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

   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 smoked basins of something hot, which, however, to my dismay,

sent forth an odour far from inviting. I saw a universal manifestation

of discontent when the fumes of the repast met the nostrils of those

destined to swallow it; from the van of the procession, the tall girls

of the first class, rose the whispered words-

   'Disgusting! The porridge is burnt again!'

   'Silence!' ejaculated a voice; not that of Miss Miller, but one

of the upper teachers, a little and dark personage, smartly dressed,

but of somewhat morose aspect, who installed herself at the top of one

table, while a more buxom lady presided at the other. I looked in vain

for her I had first seen the night before; she was not visible: Miss

Miller occupied the foot of the table where I sat, and a strange,

foreign-looking, elderly lady, the French teacher, as I afterwards

found, took the corresponding seat at the other board. A long grace

was said and a hymn sung; then a servant brought in some tea for the

teachers, and the meal began.

   Ravenous, and now very faint, I devoured a spoonful or two of my

portion without thinking of its taste; but the first edge of hunger

blunted, I perceived I had got in hand a nauseous mess; burnt porridge

is almost as bad as rotten potatoes; famine itself soon sickens over

it. The spoons were moved slowly: I saw each girl taste her food and

try to swallow it; but in most cases the effort was soon relinquished.

Breakfast was over, and none had breakfasted. Thanks being returned

for what we had not got, and a second hymn chanted, the refectory

was evacuated for the schoolroom. I was one of the last to go out, and

in passing the tables, I saw one teacher take a basin of the

porridge and taste it; she looked at the others; all their

countenances expressed displeasure, and one of them, the stout one,

whispered-

   'Abominable stuff! How shameful!'

   A quarter of an hour passed before lessons again began, during

which the schoolroom was in a glorious tumult; for that space of

time it seemed to be permitted to talk loud and more freely, and

they used their privilege. The whole conversation ran on the

breakfast, which one and all abused roundly. Poor things! it was the

sole consolation they had. Miss Miller was now the only teacher in the

room: a group of great girls standing about her spoke with serious and

sullen gestures. I heard the name of Mr. Brocklehurst pronounced by

some lips; at which Miss Miller shook her head disapprovingly; but she

made no great effort to check the general wrath; doubtless she

shared in it.

   A clock in the schoolroom struck nine; Miss Miller left her circle,

and standing in the middle of the room, cried-

   'Silence! To your seats!'

   Discipline prevailed: in five minutes the confused throng was

resolved into order, and comparative silence quelled the Babel clamour

of tongues. The upper teachers now punctually resumed their posts: but

still, all seemed to wait. Ranged on benches down the sides of the

room, the eighty girls sat motionless and erect; a quaint assemblage

they appeared, all with plain locks combed from their faces, not a

curl visible; in brown dresses, made high and surrounded by a narrow

tucker about the throat, with little pockets of holland (shaped

something like a Highlander's purse) tied in front of their frocks,

and destined to serve the purpose of a work-bag: all, too, wearing

woollen stockings and country-made shoes, fastened with brass buckles.

Above twenty of those clad in this costume were full-grown girls, or

rather young women; it suited them ill, and gave an air of oddity even

to the prettiest.

   I was still looking at them, and also at intervals examining the

teachers- none of whom precisely pleased me; for the stout one was a

little coarse, the dark one not a little fierce, the foreigner harsh

and grotesque, and Miss Miller, poor thing! looked purple,

weather-beaten, and over-worked- when, as my eye wandered from face to

face, the whole school rose simultaneously, as if moved by a common

spring.

   What was the matter? I had heard no order given: I was puzzled. Ere

I had gathered my wits, the classes were again seated: but as all eyes

were now turned to one point, mine followed the general direction, and

encountered the personage who had received me last night. She stood at

the bottom of the long room, on the hearth; for there was a fire at

each end; she surveyed the two rows of girls silently and gravely.

Miss Miller, approaching, seemed to ask her a question, and having

received her answer, went back to her place, and said aloud-

   'Monitor of the first class, fetch the globes!'

   While the direction was being executed, the lady consulted moved

slowly up the room. I suppose I have a considerable organ of

veneration, for I retain yet the sense of admiring awe with which my

eyes traced her steps. Seen now, in broad day-light, she looked

tall, fair, and shapely; brown eyes with a benignant light in their

irids, and a fine pencilling of long lashes round, relieved the

whiteness of her large front; on each of her temples her hair, of a

very dark brown, was clustered in round curls, according to the

fashion of those times, when neither smooth bands nor long ringlets

were in vogue; her dress, also in the mode of the day, was of purple

cloth, relieved by a sort of Spanish trimming of black velvet; a

gold watch (watches were not so common then as now) shone at her

girdle. Let the reader add, to complete the picture, refined features;

a complexion, if pale, clear; and a stately air and carriage, and he

will have, at least, as clearly as words can give it, a correct idea

of the exterior of Miss Temple- Maria Temple, as I afterwards saw

the name written in a prayer-book intrusted to me to carry to church.

   The superintendent of Lowood (for such was this lady) having

taken her seat before a pair of globes placed on one of the tables,

summoned the first class round her, and commenced giving a lesson on

geography; the lower classes were called by the teachers:

repetitions in history, grammar, etc., went on for an hour; writing

and arithmetic succeeded, and music lessons were given by Miss

Temple to some of the elder girls. The duration of each lesson was

measured by the clock, which at last struck twelve. The superintendent

rose-

   'I have a word to address to the pupils,' said she.

   The tumult of cessation from lessons was already breaking forth,

but it sank at her voice. She went on-

   'You had this morning a breakfast which you could not eat; you must

be hungry:- I have ordered that a lunch of bread and cheese shall be

served to all.'

   The teachers looked at her with a sort of surprise.

   'It is to be done on my responsibility,' she added, in an

explanatory tone to them, and immediately afterwards left the room.

   The bread and cheese was presently brought in and distributed, to

the high delight and refreshment of the whole school. The order was

now given 'To the garden!' Each put on a coarse straw bonnet, with

strings of coloured calico, and a cloak of grey frieze, I was

similarly equipped, and, following the stream, I made my way into

the open air.

   The garden was a wide enclosure, surrounded with walls so high as

to exclude every glimpse of prospect; a covered verandah ran down

one side, and broad walks bordered a middle space divided into

scores of little beds: these beds were assigned as gardens for the

pupils to cultivate, and each bed had an owner. When full of flowers

they would doubtless look pretty; but now, at the latter end of

January, all was wintry blight and brown decay. I shuddered as I stood

and looked round me: it was an inclement day for outdoor exercise; not

positively rainy, but darkened by a drizzling yellow fog; all under

foot was still soaking wet with the floods of yesterday. The

stronger among the girls ran about and engaged in active games, but

sundry pale and thin ones herded together for shelter and warmth in

the verandah; and amongst these, as the dense mist penetrated to their

shivering frames, I heard frequently the sound of a hollow cough.

   As yet I had spoken to no one, nor did anybody seem to take

notice of me; I stood lonely enough: but to that feeling of

isolation I was accustomed; it did not oppress me much. I leant

against a pillar of the verandah, drew my grey mantle close about

me, and, trying to forget the cold which nipped me without, and the

unsatisfied hunger which gnawed me within, delivered myself up to

the employment of watching and thinking. My reflections were too

undefined and fragmentary to merit record: I hardly yet knew where I

was; Gateshead and my past life seemed floated away to an immeasurable

distance; the present was vague and strange, and of the future I could

form no conjecture. I looked round the convent-like garden, and then

up at the house- a large building, half of which seemed grey and

old, the other half quite new. The new part, containing the schoolroom

and dormitory, was lit by mullioned and latticed windows, which gave

it a church-like aspect; a stone tablet over the door bore this

inscription-

Brocklehurst, of Brocklehurst Hall, in this county.' '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: I felt that an

explanation belonged to them, and was unable fully to penetrate

their import. I was still pondering the signification of

'Institution', and endeavouring to make out a connection between the

first words and the verse of Scripture, when the sound of a cough

close behind me made me turn my head. I saw a girl sitting on a

stone bench near; she was bent over a book, on the perusal of which

she seemed intent: from where I stood I could see the title- it was

Rasselas; a name that struck me as strange, and consequently

attractive. In turning a leaf she happened to look up, and I said to

her directly-

   'Is your book interesting?' I had already formed the intention of

asking her to lend it to me some day.

   'I like it,' she answered, after a pause of a second or two, during

which she examined me.

   'What is it about?' I continued. I hardly know where I found the

hardihood thus to open a conversation with a stranger; the step was

contrary to my nature and habits: but I think her occupation touched a

chord of sympathy somewhere; for I too liked reading, though of a

frivolous and childish kind; I could not digest or comprehend the

serious or substantial.

   'You may look at it,' replied the girl, offering me the book.

   I did so; a brief examination convinced me that the contents were

less taking than the title: Rasselas looked dull to my trifling taste;

I saw nothing about fairies, nothing about genii; no bright variety

seemed spread over the closely-printed pages. I returned it to her;

she received it quietly, and without saying anything she was about

to relapse into her former studious mood: again I ventured to

disturb her-

   'Can you tell me what the writing on that stone over the door

means? What is Lowood Institution?'

   'This house where you are come to live.'

   'And why do they call it Institution? Is it in any way different

from other schools?'

   'It is partly a charity-school: you and I, and all the rest of

us, are charity-children. I suppose you are an orphan: are not

either your father or your mother dead?'

   'Both died before I can remember.'

   'Well, all the girls here have lost either one or both parents, and

this is called an institution for educating orphans.'

   'Do we pay no money? Do they keep us for nothing?'

   'We pay, or our friends pay, fifteen pounds a year for each.'

   'Then why do they call us charity-children?'

   'Because fifteen pounds is not enough for board and teaching, and

the deficiency is supplied by subscription.'

   'Who subscribes?'

   'Different benevolent-minded ladies and gentlemen in this

neighbourhood and in London.'

   'Who was Naomi Brocklehurst?'

   'The lady who built the new part of this house as that tablet

records, and whose son overlooks and directs everything here.'

   'Why?'

   'Because he is treasurer and manager of the establishment.'

   'Then this house does not belong to that tall lady who wears a

watch, and who said we were to have some bread and cheese?'

   'To Miss Temple? Oh, no! I wish it did: she has to answer to Mr.

Brocklehurst for all she does. Mr. Brocklehurst buys all our food

and all our clothes.'

   'Does he live here?'

   'No- two miles off, at a large hall.'

   'Is he a good man?'

   'He is a clergyman, and is said to do a great deal of good.'

   'Did you say that tall lady was called Miss Temple?'

   'Yes.'

   'And what are the other teachers called?'

   'The one with red cheeks is called Miss Smith; she attends to the

work, and cuts out- for we make our own clothes, our frocks, and

pelisses, and everything; the little one with black hair is Miss

Scatcherd; she teaches history and grammar, and hears the second class

repetitions; and the one who wears a shawl, and has a

pocket-handkerchief tied to her side with a yellow ribband, is

Madame Pierrot: she comes from Lisle, in France, and teaches French.'

   'Do you like the teachers?'

   'Well enough.'

   'Do you like the little black one, and the Madame-? -I cannot

pronounce her name as you do.'

   'Miss Scatcherd is hasty- you must take care not to offend her;

Madame Pierrot is not a bad sort of person.'

   'But Miss Temple is the best- isn't she?'

   'Miss Temple is very good and very clever; she is above the rest,

because she knows far more than they do.'

   'Have you been long here?'

   'Two years.'

   'Are you an orphan?'

   'My mother is dead.'

   'Are you happy here?'

   'You ask rather too many questions. I have given you answers enough

for the present: now I want to read.'

   But at that moment the summons sounded for dinner; all re-entered

the house. The odour which now filled the refectory was scarcely

more appetising than that which had regaled our nostrils at breakfast:

the dinner was served in two huge tin-plated vessels, whence rose a

strong steam redolent of rancid fat. I found the mess to consist of

indifferent potatoes and strange shreds of rusty meat, mixed and

cooked together. Of this preparation a tolerably abundant plateful was

apportioned to each pupil. I ate what I could, and wondered within

myself whether every day's fare would be like this.

   After dinner, we immediately adjourned to the schoolroom: lessons

recommenced, and were continued till five o'clock.

   The only marked event of the afternoon was, that I saw the girl

with whom I had conversed in the verandah dismissed in disgrace by

Miss Scatcherd from a history class, and sent to stand in the middle

of the large schoolroom. The punishment seemed to me in a high

degree ignominious, especially for so great a girl- she looked

thirteen or upwards. I expected she would show signs of great distress

and shame; but to my surprise she neither wept nor blushed:

composed, though grave, she stood, the central mark of all eyes.

'How can she bear it so quietly- so firmly?' I asked of myself.

'Were I in her place, it seems to me I should wish the earth to open

and swallow me up. She looks as if she were thinking of something

beyond her punishment- beyond her situation: of something not round

her nor before her. I have heard of day-dreams- is she in a

day-dream now? Her eyes are fixed on the floor, but I am sure they

do not see it- her sight seems turned in, gone down into her heart:

she is looking at what she can remember, I believe; not at what is

really present. I wonder what sort of a girl she is- whether good or

naughty.'

   Soon after five P.M. we had another meal, consisting of a small mug

of coffee, and half a slice of brown bread. I devoured my bread and

drank my coffee with relish; but I should have been glad of as much

more- I was still hungry. Half an hour's recreation succeeded, then

study; then the glass of water and the piece of oat-cake, prayers, and

bed. Such was my first day at Lowood.