Well has Solomon said — “Better is
a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox
and hatred therewith.”
I would not now have exchanged Lowood with all its
privations for Gateshead and its daily luxuries.
But the privations, or rather the hardships, of Lowood
lessened. Spring drew on: she was indeed
already come; the frosts of winter had ceased; its
snows were melted, its cutting winds ameliorated.
My wretched feet, flayed and swollen to lameness by
the sharp air of January, began to heal and subside
under the gentler breathings of April; the nights
and mornings no longer by their Canadian temperature
froze the very blood in our veins; we could now endure
the play-hour passed in the garden: sometimes
on a sunny day it began even to be pleasant and genial,
and a greenness grew over those brown beds, which,
freshening daily, suggested the thought that Hope
traversed them at night, and left each morning brighter
traces of her steps. Flowers peeped out amongst
the leaves; snow-drops, crocuses, purple auriculas,
and golden-eyed pansies. On Thursday afternoons
(half-holidays) we now took walks, and found still
sweeter flowers opening by the wayside, under the hedges.
I discovered, too, that a great pleasure, an enjoyment
which the horizon only bounded, lay all outside the
high and spike-guarded walls of our garden:
this pleasure consisted in prospect of noble summits
girdling a great hill-hollow, rich in verdure and shadow;
in a bright beck, full of dark stones and sparkling
eddies. How different had this scene looked
when I viewed it laid out beneath the iron sky of
winter, stiffened in frost, shrouded with snow! —
when mists as chill as death wandered to the impulse
of east winds along those purple peaks, and rolled
down “ing” and holm till they blended
with the frozen fog of the beck! That beck itself
was then a torrent, turbid and curbless: it
tore asunder the wood, and sent a raving sound through
the air, often thickened with wild rain or whirling
sleet; and for the forest on its banks, that showed
only ranks of skeletons.
April advanced to May: a bright serene May it
was; days of blue sky, placid sunshine, and soft western
or southern gales filled up its duration. And
now vegetation matured with vigour; Lowood shook loose
its tresses; it became all green, all flowery; its
great elm, ash, and oak skeletons were restored to
majestic life; woodland plants sprang up profusely
in its recesses; unnumbered varieties of moss filled
its hollows, and it made a strange ground-sunshine
out of the wealth of its wild primrose plants:
I have seen their pale gold gleam in overshadowed
spots like scatterings of the sweetest lustre.
All this I enjoyed often and fully, free, unwatched,
and almost alone: for this unwonted liberty and
pleasure there was a cause, to which it now becomes
my task to advert.
