Сборник лучших произведений английской классической литературы. Уровень 3. Эмили Бронте

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СКАЧАТЬ Miller. And she must be hungry. Let her have supper.” Then she addressed me, “Is this the first time you have left your parents to come to school, my little girl?”

      “I have no parents.”

      I told her my age, my name and whether I could read, write, and sew. She seemed pleased. She touched my cheek gently and dismissed me with Miss Miller.

      Led by her, I passed from passage to passage till we entered a wide, long room, with great tables, two at each end, and girls of every age, from nine up to eighteen, sitting around them on benches. Countless and similar figures, they were whispering repetitions for tomorrow's classes and their whispers grew into a hum of voices.

      I was told to sit on a bench near the door, and Miss Miller walked up to the top of the long room.

      “Monitors, collect the books and put them away! Then fetch the supper-trays!” Immediately four older girls got up, gathered the books, went out and returned, each carrying a tray with a pitcher of water, a mug and portions on them. The portions were handed round. Those who liked took the mug and poured water. I was thirsty, but did not touch the food as I was still too excited and tired to eat.

      When the meal was over, Miss Miller read prayers, and the classes went upstairs, two by two. By now I was so exhausted, I hardly noticed what the bedroom was like, I only saw it was very long. I was helped to undress and put into bed. In ten minutes the light was switched off, and I fell asleep.

      Chapter 5

      The night passed rapidly. When I opened my eyes, a loud bell was ringing and girls were up and dressing all around me. It was still dark and freezing cold in the bedroom. I dressed shivering and waited for my turn at the basin. But I had hardly begun to wash my face when the bell rang again. All formed in file, two and two, we descended the stairs and entered the cold and dimly lit schoolroom. After prayers Miss Miller told us to form classes.

      There were four classes, and Miss Miller put me in the one with the smallest of the children. We said prayers and read from the Bible for an hour. As I had not eaten since my departure from Gateshead, looked forward to our breakfast.

      At the sound of the breakfast bell, we formed into pairs again to go to the refectory, a gloomy room, furnished with two long tables. Basins of something steaming hot stood on every table though the odour was far from inviting. The tall girls at the front murmured that the porridge had been burnt again.

      “Silence,” snapped one of the teachers, a short woman with a sour face. We took our places. A long grace was said and a hymn sung; then a servant brought in some tea for the teachers, and the meal began. I was so hungry that I swallowed several mouthfuls before the revolting, gluey taste of the burned porridge made me stop. I saw each girl taste her food and try in vain to swallow. Breakfast was over, and none had breakfasted. I was one of the last to go out, and in passing the tables, I saw one teacher take a basin of the porridge, taste it and call it 'disgusting'.

      We spent a quarter of an hour in a schoolroom, where mostly all conversations were held on the subject of the breakfast. A clock in the schoolroom struck nine. “Silence!” cried Miss Miller, and the conversations ceased. Ranged on benches down the sides of the room, the eighty girls sat motionless, all in brown dresses and all with plain locks combed from their faces, not a curl visible. Miss Miller ordered the monitors to fetch the globes for a geography lesson. But before we started, the dark-haired lady, who had been so kind to me the previous day, entered the room.

      She walked up and down the benches inspecting us. I stared at her in awe admiring how tall, beautiful and graceful she was.

      As she came to the middle of the room, and stood before us to make an announcement. “You had a breakfast this morning which you could not eat,” she said. “You must be hungry. I have ordered a lunch of bread and cheese to be served to all.”

      The teachers looked at her with surprise.

      “I will take full responsibility,” she added. And so the delicious fresh bread and cheese was brought in to the high delight of the whole school.

      The order was now given 'To the garden!'

      Outdoors there was a wide square garden surrounded by high walls. A verandah ran along it framed by broad walks. There were also cultivation beds, where in the summer we would grow flowers and vegetables. But at the end of January they were brown and bare. There was a drizzling yellow fog and most pupils huddled in groups to stay warm, only few stronger girls engaged in active games. I saw how pale the children were and heard many of them cough.

      I stood lonely, as I had not spoken to anyone. No one took notice of me, and I was accustomed to isolation. I hardly yet knew where I was; Gateshead and my past life seemed long forgotten. I looked round the garden, and then up at the house-a large building, half of which seemed grey and old, the other half quite new. I saw that it had an inscription above the door:

      “'Lowood Institution.-

      'Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.'-

      St. Matt. v. 16.”

      I read these words over and over again: there must be an explanation. I was still thinking about the inscription when the sound of a cough close behind me made me turn my head. A girl a few years older than me was sitting on a stone bench, reading a book. I saw that it was called-Rasselas. It sounded exotic and exciting, as if it might be about genies and dragons. I wished I had a book to read myself, and I wondered if the girl might lend it to me one day.

      As she turned the page, she looked up and I took my chance to speak.

      “Is your book interesting?”

      “I like it,” she said.

      “What is it about?”

      She handed me the book to look at. 'Rasselas' looked boring. There were no pictures, and I saw nothing about fairies, nothing about genii. I returned it, and asked instead:

      “Have you seen the inscription? What is Lowood Institution?”

      “This house where you are now.”

      “Why isn't it called a school?”

      “It's partly a charity-school for orphans.”

      “Do we pay no money?”

      “We pay, or our friends pay, fifteen pounds a year for each. 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 СКАЧАТЬ