"Yes."

"And how far is it?"

"Fifty miles."

"What a long way!

I wonder Mrs. Reed is not afraid to trust her so far

alone."

The coach drew up; there it was at the gates with its four horses and its

top laden with passengers: the guard and coachman loudly urged haste; my

trunk was hoisted up; I was taken from Bessie's neck, to which I clung

with kisses.

"Be sure and take good care of her," cried she to the guard, as he lifted

me into the inside.

"Ay, ay!"

was the answer: the door was slapped to, a voice exclaimed "All

right," and on we drove.

Thus was I severed from Bessie and Gateshead; thus whirled away to unknown, and, as I then

deemed, remote and mysterious regions.

I remember but little of the journey; I only know that the day seemed to

me of a preternatural length, and that we appeared to travel over

hundreds of miles of road.

We passed through several towns, and in one, a very large one, the coach stopped; the horses

were taken out, and the passengers alighted to dine.

I was carried into an inn, where the guard wanted me to have some dinner; but, as I had

no appetite, he left me in an immense room with a fireplace at each end,

a chandelier pendent from the ceiling, and a little red gallery high

up against the wall filled with musical instruments.

Here I walked about for a long time, feeling very strange, and mortally apprehensive of

some one coming in and kidnapping me; for I believed in kidnappers,

their exploits having frequently figured in Bessie's fireside chronicles.

At last the guard returned; once more I was stowed away in the

coach, my protector mounted his own seat, sounded his hollow horn, and

away we rattled over the "stony street" of L-.

The afternoon came on wet and somewhat misty: as it waned into dusk, I

began to feel that we were getting very far indeed from Gateshead: we

ceased to pass through towns; the country changed; great grey hills

heaved up round the horizon: as twilight deepened, we descended a valley,

dark with wood, and long after night had overclouded the prospect, I

heard a wild wind rushing amongst trees.

Lulled by the sound, I at last dropped asleep; I had not long slumbered

when the sudden cessation of motion awoke me; the coach-door was open,

and a person like a servant was standing at it: I saw her face and dress

by the light of the lamps.

"Is there a little girl called Jane Eyre here?"

she asked.

I answered "Yes," and was then lifted out; my trunk was

handed down, and the coach instantly drove away.

I was stiff with long sitting, and bewildered with the noise and motion

of the coach: Gathering my faculties, I looked about me.

Rain, wind, and darkness filled the air; nevertheless, I dimly

discerned a wall before me and a door open in it; through this door I

passed with my new guide: she shut and locked it behind her.

There was now visible a house or houses--for the building spread far--with

many windows, and lights burning in some; we went up a broad pebbly

path, splashing wet, and were admitted at a door; then the servant led me

through a passage into a room with a fire, where she left me alone.

I stood and warmed my numbed fingers over the blaze, then I looked round;

there was no candle, but the uncertain light from the hearth showed, by

intervals, papered walls, carpet, curtains, shining mahogany furniture:

it was a parlour, not so spacious or splendid as the drawing-room at

Gateshead, but comfortable enough.

I was puzzling to make out the subject of a picture on the wall, when the

door opened, and an individual carrying a light entered; another followed

close behind.

The first was a tall lady with dark hair, dark eyes, and a pale and large

forehead; her figure was partly enveloped in a shawl, her countenance was

grave, her bearing erect.

"The child is very young to be sent alone," said she, putting her candle

down on the table.

She considered me attentively for a minute or two,

then further added--

"She had better be put to bed soon; she looks tired: are you tired?"

she asked, placing her hand on my shoulder.

"A little, ma'am."

"And hungry too, no doubt: let her have some supper before she goes to

bed, Miss Miller.

Is this the first time you have left your parents to

come to school, my little girl?"

I explained to her that I had no parents.

She inquired how long they had been dead: then how old I was, what was my

name, whether I could read, write, and sew a little: then she touched

my cheek gently with her forefinger, and saying, "She hoped I should

be a good child," dismissed me along with Miss Miller.

The lady I had left might be about twenty-nine; the one who went with me

appeared some years younger: the first impressed me by her voice, look,

and air.

Miss Miller was more ordinary; ruddy in complexion, though of a

careworn countenance; hurried in gait and action, like one who had always

a multiplicity of tasks on hand: she looked, indeed, what I afterwards

found she really was, an under-teacher.

Led by her, I passed from compartment to compartment, from passage to

passage, of a large and irregular building; till, emerging from the

total and somewhat dreary silence pervading that portion of the house

we had traversed, we came upon the hum of many voices, and presently

entered a wide, long room, with great deal tables, two at each end, on

each of which burnt a pair of candles, and seated all round on benches,

a congregation of girls of every age, from nine or ten to twenty.

Seen by the dim light of the dips, their number to me appeared countless,

though not in reality exceeding eighty; they were uniformly dressed

in brown stuff frocks of quaint fashion, and long holland pinafores.

It was the hour of study; they were engaged in conning over their to-morrow's

task, and the hum I had heard was the combined result of their

whispered repetitions.

Miss Miller signed to me to sit on a bench near the door, then walking up

to the top of the long room she cried out--

"Monitors, collect the lesson-books and put them away!"

Four tall girls arose from different tables, and going round, gathered

the books and removed them.

Miss Miller again gave the word of command--

"Monitors, fetch the supper-trays!"

The tall girls went out and returned presently, each bearing a tray, with

portions of something, I knew not what, arranged thereon, and a pitcher

of water and mug in the middle of each tray.

The portions were handed round; those who liked took a draught of the

water, the mug being common to all.

When it came to my turn, I drank, for I was thirsty, but did not

touch the food, excitement and fatigue rendering me incapable of eating:

I now saw, however, that it was a thin oaten cake shared into fragments.

The meal over, prayers were read by Miss Miller, and the classes filed

off, two and two, upstairs.

Overpowered by this time with weariness, I scarcely noticed what sort of a place the

bedroom was, except that, like the schoolroom, I saw it was very long.

To-night I was to be Miss Miller's bed-fellow; she helped me to undress:

when laid down I glanced at the long rows of beds, each of which was

quickly filled with two occupants; in ten minutes the single light

was extinguished, and amidst silence and complete darkness I fell asleep.

The night passed rapidly.

I was too tired even to dream; I only once awoke to hear the wind rave in furious gusts,

and the rain fall in torrents, and to be sensible that Miss Miller

had taken her place by my side.

When I again unclosed my eyes, a loud bell was ringing; the girls

were up and dressing; day had not yet begun to dawn, and a rushlight or

two burned in the room.

I too rose reluctantly; it was bitter cold, and

I dressed as well as I could for shivering, and washed when there was a

basin at liberty, which did not occur soon, as there was but one basin to

six girls, on the stands down the middle of the room.

Again the bell rang: all formed in file, two and two, and

in that order descended the stairs and entered the cold and dimly lit

schoolroom: here prayers were read by Miss Miller; afterwards she called

out--

"Form classes!"

A great tumult succeeded for some minutes, during which Miss Miller

repeatedly exclaimed, "Silence!" and "Order!"

When it subsided, I saw them all drawn up in four semicircles, before

four chairs, placed at the four tables; all held books in their hands,

and a great book, like a Bible, lay on each table, before the vacant

seat.

A pause of some seconds succeeded, filled up by the low, vague

hum of numbers; Miss Miller walked from class to class, hushing

this indefinite sound.

A distant bell tinkled: immediately three ladies entered the room, each

walked to a table and took her seat.

Miss Miller assumed the fourth vacant chair, which was that nearest the door,

and around which the smallest of the children were assembled: to

this inferior class I was called, and placed at the bottom of it.

Business now began, the day's Collect was repeated, then certain texts of

Scripture were said, and to these succeeded a protracted reading of

chapters in the Bible, which lasted an hour.

By the time that exercise was terminated, day had fully dawned.

The indefatigable bell now sounded for the fourth time: the classes were marshalled

and marched into another room to breakfast: how glad I was to behold

a prospect of getting something to eat!

I was now nearly sick from inanition, having taken so

little the day before.

The refectory was a great, low-ceiled, gloomy room; on two long tables