Шарлотта Бронте / Charlotte Brontë
Джейн Эйр / Jane Eyre

Адаптация текста О. Н. Прокофьевой

Составление комментария и словаря Д. Л. Абрагина

© Прокофьева О. Н., адаптация текста

© Абрагин Д. Л., составление комментария и словаря

© OOO «Издательство АСТ», 2016

Предисловие

«Джейн Эйр» с момента выхода в свет (1847) – один из самых известных и читаемых романов на английском языке. Его автору, Шарлотте Бронте, суждено было стать чрезвычайно популярной писательницей. Однако свой роман ей пришлось выпустить под мужским псевдонимом Каррер Белл, так как женщин-литераторов редко принимали всерьез, несмотря на успех таких известных писательниц более раннего времени, как, например, Джейн Остин. Подписавшись мужским именем, Шарлотта Бронте рассчитывала обеспечить своему произведению более доброжелательный прием у читателей.

Когда роман «Джейн Эйр» вышел из печати, Шарлотте был 31 год, но в действительности писала она всю жизнь. Шарлотта, ее брат Бренуэлл и сестры Эмили и Анна в детстве забавлялись тем, что много фантазировали и записывали истории созданных воображением миров в крошечные книжки, некоторые из которых сохранились до наших дней. Так, Шарлотта и Бренуэлл придумали африканское королевство Ангрию, а Эмили и Анна создали свое королевство, Гондал. Когда девочки Бронте выросли, перед ними встал вопрос, чем же заняться – писательством или учительством (выбор был небольшой). Шарлотта, Эмили и Анна стали писательницами.

Хотя Бронте были очень дружными, на их долю выпала тяжелая жизнь. Они были детьми местного викария и проживали в Хауорте, городке на вересковых пустошах Йоркшира (на севере Англии). Семья приехала сюда в 1820 г., но в 1821 г., когда Шарлотте было всего пять лет, ее мать умерла от рака. Тетя Элизабет Бренуэлл приехала к ним, чтобы ухаживать за детьми.

Затем последовали новые несчастья. В 1824 г. четыре старшие дочери: Элизабет, Мария, Шарлотта и Эмили были отправлены в Коуэн-Бридж, закрытую школу-приют для дочерей духовенства. А на следующий год, когда в школе разразилась эпидемия туберкулеза, Элизабет и Мария заболели. Их отправили домой, но обе девочки умерли. Шарлотта и Эмили также вернулись домой, и с тех пор Шарлотта стала старшей дочерью в семье.

Патрик Бронте, отец Шарлотты, происходил из бедной ирландской семьи, но ум и трудолюбие помогли ему получить образование в Кембриджском университете. Он свято верил в благо учения как для мальчиков, так и для девочек. Его дом был полон книг, среди которых находились произведения, написанные им самим. Всем своим детям он привил любовь к чтению.

Однако именно это пристрастие к чтению затрудняло детям Бронте общение с местными детьми, чьи родители в большинстве своем были простыми фермерами и рабочими. Шарлотта нередко чувствовала, что окружающие люди не в состоянии ее понять, не обладая столь же развитым умом. Это ощущение присутствует и на страницах романа «Джейн Эйр».

Как и в других романах писательницы, в «Джейн Эйр» много деталей и ситуаций, взятых из ее собственной жизни. Ловуд, суровая и немилосердная школа-приют, в которой учится Джейн, имеет много общего и с Коуэн-Бриджем, где некоторое время жила сама Шарлотта, а образ Элен Бернс, подруги Джейн, возможно, основан на воспоминаниях о старших сестрах. В 19 лет Шарлотта стала учительницей в школе Роухед, а затем нашла себе место гувернантки. И это событие также отражено в романе. Чтобы найти себе мужа, Шарлотта, как и ее героиня, Джейн, не могла рассчитывать на свою внешность, полагая, что она слишком маленькая, худая и непривлекательная. Когда же наконец к ней пришла любовь, страстная и безрассудная, предметом ее стал женатый мужчина, и чувства ее оставались безответными.

Вместе с сестрами Эмили и Анной Шарлотта намеревалась открыть собственную школу в Хауорте. Но сначала Шарлотта и Эмили отправились в Брюссель, чтобы, преподавая там английский, усовершенствовать свои знания иностранных языков. Именно там Шарлотта полюбила женатого профессора, которого звали господин Эже. После смерти тети Эмили вернулась домой, чтобы заботиться об отце, а Шарлотта провела в Брюсселе целых два года. Одержимая страстью к господину Эже, она пронесла свою любовь через всю жизнь, хотя и не находила у него ответного чувства. Большинство героинь писательницы – одинокие и застенчивые женщины, которые влюбляются в мужчин старшего возраста. Хотя в своих книгах она, конечно, была вольна давать любые повороты любовным историям.

Сестрам Бронте не удалось добиться успеха в создании школы, и тогда они полностью посвятили себя писательству. Все три сестры, уже давно сочинявшие стихи, выпустили в 1846 г. книгу под псевдонимами Керрер, Эллис и Эктон Белл. Она не пользовалась успехом у читателей, но сестры не сдавались. В следующем году были приняты к публикации роман Эллиса Белла (Эмили Бронте) «Грозовой Перевал» и роман Эктона Белла (Анна Бронте) «Агнес Грей». Несколько издателей отвергли первый роман Шарлотты «Учитель», но второй ее роман, «Джейн Эйр», был сразу же принят к печати. К концу 1847 г. все три романа были напечатаны, и братья Белл стали сенсацией национального масштаба.

С самого начала читающая публика недоумевала, не зная, кто же скрывается под псевдонимами Белл. Некоторые все же осмеливались предположить, что на самом деле это, возможно, женщины. Вскоре сестрам пришлось открыться. Роман «Джейн Эйр» значительно превосходил по популярности два других романа, и когда Анна Бронте написала роман «Арендатор Уайльдфелл-Холла», издатель предложил напечатать его под именем Керрера, а не Эктона Белла. Шарлотта и Анна поехали в Лондон на переговоры к издателям и только тут впервые назвали свои настоящие имена.

Шарлотта решила сделать писательство своим основным занятием, но вскоре на нее снова обрушились несчастья. Летом 1848 г. ее брат, Бренуэлл Бронте, который страдал пристрастием к алкоголю и опиуму, тяжело заболел, а в сентябре того же года умер. К середине осени стало ясно, что Эмили тоже больна, возможно, туберкулезом. Однако Эмили, женщина с сильной волей, продолжала вести хозяйство и отказывалась обратиться к врачу. В декабре 1848 г. она тоже умерла, не дожив до своего 30-летия.

К ужасу Шарлотты, у Анны, единственной оставшейся в живых сестры, тоже обнаружили туберкулез. Испробовав все способы лечения, в мае 1849 г. Шарлотта с сестрой отправились в приморский город Скарборо, где климат был более благоприятным для преодоления недуга. Здесь Анна и умерла, оставив еще одну рану в сердце Шарлотты.

В течение нескольких последующих лет Шарлотта сосредоточилась на писательской работе и опубликовала еще два романа: «Шерли» (1849) и «Виллетт» (1853). Последний роман некоторые критики считают ее лучшим произведением. Несколько раз она приезжала в Лондон, где познакомилась с другими известными писателями, такими, как Элизабет Гаскелл и Уильям Теккерей. В Лондоне был написан ее портрет. Известность писательницы росла.

В 1852 г. преподобный Артур Белл Николс, скромный священник, работавший в приходе отца Шарлотты в Хауорте, сделал ей предложение. Сначала она отказала ему, но в 1854 г. все же вышла за него замуж.

Хотя она не испытывала к мужу настоящей любви, брак принес ей некоторое умиротворение и покой. Но ее продолжала угнетать память о столь ранней смерти сестер и брата. На следующий год, когда Шарлотта заболела пневмонией, она не нашла в себе сил бороться за жизнь, хотя болезнь не была неизлечимой. В марте 1855 г., ожидая своего первого ребенка, она умерла в возрасте 38 лет.

Уже после смерти автора свет увидел первый роман Шарлотты «Учитель». Писательница-романистка Элизабет Гаскелл написала биографию Ш. Бронте. Именно благодаря этому жизнь сестер Бронте, как и их романы, оказались столь широко известны публике. С тех пор творчество сестер Бронте и их судьба неизменно завоевывают сердца читателей.

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] 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] 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 narrated on winter evenings when she was in good humour and fed our attention with passages of love and adventure from old fairy tales and other ballads.

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 his menaces. 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] 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] Why did everyone adore selfish, rude John, Georgiana and Eliza, and hate me, even though I tried to be good? Why could I never please? 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] 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] 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, and felt easy.

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] 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]

“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 return to the nursery, and feared to go forward. Ten minutes I stood in hesitation till I finally decided: I MUST enter.

Mrs. Reed was in her usual seat be 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 by shaking her head and adding: “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] 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 new and clean one.”

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

“Mr. Brocklehurst,” she said. “If you admit her into Lowood schoold, I want the superintendent and teachers keep a strict eye on her. Deceit is, indeed, a sad fault in a child.” Uttered before a stranger, 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] Her tone made me even more furious. 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] She was about twenty-nine and looked a little older than the second lady who was, however, shorter, more ordinary, and hurried in gait and action.

“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, one from each table, 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 amidst complete silence and darkness 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. I too rose reluctantly. 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, I was now very hungry and 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 and erect, 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!’ In straw bonnets and grey cloaks we were sent outside.

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. But fifteen pounds is 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]”

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] 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 through the ill-fitting windows. 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, which appeared to be impossible to answer. 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 how much 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 pain yourself, 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, but the bigger girls always went to the front, and the little ones were left behind them, pulling our pinafores around our skinny arms.

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]

“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; you observe she possesses the ordinary form of childhood; 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]

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. He is little liked here. 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] 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. I would not now 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] 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.

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Примечания

1

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

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2

don’t answer me back – не пререкайтесь

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3

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

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4

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

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5

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

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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

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7

puzzled – озадаченно

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8

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

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9

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

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10

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

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11

partly enveloped in a shawl – частично укрытая шалью

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12

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

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13

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

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14

majestically surveyed the whole school – величественно осматривая всю школу

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15

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

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16

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

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17

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

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