Шарлотта Бронте – Jane Eyre. An Autobiography / Джейн Эйр. Автобиография (страница 8)
Chapter IX
Spring came: the frosts of winter had ceased; its snows had melted. The play-hour passed in the garden began even to be pleasant. Flowers grew amongst the leaves; snow-drops, crocuses, and golden-eyed pansies.
Nature looked beautiful but whether it was healthy or not is another question.
That foggy forest-dell, where Lowood lay, caused fog-bred epidemics, which got into the Orphan Asylum, spreading typhus through its crowded schoolroom and dormitory, and, before May arrived, transformed the seminary into an hospital.
Semi-starvation and neglected colds had contributed to the spread of infection: forty-five out of the eighty girls lay ill at one time. Classes were broken up, rules relaxed. The few who continued well were given almost unlimited freedom, because the doctor insisted on frequent exercise to keep them in health. Miss Temple’s whole attention was taken by the patients: she lived in the sick-room, never quitting it except to snatch a few hours’ rest at night. The teachers were fully occupied with packing up and making other necessary preparations for the departure of those girls who were fortunate enough to have friends and relations able and willing to take them. Many, already sick, went home only to die: some died at the school, and were buried quietly and quickly.
But I, and the rest who continued well, enjoyed fully the beauties of the season; they let us walk in the wood, like gipsies, from morning till night; we did what we liked, went where we liked: we lived better too. Mr. Brocklehurst and his family never came near Lowood now. Besides, there were fewer to feed; the sick could eat little; our breakfast-basins were better filled; when there was no time to prepare a regular dinner, which often happened, they would give us a large piece of cold pie, or a thick slice of bread and cheese, and this we carried away with us to the wood, where we each dined with pleasure.
And where, meantime, was Helen Burns? Why did I not spend these sweet days of liberty with her? Had I forgotten her?
Helen was ill at present: for some weeks she had been removed to some room upstairs. She was not, I was told, in the hospital portion of the house; for her illness was consumption, not typhus: and by consumption I, in my ignorance, understood something mild, which time and care would be sure to heal.
I only saw her once or twice from the schoolroom window; she was much wrapped up, and sat at a distance under the verandah; on these occasions, I was not allowed to go and speak to her.
One evening, at the beginning of June, I had stayed out very late in the wood. When I got back, it was after moonrise: a pony, which I knew to be the surgeon’s, was standing at the garden door. I thought that some one must be very ill, as Mr. Bates had been sent for at that time of the evening. I stayed out a few minutes to plant in my garden a handful of roots I had dug up in the forest. This done, I stayed there a little longer: the flowers smelt so sweet as the dew fell; it was such a pleasant evening, so serene, so warm; I was noting these things and enjoying them, when it entered my mind as it had never done before: —
“How sad to be lying now on a sick bed, and to be in danger of dying! This world is pleasant – it would be dreary to be called from it, and to have to go who knows where?”
I heard the front door open; Mr. Bates came out, and with him was a nurse. He mounted his horse and departed, and the nurse was about to close the door when I ran up to her.
“How is Helen Burns?”
“Very poorly,” was the answer.
“Is it her Mr. Bates has been to see?”
“Yes.”
“And what does he say about her?”
“He says she’ll not be here long.”
This phrase, if heard yesterday, would have only meant that she would be removed to Northumberland, to her own home. I should not have suspected that it meant she was dying; but I knew instantly now!
I experienced a shock of horror, then a desire – a necessity to see her; and I asked in what room she lay.
“She is in Miss Temple’s room,” said the nurse.
“May I go up and speak to her?”
“Oh no, child! It is not likely; and now it is time for you to come in.”
The nurse closed the front door; I went in by the side entrance which led to the schoolroom: I was just in time; it was nine o’clock, and Miss Miller was calling the pupils to go to bed.
It might be two hours later, when I – not having been able to fall asleep – rose softly, put on my frock over my night-dress, and, without shoes, crept from the dormitory, looking for Miss Temple’s room. It was quite at the other end of the house; but I knew my way; and the light of the unclouded moon helped me to find it without difficulty. I dreaded being discovered and sent back; for I
Opposite to me was Miss Temple’s room. A light shone through the keyhole and from under the door. Coming near, I found the door slightly ajar; I looked in. My eye sought Helen, and feared to find death.
Close by Miss Temple’s bed, there stood a little bed; I saw the outline of a form under the clothes. Miss Temple was not to be seen:
“Helen!” I whispered softly, “are you awake?”
She stirred herself, and I saw her face, pale: she looked so little changed that my fear instantly disappeared.
“Can it be you, Jane?” she asked, in her own gentle voice.
“Oh!” I thought, “she is not going to die; they are mistaken: she could not speak and look so calmly if she were.”
I kissed her: her forehead was cold, and so were her hand and wrist; but she smiled as of old[26].
“Why have you come here, Jane? It is past eleven o’clock: I heard it strike some minutes ago.”
“I came to see you, Helen: I heard you were very ill, and I could not sleep till I had spoken to you.”
“You came to bid me good-bye, then: you are just in time probably.”
“Are you going somewhere, Helen? Are you going home?”
“Yes; to my long home – my last home.”
“No, no, Helen!” I stopped, distressed. A fit of coughing seized Helen; when it was over, she lay some minutes exhausted; then she whispered —
“Jane, your little feet are bare; lie down and cover yourself with my quilt.”
I did so: she put her arm over me, and I nestled close to her. After a long silence, she resumed, still whispering —
“I am very happy, Jane; and when you hear that I am dead, you must not grieve: there is nothing to grieve about. We all must die one day, and the illness which is removing me is not painful. I leave no one to regret me much: I have only a father; and he is lately married, and will not miss me. By dying young, I shall escape great sufferings. I had not qualities or talents to make my way very well in the world.”
“But where are you going to, Helen? Can you see? Do you know?”
“I believe; I have faith: I am going to God.”
“Where is God? What is God?”
“My Maker and yours, who will never destroy what He created.”
“You are sure, then, Helen, that there is such a place as heaven, and that our souls can get to it when we die?”
“I am sure there is a future state; I believe God is good. God is my father; God is my friend: I love Him; I believe He loves me.”
“And shall I see you again, Helen, when I die?”
“You will come to the same region of happiness; no doubt, dear Jane.”
I lay with my face hidden on her neck. Presently she said, in the sweetest tone —
“How comfortable I am! That last fit of coughing has tired me a little; I feel as if I could sleep: but don’t leave me, Jane; I like to have you near me.”
“I’ll stay with you,
“Are you warm, darling?”
“Yes.”
“Good-night, Jane.”
“Good-night, Helen.”
She kissed me, and I her, and we both soon fell asleep.
When I awoke it was day: an unusual movement roused me; I looked up; I was in somebody’s arms; the nurse held me; she was carrying me back to the dormitory. I was not scolded for leaving my bed; people had something else to think about; no explanation was given then to my many questions; but a day or two afterwards I learned that Miss Temple, on returning to her own room at dawn, had found me laid in the little bed; my face against Helen Burns’s shoulder, my arms round her neck. I was asleep, and Helen was – dead.
Her grave is in Brocklebridge churchyard: a grey marble tablet marks the spot, inscribed with her name, and the word “Resurgam[27].”
Chapter X
So far, 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; therefore I now pass a space of eight years almost in silence.
When the typhus fever had gradually disappeared from Lowood, it generated public attention on the school. Inquiry was made into the origin of the epidemic, and various facts came out which caused public indignation. The unhealthy nature of the site; the quantity and quality of the children’s food; the bad water used in its preparation; the pupils’ poor clothing and accommodations – all these things were discovered, and the discovery produced a result bad to Mr. Brocklehurst, but good to the institution.