Chapter II: Act I

SCENE I.—_A very plain chamber in Lowood Academy—window practicable, but barred, prison-like._ MISS GRYCE _and_ MISS TEMPLE _discovered_.

_Enter_ MISS SCATCHERD L. H. 2 E.

_Miss S._ Here’s a fine to do! who do you think is coming here directly?

_Miss T._ I cannot say, Miss Scatcherd.

_Miss S._ The veritable Mr. Brocklehurst himself. The generous endower of this most benevolent institution, for the confusion of intellect and suppression of liberty.

_Miss T._ For shame, Miss Scatcherd; you must not speak so.

_Miss S._ I’ll say what I think, in spite of anybody. Heaven knows I’m sick enough of this dungeon.

_Miss T._ So indeed am I. But I must fulfil my destiny.

_Miss S._ Pshaw! a fig for destiny. I’m resolved when Mr. Brocklehurst does come, to give him a piece of my mind. I’ll say to him——

_Enter_ BROCKLEHURST L. H. 2 E.

_Brock._ What will you say, my dear Miss Scatcherd?

_Miss S._ I hope you find yourself quite well to-day, sir.

_Brock._ Remarkably well, I thank you. Miss Temple, your most obedient. I congratulate you all, ladies, upon the general appearance of your interesting pupils. But—pray be seated—I regret, and believe me, it gives me, as a man and a Christian, inexpressible pain to be obliged to reprove. I regret, I say, to find that the rules of the establishment have been, I would almost say, criminally neglected.

_Miss T._ I am sure, sir, not of our own——

_Brock._ Ah—suffer me. How is it, Madame—I address you as superintendent and controllor of this place—how is it that the woollen stockings are not better attended to?

_Miss T._ Indeed, sir, I——

_Brock._ Ah—pardon me. I find also, in settling accounts with the housekeeper, that a lunch, consisting of bread and cheese, has twice been served to the girls within the last fortnight. By whose authority was this shameful innovation? May I be permitted to request an answer, direct and unequivocal?

_Miss T._ I must be responsible for the circumstance, sir; the breakfast was ill prepared, and——

_Brock._ Allow me. You are aware that my plan in bringing up these girls is, not to accustom them to habits of luxury.

_Miss G._ There’s no doubt about that——

_Brock._ Miss Gryce, if you please—but on the contrary, by spare diet and wholesome exercise, to render them hardy, patient, and self-denying, and encourage them to evince fortitude, under temporary privation.

_Miss G._ Starvation?

_Brock._ Privation, Miss Gryce. That woman’s deafness is very inconvenient. Oh! madam, when you put bread and cheese, instead of thin water-gruel, into those children’s bodies, you little think how you starve their immortal souls.

_Miss G._ You are right, sir, the poor things are starved nearly.

_Brock._ Silence. And now, Madame, I come to the most awful dereliction of all. I observed as I passed through the school that one girl, if not more, had her hair decked in the absurd vanity of curls, absolute cork-screw curls.

_Miss T._ It is Julia Severn, sir. Her hair curls naturally.

_Brock._ _Naturally!_ Madame! don’t attempt to hide your negligence under such a paltry plea. What have we to do with nature?

_Miss G._ Nothing.

_Brock._ Miss Temple, that girl’s hair must be cut off. I will not have a curl or a top-knot in the school. I want those charges to become the children of grace, not the offshoots of vanity. Where is Jane Eyre?

_Miss T._ She has retired to her room, sir; her health is failing under the close confinement.

_Brock._ Impossible! close confinement here? Why she must be out of her senses.

_Miss G._ Nearly.

_Brock._ I don’t believe a word of it, it’s nothing but laziness. If she does not attend to her duties to-morrow, she must seek elsewhere for a situation, and they are not to be picked up so easily; and now, ladies, I will take my leave, trusting that the reproof which conscientious feelings alone urge me to make will sink deep within your hearts, and ultimately spring up into the sweet-smelling flower of repentance and amendment. Good day.

[_Exit Brocklehurst_, L. H. 2 E.

_Enter_ JANE EYRE, L. H.

_Jane._ Ah, aunt, aunt! you do not, you cannot know the bitter slavery to which your hate has doomed me: eight long years of joyless, hopeless, pitiless imprisonment—life dragged along in one unvarying level, in the very springtime of my youth—with heart and brain astir, and yearning for the love of kindred, full of bright thoughts and glorious impulses, the world and all its chances, changes, forever closed against me—it is terrible. Oh, for freedom! freedom! My heart bounds like an imprisoned bird against its wiry barrier, at the mere thought—freedom—blessed freedom; those only, who lose thee, know thy worth. (_Throws open window._) Oh, I have prayed for liberty until my loud cry seemed scattered on the passing wind. I cannot rest—I cannot think—my tortured brain, in wild confusion, whirls. Heaven send me a change, no matter what—a break to this heart-cankering monotony—a change, or I shall go mad.

_Enter_ MISS GRYCE.

_Miss G._ Perhaps you may have one sooner than you anticipate.

_Jane._ How! speak! is there such a hope?

_Miss G._ Brocklehurst has been here, and I took advantage of my slight deafness to give him a few stings.

_Jane._ Poor girl, his heart is clad in steel, no mortal can reach it; but you hinted at a change; what do you mean?

_Miss G._ In the first place, he says you are not sick, that it’s nothing but laziness.

_Jane._ The hypocrite! the false-tongued hypocrite! Go on.

_Miss G._ And that unless you attend to your duties, you’ll have to go.

_Jane._ Where?

_Miss G._ Anywhere,—out into the road; he’d do it.

_Jane._ He would—I know he would. What shall I do? Oh, pity me, for I need pity much. Homeless, friendless, and an orphan; what is to become of me?

_Miss G._ Why don’t you try and get something to do?

_Jane._ Have I not done so? Have I not, in the faint hope of, at least, changing my servitude, advertised for the situation of a governess? I have served here for eight years, and I would fain serve elsewhere; I know it would but be an exchange of prisons, but even that variety would be a boon. A new place in a new house, with new faces, it does not sound as sweet as liberty, excitement, enjoyment; but alas! they are all equally hollow and flattering, and to me it is a mere waste of words to utter them.

_Miss G._ Don’t grieve so terribly; who knows what this letter may contain?

_Jane._ (_Starting up._) For me! Gryce! (_Fiercely._)

_Miss G._ What! don’t look at me so awfully.

_Jane._ You are one who would see the fire laid to the stake before you would produce the wretch’s pardon.

_Miss G._ I was afraid it might contain bad news.

_Jane._ There is no bad news for me, the slightest change becomes an incident; a drop of water in the endless desert of my existence is as a mighty river. (_Reads._) Oh kind, benignant Providence, my prayers are heard at last! Listen. (_Reads._) “If J. E. is in a condition to give satisfactory reference as to character and capacity”—(that they must not, dare not refuse me,) “a situation can be offered to her where there is but one pupil, a little girl, under ten years of age, and where the salary——” Oh, I care not for that. “Apply to Mrs. Fairfax, Thornfield.”

_Miss G._ Thornfield, why it’s not more than two hours’ walk from here.

_Jane._ My heart is full, and forces from my eyes the unaccustomed tears. Years—long years of suffering misery are forgotten in this one moment of delight. Now my aspiring thought will have fit element to work within; high hopes and wild imaginings are crowding through my brain. I feel as though I were revelling in dream-land, and as with a lightning flash, the rocky barrier is rent that kept me from communion with my kind. Oh, world! oh, bright and glorious world! thy doors are opened to me at last!

[_Exit_, R. H.

SCENE II.—_Drawing-room, elegantly furnished, in Mr. Rochester’s House._—_The_ DOWAGER LADY INGRAM, LADY BLANCHE INGRAM, LADY MARY INGRAM, MRS. DENT, LORD INGRAM, COLONEL DENT, _and_ FREDERICK LYNN, _discovered_.

_Dow._ What an extraordinary creature that Rochester is! what can possibly detain him so long, away? If it were any other person, I should certainly feel annoyed at the host’s absence.

_Lord Ing._ For my part, _chère mama_, I think it’s all the better; he is such a half-savage, whole-riddle of a fellow, one can never feel at home with him.

_Col. Dent._ Yes; and so long as he leaves such glorious wine to be drank, noble horses to be ridden, and splendid game to pop at, what the deuce is it to us?

_Lord Ing._ He certainly is a most eccentric animal.

_Blan._ I love eccentricity.

_Lord Ing._ Especially when said eccentricity is mated with enormous riches, and both look sideways towards you: if I were in your place I should love it prodigiously.

_Dow._ Now, Ingram, don’t be so impertinent; poor Blanche is absolutely blushing.

_Lord Ing._ What Arcadian simplicity! For Heaven’s sake, Blanche, let me see it. Natural colour upon a fashionable cheek—preposterous!

_Col. Dent._ Decidedly out of place.

_Lord Ing._ Vulgar in the extreme!

_Col. Dent._ Absurd!

_Lord Ing._ And utterly dairymaidish.

_Blan._ Brother, you have no heart.

_Lord Ing._ Haven’t I, by Jove! ask Dent.

_Col. Dent._ Don’t ask me: I never saw any indication of the article, except you held it in your hand when you were playing écarte.

_Lord Ing._ And by Jupiter, it’s the only way you’ll ever see mine, unless associated with diamonds. By the bye, your heart, sister, has the benefit of such brilliant companionship.

_Dow._ Ingram, I command you to be silent on that subject; the establishment of a daughter is not so frivolous a matter as you may imagine.

_Lord Ing._ I know, amiable maternity and hearts have nothing whatever to do with it.

_Dow._ Nothing in the world!

_Lord Ing._ But goes to the purchaser, like the fixtures in leasing a house.

_Dow._ Precisely: I wonder if it was Rochester who came in the carriage a short time since. Dent, oblige me by touching the bell. (_Dent rings._) Blanche, my love, brighten your eyes with a little of this _bouquet_. (_Gives small phial._) If it should be Rochester, don’t let him find us moping.

_Enter_ JOHN, L. H.

_John._ That’s a bright lot, the old tabby and the young kittens; the characters of all their female acquaintance are just like so many mice to them. Oh! what delight it is to seize hold of them one by one, and purr, and scratch, and worry.

_Dow._ John!

_John._ Yes, my lady, Mouser. (_Aside._)

_Dow._ Was that Mr. Rochester who arrived just now.

_John._ No, my lady. Now I’ll tease her a bit; she won’t like to ask me who it is, I know she’ll have to, though.

_Dow._ Not Mr. Rochester?

_John._ No, my lady.

_Dow._ More friends, I presume?

_John._ No, my lady.

_Dow._ I certainly heard a carriage stop.

_John._ Yes, my lady.

_Dow._ I thought I couldn’t be mistaken.

_John._ No, my lady.

_Dow._ A stranger?

_John._ Yes, my lady.

_Dow._ Indeed—a gentleman?

_John._ No, my lady.

_Dow._ A lady?

_John._ No, my lady.

_Dow._ Neither a gentleman or a lady? how stupid you are. Who can it be?

_John._ Only the new governess, my lady.

_Dow._ Governess! pshaw! how very provoking!

_Lord Ing._ Frightful waste of sympathy, eh, Dent?

_Col. Dent._ Excruciating, my lord.

_Lord Ing._ All about some poor devil of a teacher. Do you recollect, Blanche, how we used to quiz your round of governesses?

_Blan._ Oh, yes, Theodore; what fun we used to have with them. Mary was always too sleepy to join in our plots.

_Dow._ Now, my darling pets, don’t mention governesses; the very word makes me nervous.

_Blan._ And do you remember, Theodore, how we used to persecute your tutor?

_Lord Ing._ Yes, the poor, pale-faced wretch; he was positively ignorant of the commonest rudiments of education—didn’t know a terrier from a bull-dog, and never saw a badger in the whole course of his life.

_Col. Dent._ The Hottentot!

_Lord Ing._ (_To Blanche._) I say, Blanche, wouldn’t it be a prime lark to have up this new governess, and see what she’s like.

_Blan._ Famous, Theodore! I do love to see them blush and tremble when they first find themselves in an aristocratic element. Ma won’t like it, though.

_Lord Ing._ That don’t signify, we shall have better fun. John!

_John._ My lord.

_Lord Ing._ Bring some liqueur, and trot out the new governess.

_John._ Yes, my lord.

[_Exit_, L. H.

_Lord Ing._ I say, Dent, I’ve just been laying the train for a grand explosion of fun.

_Col. Dent._ What, sacking the cellar?

_Lord Ing._ No. I’m going to introduce a lamb amongst those old Dowager Lionnesses. My dear, so you have a prejudice against governesses.

_Dow._ Don’t mention the horrid name, or I shall certainly faint.

_Enter_ JOHN, L. H.

_John._ The new governess. (_Dowager screams._)

_Lord Ing._ Bravo, John; consider yourself a sovereign richer for that.

_Enter_ JANE, L. H.—_Recoils timidly at first, but rapidly
collects herself._

_Lord Ing._ Dent, you ruffian, is not that a master stroke of comedy? See the poor timid fawn! How she shrinks from those high-blooded gruffins!

_Jane._ (_Advancing firmly._) I am either constrained to apologize for the _ignorance_ of a servant, or I am obliged to suffer for his _malice_. It was not of my own will that I intruded here, for I was not aware there was so distinguished an assembly.

_Lord Ing._ Dem good, by Jupiter! Eh, Dent?

_Col. Dent._ Admirable!

_Jane._ You will excuse me if I retire.

_Lord Ing._ Oh, dem it, no; ’twould be ending the comedy in first scene. Don’t tear yourself away.

_Jane._ Am I to understand that I was sent for?

_Lord Ing._ Yes, certainly. I did myself that honour.

_Jane._ Indeed! that makes an essential difference. It allows me at least the condition of equality. John, will you oblige me with a seat? (_John places seat._) Request Mrs. Fairfax, the housekeeper, to send for me here, if my services are required.

(_John laughs, aside, but very respectful to her._)

_John._ Yes, my lady—I mean madam. Bravo! jolly good, by jingo!

_Lord Ing._ Delicious! John, you brigand, you’ll ruin me. I owe you another sovereign.

_John._ Yes, and that’s all I’m likely to get of it.

[_Exit_, L. H.

_Dow._ (_Aside to guests._) Did you ever see more consummate boldness? And, I declare, there’s that foolish Mary going to speak to her.

_Lord Ing._ She’s a magnificent creature, Dent, by Jove! Let’s have a close look at her.—(_Dent and Ingram walk round Jane, with quizzing glasses._)—Bears close inspection too, by Jove!

_Col. Dent._ Yes, as close as you can get—those eyes are dangerous, too near.

_Jane._ (_To Mary, who has been trying to make her feel at home._) The thanks, deep and sincere, of a lonely heart are yours, my dear young lady; one touch of sympathy can obliterate volumes of looked and spoken insolence; but fear not for me. The mind that’s conscious of its own superiority stands on too high an eminence to be reached by the petty shafts of pride and ignorance.

_Lord Ing._ Does she mean anything—eh, Dent?

_Col. Dent._ Hang me if I know. I wish I had some of Rochester’s burgundy.

_Dow._ Does the creature intend to stay here, I wonder?

_Blan._ She has confidence enough, I do believe.

_Lord Ing._ Demme if she hasn’t put a wet blanket on the party—eh, Dent?

_Col. Dent._ A regular soaker.

_Lord Ing._ The Dowagers are shut up famously—confound me if I don’t feel somehow demmed awkward myself. Dent, stir up the people, or this dem governess will think she has cowed us all.

_Col. Dent._ Why don’t you go and talk to her?

_Lord Ing._ I would if I knew what to say.

_Col. Dent._ Don’t be a fool—nonplussed by a governess!

_Lord Ing._ Demmit, that’ll never do—(_Stalks across dandified_)—aw—Miss; aw—I haven’t the honour of your name.

_Jane._ Jane Eyre—you are?——

_Lord Ing._ Theodore, commonly called Lord Ingram—and so you are—aw—Jane Eyre. Yes, delighted—do you know, Jane, that you’re devilish pretty?

_Jane._ My lord!

_Lord Ing._ Upon my life you are—eh, Dent?

_Col. Dent._ Undoubtedly.

_Jane._ Sir, your sisters, I believe, are in the room—were anyone to address either of them as you have now addressed me, what would be the result?

_Lord Ing._ Positively, I don’t know, I can’t imagine; it’s a very different thing—they are——

_Jane._ Made of different clay; their hearts are more sensitive, their feelings more refined, perhaps. Reverse the picture, my lord, and you will be nearer to the truth. In the school of poverty is oftener found that intuitive delicacy which fears to wound—inured to suffering themselves, they know and feel for that in others.

_Lord Ing._ A regular sermon, by Jupiter! quite Addisonian. Did you get that out of the _Spectator_?

_Jane._ My lord, ignorant assumption, much as it may be involuntary, is simply pitiable; but insolence, where you know it cannot be averted, is cowardly!

_Lord Ing._ Dent, damme, did you hear that?

_Col. Dent._ Distinctly!

_Lord Ing._ And must I swallow it? Oh, how I wish you were a man.

_Jane._ Pray calm yourself, my lord. I shall retire, not out of dread of your contumely, but from very pity of your infirmities; and it may be that the poor, lowly-nurtured drudge, whom you sent for to bring you unworthy amusement, will have given you a wholesome, though unwelcome lesson.

[_Exit Jane_, L. H.

_Lord Ing._ Snubbed, by Jove!

_Col. Dent._ Prodigiously.

_Tableau of Astonishment._

END OF ACT I.