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夏洛特勃朗特的代表作。这是一部带有自传色彩的长篇小说，通过描写孤女坎坷不平的人生经历和男女主人公曲折起伏的爱情经历，成功地塑造了一个不安于现状、不甘受辱、敢于抗争的女性形象，反映一颗平凡心灵追求自由和平等的渴望。
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| 關於作者： |
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夏洛特勃朗特Charlotte Bronte，18161855生于英国北部约克郡豪渥斯一个乡村牧师家庭。母亲早逝，八岁的夏洛特被送进一所专收神职人员孤女的慈善性机构柯文桥女子寄宿学校，15岁时进伍勒小姐办的学校读书，曾做家庭教师，最终投身于文学创作的道路。夏洛特?勃朗特的两个妹妹，即艾米莉?勃朗特和安妮?勃朗特，也是著名作家，因而在英国文学史上常有勃朗特三姐妹之称。
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CONTENTS
Acknowledgements
Introduction
Note
on the Text
Select
Bibliography
A
Chronology of Charlotte Bront
JANE
EYRE ?
Appendix：
Opinions of the Press ???
as
printed at the end of the Third Edition
Explanatory Notes?? ?
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VOLUME I
CHAPTER I
There
was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been wandering, indeed, in
the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; but since dinner Mrs. Reed,
when there was no company, dined early the cold winter wind had brought with
it clouds so sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that further outdoor exercise
was now out of the question.
I was
glad of it： I never liked long walks, especially on chilly afternoons： dreadful
to me was the coming home in the raw twilight, with nipped fingers and toes,
and a heart saddened by the chidings of Bessie, the nurse, and humbled by the
consciousness of my physical inferiority to Eliza, John, and Georgiana Reed.
The
said Eliza, John, and Georgiana were now clustered round their mama in the
drawing-room： she lay reclined on a sofa by the fireside, and with her darlings
about her for the time neither quarrelling nor crying looked perfectly happy.
Me, she had dispensed from joining the group; saying, She regretted to be
under the necessity of keeping me at a distance; but that until she heard from Bessie,
and could discover by her own observation that I was endeavouring in good
earnest to acquire a more sociable and child-like disposition, a more
attractive and sprightly manner, something lighter, franker, more natural as
it wereshe really must exclude me from privileges intended only for
contented, happy,
little
children.
What does Bessie
say I have done?I asked.
Jane, I dont
like cavillers or questioners： besides, there is something truly forbidding in
a child taking up her elders in that manner. Be seated somewhere; and until you
can speak pleasantly, remain silent.
A
small breakfast-room adjoined the drawing-room： I slipped in there. It
contained a book-case： I soon possessed myself of a volume, taking care that it
should be one stored with pictures. I mounted into the window-seat： gathering
up my feet, I sat cross-legged, like a Turk; and, having drawn the red moreen curtain
nearly close, I was shrined in double retirement.
Folds
of scarlet drapery shut in my view to the right hand; to the left were the
clear panes of glass, protecting, but not separating me from the drear November
day. At intervals, while turning over the leaves of my book, I studied the
aspect of that winter afternoon. Afar, it offered a pale blank of mist and
cloud; near, a scene of wet lawn and storm-beat shrub, with ceaseless rain
sweeping away wildly before a long and lamentable blast.
I
returned to my bookBewicks History of British Birds： the letter-press
thereof I cared little for, generally speaking; and yet there were certain
introductory pages that, child as I was, I could not pass quite as a blank.
They were those which treat of the haunts of sea-fowl; of the solitary rocks
and promontoriesby them only inhabited; of the coast of Norway, studded with
isles from its southern extremity, the Lindesness, or Naze, to the North Cape
Where the
Northern Ocean, in vast whirls
Boils
round the naked, melancholy isles
Of
farthest Thule;
and the Atlantic surge
Pours
in among the stormy Hebrides.
Nor
could I pass unnoticed the suggestion of the bleak shores of Lapland, Siberia,
Spitzbergen, Nova Zembla, Iceland, Greenland, with the vast sweep of the
Arctic Zone, and those forlorn regions of dreary space,that reservoir of
frost and snow, where firm fields of ice, the accumulation of centuries of
winters, glazed in Alpine heights above heights, surround the pole, and
concentre the multiplied rigors of extreme cold.Of these death-white realms I
formed an idea of my own; shadowy, like all the half-comprehended notions that
float dim through childrens brains, but strangely impressive. The words in
these introductory pages connected themselves with the succeeding vignettes,
and gave significance to the rock standing up alone in a sea of billow and
spray; to the broken boat stranded on a desolate coast; to the cold and ghastly
moon glancing through bars of cloud at a wreck just sinking.
I
cannot tell what sentiment haunted the quite solitary churchyard, with its
inscribed headstone; its gate, its two trees, its low horizon, girdled by a
broken wall, and its newly-risen crescent, attesting the hour of even-tide.
The
two ships becalmed on a torpid sea, I believed to be marine phantoms.
The
fiend pinning down the thiefs pack behind him, I passed over quickly： it was
an object of terror.
So
was the black, horned thing seated aloof on a rock, surveying a distant crowd
surrounding a gallows.
Each
picture told a story; mysterious often to my undeveloped understanding and
imperfect feelings, yet ever profoundly interesting： as interesting as the
tales Bessie sometimes narrated on winter evenings, when she chanced to be in
good humour; and when, having brought her ironing-table to the nursery hearth,
she allowed us to sit about it, and while she got up Mrs. Reeds lace frills,
and crimped her night-cap borders, fed our eager attention with passages of
love and adventure taken from old fairy tales and older ballads; or as at a later
period I discovered from the pages of Pamela, and Henry, Earl of Moreland.
With
Bewick on my knee, I was then happy： happy at least in my way. I feared nothing
but interruption, and that came too soon. The breakfast-room door opened.
Boh! Madam
Mope!cried the voice of John Reed; then he paused： he found the room
apparently empty.
Where the
dickens is she?he continued. Lizzy! Georgy!calling to his sisters Joan is
not here： tell mama she is run out into the rainbad animal!
It is well I
drew the curtain,thought I; and I wished fervently he might not discover my
hiding-place： nor would John Reed have found it out himself; he was not quick
either of vision or conception： but Eliza just put her head in at the door, and
said at once：
She is in the
window-seat, to be sure, Jack.
And I
came out immediately; for I trembled at the idea of being dragged forth by the
said Jack.
What do you
want?I asked, with awkward diffidence.
Say, What do
you want, Master Reed?was the answer. I want you to come here;and seating
himself in an arm-chair, he intimated by a gesture that I was to approach and
stand before him.
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