My first quarter at Lowood seemed an age; and not
the golden age either; it comprised an irksome struggle with difficulties in habituating myself to new rules and unwonted
tasks. The fear of failure in these points harassed me worse than the physical hardships of my lot; though these were no trifles.
During January, February, and part of March, the deep
snows, and, after their melting, the almost impassable roads, prevented our stirring beyond the garden walls, except to go
to church; but within these limits we had to pass an hour every day in the open air. Our clothing was insufficient to protect
us from the severe cold: we had no boots, the snow got into our shoes and melted there: our ungloved hands became numbed and
covered with chilblains, as were our feet: I remember well the distracting irritation I endured from this cause every evening,
when my feet inflamed; and the torture of thrusting the swelled, raw, and stiff toes into my shoes in the morning. Then the
scanty supply of food was distressing: with the keen appetites of growing children, we had scarcely sufficient to keep alive
a delicate invalid. From this deficiency of nourishment resulted an abuse, which pressed hardly on the younger pupils: whenever
the famished great girls had an opportunity, they would coax or menace the little ones out of their portion. Many a time I
have shared between two claimants the precious morsel of brown bread distributed at tea-time; and after relinquishing to a
third half the contents of my mug of coffee, I have swallowed the remainder with an accompaniment of secret tears, forced
from me by the exigency of hunger.
Sundays were dreary days in that wintry season. We
had to walk two miles to Brocklebridge Church, where our patron officiated. We set out cold, we arrived at church colder:
during the morning service we became almost paralysed. It was too far to return to dinner, and an allowance of cold meat and
bread, in the same penurious proportion observed in our ordinary meals, was served round between the services.
At the close of the afternoon service we returned
by an exposed and hilly road, where the bitter winter wind, blowing over a range of snowy summits to the north, almost flayed
the skin from our faces.
I can remember Miss Temple walking lightly and rapidly
along our drooping line, her plaid cloak, which the frosty wind fluttered, gathered close about her, and encouraging us, by
precept and example, to keep up our spirits, and march forward, as she said, "like stalwart soldiers." The other teachers,
poor things, were generally themselves too much dejected to attempt the task of cheering others.
How we longed for the light and heat of a blazing
fire when we got back! But, to the little ones at least, this was denied: each hearth in the schoolroom was immediately surrounded
by a double row of great girls, and behind them the younger children crouched in groups, wrapping their starved arms in their
A little solace came at tea-time, in the shape of
a double ration of bread--a whole, instead of a half, slice--with the delicious addition of a thin scrape of butter: it was
the hebdomadal treat to which we all looked forward from Sabbath to Sabbath. I generally contrived to reserve a moiety of
this bounteous repast for myself; but the remainder I was invariably obliged to part with.
The Sunday evening was spent in repeating, by heart,
the Church Catechism, and the fifth, sixth, and seventh chapters of St. Matthew; and in listening to a long sermon, read by
Miss Miller, whose irrepressible yawns attested her weariness. A frequent interlude of these performances was the enactment
of the part of Eutychus by some half-dozen of little girls, who, overpowered with sleep, would fall down, if not out of the
third loft, yet off the fourth form, and be taken up half dead. The remedy was, to thrust them forward into the centre of
the schoolroom, and oblige them to stand there till the sermon was finished. Sometimes their feet failed them, and they sank
together in a heap; they were then propped up with the monitors' high stools.
I have not yet alluded to the visits of Mr. Brocklehurst;
and indeed that gentleman was from home during the greater part of the first month after my arrival; perhaps prolonging his
stay with his friend the archdeacon: his absence was a relief to me. I need not say that I had my own reasons for dreading
his coming: but come he did at last.
One afternoon (I had then been three weeks at Lowood),
as I was sitting with a slate in my hand, puzzling over a sum in long division, my eyes, raised in abstraction to the window,
caught sight of a figure just passing: I recognised almost instinctively that gaunt outline; and when, two minutes after,
all the school, teachers included, rose en masse, it was not necessary for me to look up in order to ascertain whose entrance
they thus greeted. A long stride measured the schoolroom, and presently beside Miss Temple, who herself had risen, stood the
same black column which had frowned on me so ominously from the hearthrug of Gateshead. I now glanced sideways at this piece
of architecture. Yes, I was right: it was Mr. Brocklehurst, buttoned up in a surtout, and looking longer, narrower, and more
rigid than ever.
I had my own reasons for being dismayed at this apparition;
too well I remembered the perfidious hints given by Mrs. Reed about my disposition, &c.; the promise pledged by Mr. Brocklehurst
to apprise Miss Temple and the teachers of my vicious nature. All along I had been dreading the fulfilment of this promise,--I
had been looking out daily for the "Coming Man," whose information respecting my past life and conversation was to brand me
as a bad child for ever: now there he was.
He stood at Miss Temple's side; he was speaking low
in her ear: I did not doubt he was making disclosures of my villainy; and I watched her eye with painful anxiety, expecting
every moment to see its dark orb turn on me a glance of repugnance and contempt. I listened too; and as I happened to be seated
quite at the top of the room, I caught most of what he said: its import relieved me from immediate apprehension.