“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.
13
I would have been overwhelmed with rage and indignation. – меня переполняли бы гнев и возмущение.