Chapter: Hitherto I have recorded in detail the events of my insignificant
existence: to the first ten years of my life I have given almost as many
chapters.  But this is not to be a regular autobiography.  I am only
bound to invoke Memory where I know her responses will possess some
degree of interest; therefore I now pass a space of eight years almost in
silence: a few lines only are necessary to keep up the links of
connection.

When the typhus fever had fulfilled its mission of devastation at Lowood,
it gradually disappeared from thence; but not till its virulence and the
number of its victims had drawn public attention on the school.  Inquiry
was made into the origin of the scourge, and by degrees various facts
came out which excited public indignation in a high degree.  The
unhealthy nature of the site; the quantity and quality of the children's
food; the brackish, fetid water used in its preparation; the pupils'
wretched clothing and accommodations--all these things were discovered,
and the discovery produced a result mortifying to Mr. Brocklehurst, but
beneficial to the institution.

Several wealthy and benevolent individuals in the county subscribed
largely for the erection of a more convenient building in a better
situation; new regulations were made; improvements in diet and clothing
introduced; the funds of the school were intrusted to the management of a
committee.  Mr. Brocklehurst, who, from his wealth and family
connections, could not be overlooked, still retained the post of
treasurer; but he was aided in the discharge of his duties by gentlemen
of rather more enlarged and sympathising minds: his office of inspector,
too, was shared by those who knew how to combine reason with strictness,
comfort with economy, compassion with uprightness.  The school, thus
improved, became in time a truly useful and noble institution.  I
remained an inmate of its walls, after its regeneration, for eight years:
six as pupil, and two as teacher; and in both capacities I bear my
testimony to its value and importance.

During these eight years my life was uniform: but not unhappy, because it
was not inactive.  I had the means of an excellent education placed
within my reach; a fondness for some of my studies, and a desire to excel
in all, together with a great delight in pleasing my teachers, especially
such as I loved, urged me on: I availed myself fully of the advantages
offered me.  In time I rose to be the first girl of the first class; then
I was invested with the office of teacher; which I discharged with zeal
for two years: but at the end of that time I altered.

Miss Temple, through all changes, had thus far continued superintendent
of the seminary: to her instruction I owed the best part of my
acquirements; her friendship and society had been my continual solace;
she had stood me in the stead of mother, governess, and, latterly,
companion.  At this period she married, removed with her husband (a
clergyman, an excellent man, almost worthy of such a wife) to a distant
county, and consequently was lost to me.

From the day she left I was no longer the same: with her was gone every
settled feeling, every association that had made Lowood in some degree a
home to me.  I had imbibed from her something of her nature and much of
her habits: more harmonious thoughts: what seemed better regulated
feelings had become the inmates of my mind.  I had given in allegiance to
duty and order; I was quiet; I believed I was content: to the eyes of
others, usually even to my own, I appeared a disciplined and subdued
character.

But destiny, in the shape of the Rev. Mr. Nasmyth, came between me and
Miss Temple: I saw her in her travelling dress step into a post-chaise,
shortly after the marriage ceremony; I watched the chaise mount the hill
and disappear beyond its brow; and then retired to my own room, and there
spent in solitude the greatest part of the half-holiday granted in honour
of the occasion.

I walked about the chamber most of the time.  I imagined myself only to
be regretting my loss, and thinking how to repair it; but when my
reflections were concluded, and I looked up and found that the afternoon
was gone, and evening far advanced, another discovery dawned on me,
namely, that in the interval I had undergone a transforming process; that
my mind had put off all it had borrowed of Miss Temple--or rather that
she had taken with her the serene atmosphere I had been breathing in her
vicinity--and that now I was left in my natural element, and beginning to
feel the stirring of old emotions.  It did not seem as if a prop were
withdrawn, but rather as if a motive were gone: it was not the power to
be tranquil which had failed me, but the reason for tranquillity was no
more.  My world had for some years been in Lowood: my experience had been
of its rules and systems; now I remembered that the real world was wide,
and that a varied field of hopes and fears, of sensations and
excitements, awaited those who had courage to go forth into its expanse,
to seek real knowledge of life amidst its perils.

I went to my window, opened it, and looked out.  There were the two wings
of the building; there was the garden; there were the skirts of Lowood;
there was the hilly horizon.  My eye passed all other objects to rest on
those most remote, the blue peaks; it was those I longed to surmount; all
within their boundary of rock and heath seemed prison-ground, exile
limits.  I traced the white road winding round the base of one mountain,
and vanishing in a gorge between two; how I longed to follow it farther!
I recalled the time when I had travelled that very road in a coach; I
remembered descending that hill at twilight; an age seemed to have
elapsed since the day which brought me first to Lowood, and I had never
quitted it since.  My vacations had all been spent at school: Mrs. Reed
had never sent for me to Gateshead; neither she nor any of her family had
ever been to visit me.  I had had no communication by letter or message
with the outer world: school-rules, school-duties, school-habits and
notions, and voices, and faces, and phrases, and costumes, and
preferences, and antipathies--such was what I knew of existence.  And now
I felt that it was not enough; I tired of the routine of eight years in
one afternoon.  I desired liberty; for liberty I gasped; for liberty I
uttered a prayer; it seemed scattered on the wind then faintly blowing.  I
abandoned it and framed a humbler supplication; for change, stimulus:
that petition, too, seemed swept off into vague space: "Then," I cried,
half desperate, "grant me at least a new servitude!"

Here a bell, ringing the hour of supper, called me downstairs.

I was not free to resume the interrupted chain of my reflections till
bedtime: even then a teacher who occupied the same room with me kept me
from the subject to which I longed to recur, by a prolonged effusion of
small talk.  How I wished sleep would silence her.  It seemed as if,
could I but go back to the idea which had last entered my mind as I stood
at the window, some inventive suggestion would rise for my relief.

Miss Gryce snored at last; she was a heavy Welshwoman, and till now her
habitual nasal strains had never been regarded by me in any other light
than as a nuisance; to-night I hailed the first deep notes with
satisfaction; I was debarrassed of interruption; my half-effaced thought
instantly revived.

"A new servitude!  There is something in that," I soliloquised (mentally,
be it understood; I did not talk aloud), "I know there is, because it
does not sound too sweet; it is not like such words as Liberty,
Excitement, Enjoyment: delightful sounds truly; but no more than sounds
for me; and so hollow and fleeting that it is mere waste of time to
listen to them.  But Servitude!  That must be matter of fact.  Any one
may serve: I have served here eight years; now all I want is to serve
elsewhere.  Can I not get so much of my own will?  Is not the thing
feasible?  Yes--yes--the end is not so difficult; if I had only a brain
active enough to ferret out the means of attaining it."

I sat up in bed by way of arousing this said brain: it was a chilly
night; I covered my shoulders with a shawl, and then I proceeded _to
think_ again with all my might.

"What do I want?  A new place, in a new house, amongst new faces, under
new circumstances: I want this because it is of no use wanting anything
better.  How do people do to get a new place?  They apply to friends, I
suppose: I have no friends.  There are many others who have no friends,
who must look about for themselves and be their own helpers; and what is
their resource?"

I could not tell: nothing answered me; I then ordered my brain to find a
response, and quickly.  It worked and worked faster: I felt the pulses
throb in my head and temples; but for nearly an hour it worked in chaos;
and no result came of its efforts.  Feverish with vain labour, I got up
and took a turn in the room; undrew the curtain, noted a star or two,
shivered with cold, and again crept to bed.

A kind fairy, in my absence, had surely dropped the required suggestion
on my pillow; for as I lay down, it came quietly and naturally to my
mind.--"Those who want situations advertise; you must advertise in the
_---shire Herald_."

"How?  I know nothing about advertising."

Replies rose smooth and prompt now:--

"You must enclose the advertisement and the money to pay for it under a
cover directed to the editor of the _Herald_; you must put it, the first
opportunity you have, into the post at Lowton; answers must be addressed
to J.E., at the post-office there; you can go and inquire in about a week
after you send your letter, if any are come, and act accordingly."

This scheme I went over twice, thrice; it was then digested in my mind; I
had it in a clear practical form: I felt satisfied, and fell asleep.

With earliest day, I was up: I had my advertisement written, enclosed,
and directed before the bell rang to rouse the school; it ran thus:--

"A young lady accustomed to tuition" (had I not been a teacher two
years?) "is desirous of meeting with a situation in a private family
where the children are under fourteen" (I thought that as I was barely
eighteen, it would not do to undertake the guidance of pupils nearer my
own age).  "She is qualified to teach the usual branches of a good English
education, together with French, Drawing, and Music" (in those days,
reader, this now narrow catalogue of accomplishments, would have been
held tolerably comprehensive).  "Address, J.E., Post-office, Lowton, ---
shire."

This document remained locked in my drawer all day: after tea, I asked
leave of the new superintendent to go to Lowton, in order to perform some
small commissions for myself and one or two of my fellow-teachers;
permission was readily granted; I went.  It was a walk of two miles, and
the evening was wet, but the days were still long; I visited a shop or
two, slipped the letter into the post-office, and came back through heavy
rain, with streaming garments, but with a relieved heart.

The succeeding week seemed long: it came to an end at last, however, like
all sublunary things, and once more, towards the close of a pleasant
autumn day, I found myself afoot on the road to Lowton.  A picturesque
track it was, by the way; lying along the side of the beck and through
the sweetest curves of the dale: but that day I thought more of the
letters, that might or might not be awaiting me at the little burgh
whither I was bound, than of the charms of lea and water.

My ostensible errand on this occasion was to get measured for a pair of
shoes; so I discharged that business first, and when it was done, I
stepped across the clean and quiet little street from the shoemaker's to
the post-office: it was kept by an old dame, who wore horn spectacles on
her nose, and black mittens on her hands.

"Are there any letters for J.E.?" I asked.

She peered at me over her spectacles, and then she opened a drawer and
fumbled among its contents for a long time, so long that my hopes began
to falter.  At last, having held a document before her glasses for nearly
five minutes, she presented it across the counter, accompanying the act
by another inquisitive and mistrustful glance--it was for J.E.

"Is there only one?" I demanded.

"There are no more," said she; and I put it in my pocket and turned my
face homeward: I could not open it then; rules obliged me to be back by
eight, and it was already half-past seven.

Various duties awaited me on my arrival.  I had to sit with the girls
during their hour of study; then it was my turn to read prayers; to see
them to bed: afterwards I supped with the other teachers.  Even when we
finally retired for the night, the inevitable Miss Gryce was still my
companion: we had only a short end of candle in our candlestick, and I
dreaded lest she should talk till it was all burnt out; fortunately,
however, the heavy supper she had eaten produced a soporific effect: she
was already snoring before I had finished undressing.  There still
remained an inch of candle: I now took out my letter; the seal was an
initial F.; I broke it; the contents were brief.

"If J.E., who advertised in the _---shire Herald_ of last Thursday,
possesses the acquirements mentioned, and if she is in a position to give
satisfactory references as to character and competency, a situation can
be offered her where there is but one pupil, a little girl, under ten
years of age; and where the salary is thirty pounds per annum.  J.E. is
requested to send references, name, address, and all particulars to the
direction:--

"Mrs. Fairfax, Thornfield, near Millcote, ---shire."

I examined the document long: the writing was old-fashioned and rather
uncertain, like that of an elderly lady.  This circumstance was
satisfactory: a private fear had haunted me, that in thus acting for
myself, and by my own guidance, I ran the risk of getting into some
scrape; and, above all things, I wished the result of my endeavours to be
respectable, proper, _en regle_.  I now felt that an elderly lady was no
bad ingredient in the business I had on hand.  Mrs. Fairfax!  I saw her
in a black gown and widow's cap; frigid, perhaps, but not uncivil: a
model of elderly English respectability.  Thornfield! that, doubtless,
was the name of her house: a neat orderly spot, I was sure; though I
failed in my efforts to conceive a correct plan of the premises.
Millcote, ---shire; I brushed up my recollections of the map of England,
yes, I saw it; both the shire and the town.  ---shire was seventy miles
nearer London than the remote county where I now resided: that was a
recommendation to me.  I longed to go where there was life and movement:
Millcote was a large manufacturing town on the banks of the A-; a busy
place enough, doubtless: so much the better; it would be a complete
change at least.  Not that my fancy was much captivated by the idea of
long chimneys and clouds of smoke--"but," I argued, "Thornfield will,
probably, be a good way from the town."

Here the socket of the candle dropped, and the wick went out.

Next day new steps were to be taken; my plans could no longer be confined
to my own breast; I must impart them in order to achieve their success.
Having sought and obtained an audience of the superintendent during the
noontide recreation, I told her I had a prospect of getting a new
situation where the salary would be double what I now received (for at
Lowood I only got 15 pounds per annum); and requested she would break the
matter for me to Mr. Brocklehurst, or some of the committee, and
ascertain whether they would permit me to mention them as references.  She
obligingly consented to act as mediatrix in the matter.  The next day she
laid the affair before Mr. Brocklehurst, who said that Mrs. Reed must be
written to, as she was my natural guardian.  A note was accordingly
addressed to that lady, who returned for answer, that "I might do as I
pleased: she had long relinquished all interference in my affairs."  This
note went the round of the committee, and at last, after what appeared to
me most tedious delay, formal leave was given me to better my condition
if I could; and an assurance added, that as I had always conducted myself
well, both as teacher and pupil, at Lowood, a testimonial of character
and capacity, signed by the inspectors of that institution, should
forthwith be furnished me.

This testimonial I accordingly received in about a month, forwarded a
copy of it to Mrs. Fairfax, and got that lady's reply, stating that she
was satisfied, and fixing that day fortnight as the period for my
assuming the post of governess in her house.

I now busied myself in preparations: the fortnight passed rapidly.  I had
not a very large wardrobe, though it was adequate to my wants; and the
last day sufficed to pack my trunk,--the same I had brought with me eight
years ago from Gateshead.

The box was corded, the card nailed on.  In half-an-hour the carrier was
to call for it to take it to Lowton, whither I myself was to repair at an
early hour the next morning to meet the coach.  I had brushed my black
stuff travelling-dress, prepared my bonnet, gloves, and muff; sought in
all my drawers to see that no article was left behind; and now having
nothing more to do, I sat down and tried to rest.  I could not; though I
had been on foot all day, I could not now repose an instant; I was too
much excited.  A phase of my life was closing to-night, a new one opening
to-morrow: impossible to slumber in the interval; I must watch feverishly
while the change was being accomplished.

"Miss," said a servant who met me in the lobby, where I was wandering
like a troubled spirit, "a person below wishes to see you."

"The carrier, no doubt," I thought, and ran downstairs without inquiry.  I
was passing the back-parlour or teachers' sitting-room, the door of which
was half open, to go to the kitchen, when some one ran out--

"It's her, I am sure!--I could have told her anywhere!" cried the
individual who stopped my progress and took my hand.

I looked: I saw a woman attired like a well-dressed servant, matronly,
yet still young; very good-looking, with black hair and eyes, and lively
complexion.

"Well, who is it?" she asked, in a voice and with a smile I half
recognised; "you've not quite forgotten me, I think, Miss Jane?"

In another second I was embracing and kissing her rapturously: "Bessie!
Bessie!  Bessie!" that was all I said; whereat she half laughed, half
cried, and we both went into the parlour.  By the fire stood a little
fellow of three years old, in plaid frock and trousers.

"That is my little boy," said Bessie directly.

"Then you are married, Bessie?"

"Yes; nearly five years since to Robert Leaven, the coachman; and I've a
little girl besides Bobby there, that I've christened Jane."

"And you don't live at Gateshead?"

"I live at the lodge: the old porter has left."

"Well, and how do they all get on?  Tell me everything about them,
Bessie: but sit down first; and, Bobby, come and sit on my knee, will
you?" but Bobby preferred sidling over to his mother.

"You're not grown so very tall, Miss Jane, nor so very stout," continued
Mrs. Leaven.  "I dare say they've not kept you too well at school: Miss
Reed is the head and shoulders taller than you are; and Miss Georgiana
would make two of you in breadth."

"Georgiana is handsome, I suppose, Bessie?"

"Very.  She went up to London last winter with her mama, and there
everybody admired her, and a young lord fell in love with her: but his
relations were against the match; and--what do you think?--he and Miss
Georgiana made it up to run away; but they were found out and stopped.  It
was Miss Reed that found them out: I believe she was envious; and now she
and her sister lead a cat and dog life together; they are always
quarrelling--"

"Well, and what of John Reed?"

"Oh, he is not doing so well as his mama could wish.  He went to college,
and he got--plucked, I think they call it: and then his uncles wanted him
to be a barrister, and study the law: but he is such a dissipated young
man, they will never make much of him, I think."

"What does he look like?"

"He is very tall: some people call him a fine-looking young man; but he
has such thick lips."

"And Mrs. Reed?"

"Missis looks stout and well enough in the face, but I think she's not
quite easy in her mind: Mr. John's conduct does not please her--he spends
a deal of money."

"Did she send you here, Bessie?"

"No, indeed: but I have long wanted to see you, and when I heard that
there had been a letter from you, and that you were going to another part
of the country, I thought I'd just set off, and get a look at you before
you were quite out of my reach."

"I am afraid you are disappointed in me, Bessie."  I said this laughing:
I perceived that Bessie's glance, though it expressed regard, did in no
shape denote admiration.

"No, Miss Jane, not exactly: you are genteel enough; you look like a
lady, and it is as much as ever I expected of you: you were no beauty as
a child."

I smiled at Bessie's frank answer: I felt that it was correct, but I
confess I was not quite indifferent to its import: at eighteen most
people wish to please, and the conviction that they have not an exterior
likely to second that desire brings anything but gratification.

"I dare say you are clever, though," continued Bessie, by way of solace.
"What can you do?  Can you play on the piano?"

"A little."

There was one in the room; Bessie went and opened it, and then asked me
to sit down and give her a tune: I played a waltz or two, and she was
charmed.

"The Miss Reeds could not play as well!" said she exultingly.  "I always
said you would surpass them in learning: and can you draw?"

"That is one of my paintings over the chimney-piece."  It was a landscape
in water colours, of which I had made a present to the superintendent, in
acknowledgment of her obliging mediation with the committee on my behalf,
and which she had framed and glazed.

"Well, that is beautiful, Miss Jane!  It is as fine a picture as any Miss
Reed's drawing-master could paint, let alone the young ladies themselves,
who could not come near it: and have you learnt French?"

"Yes, Bessie, I can both read it and speak it."

"And you can work on muslin and canvas?"

"I can."

"Oh, you are quite a lady, Miss Jane!  I knew you would be: you will get
on whether your relations notice you or not.  There was something I
wanted to ask you.  Have you ever heard anything from your father's
kinsfolk, the Eyres?"

"Never in my life."

"Well, you know Missis always said they were poor and quite despicable:
and they may be poor; but I believe they are as much gentry as the Reeds
are; for one day, nearly seven years ago, a Mr. Eyre came to Gateshead
and wanted to see you; Missis said you were at school fifty miles off; he
seemed so much disappointed, for he could not stay: he was going on a
voyage to a foreign country, and the ship was to sail from London in a
day or two.  He looked quite a gentleman, and I believe he was your
father's brother."

"What foreign country was he going to, Bessie?"

"An island thousands of miles off, where they make wine--the butler did
tell me--"

"Madeira?" I suggested.

"Yes, that is it--that is the very word."

"So he went?"

"Yes; he did not stay many minutes in the house: Missis was very high
with him; she called him afterwards a 'sneaking tradesman.'  My Robert
believes he was a wine-merchant."

"Very likely," I returned; "or perhaps clerk or agent to a
wine-merchant."

Bessie and I conversed about old times an hour longer, and then she was
obliged to leave me: I saw her again for a few minutes the next morning
at Lowton, while I was waiting for the coach.  We parted finally at the
door of the Brocklehurst Arms there: each went her separate way; she set
off for the brow of Lowood Fell to meet the conveyance which was to take
her back to Gateshead, I mounted the vehicle which was to bear me to new
duties and a new life in the unknown environs of Millcote.

 Eight years pass before Jane again picks up her narrative. Following an investigation into the cause of the typhus epidemic at Lowood, Mr. Brocklehurst is publicly humiliated, and a new building is erected. Brocklehurst remains the treasurer for the school, but other, more enlightened, gentlemen become the school's inspectors and it becomes a "truly useful and noble institution." Jane remains at Lowood for eight years: six as a student and two as a teacher. Jane enjoys excelling in her studies, but after two years as a teacher, Jane needs a change. First, Miss Temple marries and moves far away, taking with her Jane's "serene" feelings about Lowood. Jane's old need for adventure returns and she longs to experience the perils of the real world. Since arriving at the school, Jane has never quitted it, even for holidays, and she now dreams of "liberty" and a "new servitude." Jane places an ad in the newspaper for a job as a governess. A response arrives from a Mrs. Fairfax of Thornfield, Millcote, who needs a governess for a little girl, and Jane decides to take the job. Before leaving for her new position, Jane has an unexpected visit from Bessie Lee, the Reeds' nursemaid. From her, she learns that none of the Reed children has turned out well: Georgiana tried to elope with a young man and Eliza jealously tattled on them, and John leads a life of excess. Bessie is impressed with Jane's ladylike appearance and accomplishments. Jane also learns that her father's brother, John Eyre had come to the Reeds seeking Jane seven years ago. Unfortunately, he couldn't visit her at Lowood, because he was leaving for Madeira to make his fortune.

