7 Jane Eyre - Stephanie Poppins

This classic novel by Charlotte Bronte follows the story of Jane, a seemingly plain and simple girl as she battles through life's struggles. Jane has many obstacles in her life - her cruel and abusive Aunt Reed, the grim conditions at Lowood school, her love for Mr Rochester, and Mr Rochester's marriage. Read by Children's author Stephanie Poppins.

Transcript

This is SD Hudson Magic Jane Eyre Chapter 7 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 unwanted 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 chill blades,

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 Brockle Bridge 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 portion,

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 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 plain 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 half 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 pinafores.

A little solace came at tea-time,

In the shape of a double ration of bread,

A whole instead of a half-slice,

With a delicious addition of a thin scrape of butter.

It was the hebdominal treat to which we all look forward from a Sabbath to a 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 of 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 a monitor's high stalls.

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 I had my own reasons for dreading his coming,

But come he did at last.

One afternoon,

I had 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 helpline,

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 hearth-rug of Gateshead.

I now glanced sideways at this piece of architecture.

Yes,

I was right,

It was Mr Brocklehurst,

Buttoned up in a sirtu,

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,

Etc.

,

The promise pledged by Mr Brocklehurst to appraise 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 forever.

Now here 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.

I suppose,

Miss Temple,

The thread I bought at Lowdon will do.

It struck me it would be just of the quality for the calico chemises,

And I sorted the needles to match.

You may tell,

Miss Smith,

I forgot to make a memorandum of the darning needles,

But she shall have some paper sent in next week,

And she is not on any account to give out more than one at a time to each pupil.

If they have more,

They're apt to be careless and lose them.

Oh,

Mum,

I wish the woolen stockings were better looked too.

When I was here last,

I went into the kitchen garden and examined the clothes drying on the line.

There was a quantity of black hose in a very bad state of repair.

From the size of the holes in them,

I was sure they'd not been well-mended from time to time.

He paused.

Your direction shall be attended to,

Sir,

Said Miss Temple.

And,

Mum,

He continued,

The laundress tells me some of the girls have two clean tuckers in the week.

It's too much.

The rules limit them to one.

I think I can explain that circumstance,

Sir.

Agnes and Catherine Johnson were invited to take tea with some friends at Lowdon last Thursday,

And I gave them leave to put on clean tuckers for the occasion.

Mr Brocklehurst nodded.

Well,

For once it may pass,

But please do not let the circumstance occur too often.

And there's another thing that surprised me.

I find in settling accounts with a housekeeper that a lunch consisting of bread and cheese has twice been served out to the girls during the past fortnight.

How is this?

I look over the room and see that it's been served out to the girls twice.

How is this?

I look over the regulations and I find no such meal as lunch mentioned.

Who introduced this innovation and by what authority?

I must be responsible for the circumstance,

Sir,

Replied Miss Temple.

The breakfast was so ill-prepared the pupils could not possibly eat it,

And I dare not allow them to remain fasting till dinner time.

Madam,

Allow me an instant.

You are aware that my plan in bringing up these girls is not to accustom them to habits of luxury and indulgence,

But to render them hardy,

Patient,

Self-denying.

Should any little accidental disappointment of the appetite occur,

Such as the spoiling of a meal,

The under or overdressing of a dish,

The incident ought to be neutralised by replacing with something more delicate,

The comfort lost.

Thus pampering and obviating the aim of this institution,

It ought to be improved to the spiritual edification of the pupils by encouraging them to evince fortitude under the temporary privation.

A brief address on those occasions would not be mistimed,

Where a judicious instructor would take the opportunity of referring to the sufferings of the primitive Christians,

To the torments of martyrs,

To the exhortations of our blessed Lord himself calling upon his disciples to take up their crosses and follow him,

To his warnings that man shall not live by bread alone,

But by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God to his divine consolations.

If ye suffer hunger or thirst for my sake,

Happy are ye.

Oh,

Madam,

When you put bread and cheese instead of burnt porridge into these children's mouths,

You may indeed feed their vile bodies,

But you little think how you starve their immortal souls.

Mr Brocklehurst again paused,

Perhaps overcome by his feelings.

Miss Temple had looked down when he first began to speak to her,

But she now gazed straight before her,

And her face,

Naturally pale as marble,

Appeared to be assuming also the coldness and fixity of that material,

Especially her mouth closed as if it would have required a sculptor's chisel to open it,

And her brow settled gradually into a petrified severity.

Meantime,

Mr Brocklehurst,

Standing on the hearth with his hands behind his back,

Majestically surveyed the whole school.

Suddenly his eye gave a blink,

As if it had met something that either dazzled or shocked its pupil.

Turning,

He said in a more rapid accent than he had hitherto used,

Miss Temple,

Miss Temple,

What is that girl with curled hair,

And what is that girl with curled hair?

Red hair,

Ma'am,

Curled all over,

And extending his cane,

He pointed to the awful object,

His hand shaking as he did so.

It is Julia Seven,

Replied Miss Temple,

Very quietly.

Julia Seven,

Ma'am,

And why has she or any other curled hair?

Why,

In defiance of every precept and principle of this house,

Does she conform to the world so openly,

Here in an evangelical charitable establishment,

As to wear her hair one mass of curls?

Julia's hair curls naturally,

Returned Miss Temple,

Still more quietly.

Naturally?

Yes,

But we are not to conform to nature.

I wish these girls to be the children of grace,

And why that abundance?

I have again and again intimated I desire the hair to be arranged closely,

Moderately,

Plainly.

Miss Temple,

That girl's hair must be cut off entirely.

I will send a barber tomorrow,

And I see others the same.

That tall girl,

Tell her to turn round,

Tell all the first form to rise up,

And direct their faces to the wall.