Jane Eyre Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I RESISTED all the way: a new thing for me, and a circumstance which greatly strengthened

the bad opinion Bessie and Miss Abbot were disposed to entertain of me. The fact is, I was a trifle

beside myself; or rather out of myself, as the French would say. I was conscious that a moment's

mutiny had already rendered me liable to strange penaltics, and, like any other rebel slave, I felt

resolved, in my desperation, to go all lengths.

'Hold her arms, Miss Abbot: she's like a mad cat.'

'For shame, for shame!' cried the lady's-maid. 'What shocking conduct, Miss Eyre, to strike a

young gentleman, your benefactress's son! Your young master.'

'Master! How is he my master? Am I a servant?'

'No; you are less than a servant, for you do nothing for your keep. There, sit down, and think

over your wickedness.'

They had got me by this time into the apartment indicated by Mrs Reed, and had thrust me upon

a stool: my impulse was to rise from it like a spring; their two pair of hands arrested me instantly.

'If you don't sit still, you must be tied down, ' said Bessie. 'Miss Abbot, lend me your garters;

she would break mine directly.'

Miss Abbot turned to divest a stout leg of the necessary ligature. This preparation for bonds, and

the additional ignominy it inferred, took a little of the excitement out of me.

'Don't take them off, ' I cried; 'I will not stir.'

In guarantee whereof, I attached myself to my seat by my hands.

'Mind

you don't,

' said Bessie; and when she had ascertained that

I was really subsiding, she

loosened her hold of me;

then she and Miss Abbot stood with folded arms,

looking darkly and

doubtfully on my face, as incredulous of my sanity.

'She never did so before, ' at last said Bessie, turning to the Abigail.

'But it was always in her, ' was the reply. 'I've told missis often my opinion about the child, and

missis agreed with me. She's an underhand little thing: I never saw a girl of her age with so much

cover.'

Bessie answered not; but ere long, addressing me, she said:

'You ought to be aware, miss, that you are under obligations to Mrs Reed: she keeps you: if she

were to turn you off you would have to go to the poorhouse.'

I had nothing to say to these words: they were not new to me:

my very first recollections of

existence included hints of the same kind. This reproach of my dependence had become a vague

sing-song in my ear; very painful and crushing, but only half intelligible. Miss Abbot joined in:

'And

you

ought

not

to

think

yourself

on

an

equality

with

the

Misses

Reed

and Master

Reed,

because

missis

kindly

allows

you

to

be

brought

up

with

them.

They

will

have

a

great

deal

of

money

and

you

will

have

none:

it

is

your

place

to

be

humble,

and

to

try

to

make

yourself

agreeable to them.'

'What

we

tell

you

is

for

your

good,

'

added

Bessie,

in

no

harsh

voice:

'you

should

try

to

be

useful and pleasant, then, perhaps, you would have a home here; but if you become passionate and

rude, missis will send you away, I am sure.'

'Besides, ' said Miss Abbot, 'God will punish her: He might strike her dead in the midst of her

tantrums,

and

then

where

would

she

go?

Come,

Bessie,

we

will

leave

her:

I

wouldn't

have

her

heart for anything. Say your prayers, Miss Eyre, when you are by yourself; for if you don't repent,

something bad might be permitted to come down the chimney and fetch you away.'

They went, shutting the door, and locking it behind them.

The red-room was a spare chabmer very seldom slept in: I might say never, indeed, unless when

a

chance

influx

of

visitors

at

Gateshead-hall

rendered

it

necessary

to

turn

to

account

all

the

accommodation it contained: yet it was one of the largest and stateliest chambers in the mansion.

A bed supported on massive pillars of mahogany, hung with curtains of deep red damask, stood

out like a tabernacle in the centre, the two large windows, with their blinds always drawn down,

were half shrouded in festoons and falls of similar drapery; the carpet was red; the table at the foot

of the bed was covered with a crimson cloth; the walls were a soft fawn colour, with a blush of

pink in it; the wardrobe, the toilet-table, the chairs, were of darkly- polished old mahogany. Out of

these deep surrounding shades rose high, and glared white, the piled-up mattresses and pillows of

the

bed,

spread

with

a

snowy

Marseilles

counterpane.

Scarcely

less

prominent

was

an

ample

cushioned easy-chair near the head of the bed, also white, with a footstool before it, and looking,

as I thought, like a pale throne.

This room was chill, because it seldom had a fire; it was silent, because remote from the nursery

and kitchens; solemn, because it was known to be so seldom entered. The housemaid alone came

here on Saturdays, to wipe from the mirrors and the furniture a week's quiet dust; and Mrs Reed

herself, at far intervals, visited it to review the contents of a certain secret drawer in the wardrobe,

where were stored divers parchments, her jewel-casket, and a miniature of her deceased husband;

and in those last words lies the secret of the red- room

—

the spell which kept it so lonely in spite

of its grandeur.

Mr Reed had been dead nine years: it was in this chamber he breathed his last; here he lay in

state; hence his coffin was borne by the undertaker's men; and, since that day, a sense of dreary

consecration had guarded it from frequent intrusion.

My seat, to which Bessie and the bitter Miss Abbot had left me riveted, was a low ottoman near

the

marble

chimney-piece;

the

bed

rose

before

me;

to

my

right

hand

there

was

the

high,

dark

wardrobe,

with

subdued, broken

reflections

varying

the

gloss

of

its

panels;

to

my

left

were

the

muffled windows; a great looking-glass between them repeated the vacant majesty of the bed and

room. I was not quite sure whether they had locked the door; and, when I dared move, I got up and

went

to

see.

Alas,

yes!

no

jail

was

ever

more

secure.

Returning,

I

had

to

cross

before

the

looking-glass; my fascinated glance involuntarily explored the depth it revealed. All looked colder

and darker in that visionary hollow than in reality: and the strange little figure there gazing at me

with a white face and arms specking the gloom, and glittering eyes of fear moving where all else

was still, had the effect of a real spirit: I thought it like one of the tiny phantoms, half fairy, half

imp,

Bessie's

evening

stories

represented

as

coming

out

of

lone,

ferny

dells

in

moors,

and

appearing before the eyes of belated travellers. I returned to my stool.

Superstition was with me at that moment: but it was not yet her hour for complete victory: my

blood was still warm; the mood of the revolted slave was still bracing me with its bitter vigour; I

had to stem a rapid rush of retrospective thought before I quailed to the dismal present.

All John Reed's violent tyrannies, all his sisters' proud indifference, all his mother's aversion, all

the servants' partiality, turned up in my disturbed mind like a dark deposit in a turbid well. Why

was I always suffering, always browbeaten, always accused, forever condemned?

Why could I never please? Why was it useless to try to win any one's favour? Eliza, who was

headstrong and selfish, was respected. Gcorgiana, who had a spoiled temper, a very acrid spite, a

captious and insolent carriage, was universally indulged. Her beauty, her pink checks, and golden