ELECBOOKCLASSICSebJane EyreCharlotteBronte
Jane Eyre Charlotte Brontë ELECBOOK CLASSICS
Jane Eyre4ContentsClick on number to go to ChapterPREFACE610ChapterI.17ChapterII.26Chapter III..38ChapterIV...58Chapter V.75Chapter VI..85Chapter VII..97Chapter VIIIChapterIX.108119Chapter X.134Chapter XI.155Chapter XII169Chapter XIII.184Chapter XIV..201Chapter XV.218Chapter XVI.231ChapterXVII258ChapterXVIIIChapter XIX278CharlotteBronteElecBook Classics
Jane Eyre Charlotte Brontë ElecBook Classics 4 Contents Click on number to go to Chapter PREFACE .6 Chapter I .10 Chapter II.17 Chapter III .26 Chapter IV.38 Chapter V .58 Chapter VI.75 Chapter VII .85 Chapter VIII.97 Chapter IX .108 Chapter X.119 Chapter XI .134 Chapter XII.155 Chapter XIII .169 Chapter XIV.184 Chapter XV.201 Chapter XVI.218 Chapter XVII .231 Chapter XVIII.258 Chapter XIX .278
5Jane EyreChapter XX...292..312Chapter XXI.....341Chapter XXII....351Chapter XXIIIChapter XXIV..365Chapter XXV.....390Chapter XXVI...407...422Chapter XXVII.....457Chapter XXVIIIChapter xXIX...480Chapter xxX.....496...509Chapter XxXI....520Chapter XxXII......536Chapter XXXIII..553Chapter XxXIV.583Chapter XXXV.....598ChapterXXXVI..611ChapterXXXVII..638ChapterXXXVIIICONCLUSIONCharlotte BronteElecBook Classics
Jane Eyre Charlotte Brontë ElecBook Classics 5 Chapter XX.292 Chapter XXI .312 Chapter XXII.341 Chapter XXIII .351 Chapter XXIV .365 Chapter XXV.390 Chapter XXVI .407 Chapter XXVII.422 Chapter XXVIII .457 Chapter XXIX .480 Chapter XXX.496 Chapter XXXI .509 Chapter XXXII.520 Chapter XXXIII .536 Chapter XXXIV .553 Chapter XXXV.583 Chapter XXXVI .598 Chapter XXXVII.611 Chapter XXXVIII—CONCLUSION .638
6Jane EyrePREFACEpreface to the first edition of Jane Eyre beingAunnecessary,I gave none:this second edition demands afew words bothof acknowledgment and miscellaneousremark.My thanks are due in three quarters.To the Public, for the indulgent ear it has inclined toa plain talewithfewpretensions.To the Press, for the fair field its honest suffrage has opened toan obscure aspirant. To my Publishers, for the aid their tact, theirenergy,their practical sense and frank liberalityhaveafforded anunknownandunrecommendedAuthor.ThePress and thePublicarebutvaguepersonifications forme,and I must thank them in vague terms; but my Publishers aredefinite: so are certain generous critics who have encouraged meas only large-hearted and high-minded menknowhow toencourage astruggling stranger;tothem,i.e.,to myPublishersand the select Reviewers, I say cordially, Gentlemen, I thank youfrommyheart.Having thus acknowledged what I owe those who have aidedand approved me, I turn to another class; a small one, so far as Iknow, but not, therefore,to be overlooked.I mean the timorous orcarpingfew who doubt the tendency of such books as JaneEyre:inwhose eyes whatever is unusual is wrong; whose ears detect ineach protest against bigotry-that parent of crime-an insult topiety, that regent of God on earth. I would suggest to suchdoubters certain obvious distinctions:I wouldremind them ofcertainsimpletruths.CharlotteBronteElecBookClassics
Jane Eyre Charlotte Brontë ElecBook Classics 6 PREFACE preface to the first edition of Jane Eyre being unnecessary, I gave none: this second edition demands a few words both of acknowledgment and miscellaneous remark. My thanks are due in three quarters. To the Public, for the indulgent ear it has inclined to a plain tale with few pretensions. To the Press, for the fair field its honest suffrage has opened to an obscure aspirant. To my Publishers, for the aid their tact, their energy, their practical sense and frank liberality have afforded an unknown and unrecommended Author. The Press and the Public are but vague personifications for me, and I must thank them in vague terms; but my Publishers are definite: so are certain generous critics who have encouraged me as only large-hearted and high-minded men know how to encourage a struggling stranger; to them, i.e., to my Publishers and the select Reviewers, I say cordially, Gentlemen, I thank you from my heart. Having thus acknowledged what I owe those who have aided and approved me, I turn to another class; a small one, so far as I know, but not, therefore, to be overlooked. I mean the timorous or carping few who doubt the tendency of such books as Jane Eyre: in whose eyes whatever is unusual is wrong; whose ears detect in each protest against bigotry—that parent of crime—an insult to piety, that regent of God on earth. I would suggest to such doubters certain obvious distinctions; I would remind them of certain simple truths. A
7JaneEyreConventionality is not morality.Self-righteousness is notreligion. To attack the first is not to assail the last. To pluck themask from the face of the Pharisee, is not to lift an impious handto the Crown of Thorns.These things and deeds are diametrically opposed: they are asdistinct as is vice from virtue.Men too often confound them:theyshould not be confounded:appearance should not bemistaken fortruth; narrow human doctrines, that only tend to elate andmagnify a few, should not be substituted for the world-redeemingcreed of Christ. There is-I repeat ita difference; and it is agood, and not a bad action to mark broadly and clearly the line ofseparationbetweenthem.The world may not like to see these ideas dissevered, for it hasbeen accustomed to blend them; finding it convenient to makeexternal show pass forsterling worthto let white-washed wallsvouch for clean shrines.It may hate him who dares to scrutiniseand expose-to rasethegilding,and showbasemetal underit-topenetrate the sepulchre, and reveal charnel relics: but hate as itwill,itisindebtedtohim.Ahab did not like Micaiah, because he never prophesied goodconcerning him, but evil; probably heliked the sycophant son ofChenaannah better; yet might Ahab have escaped a bloody death,had he but stopped his ears to flattery,and opened them to faithfulcounsel.There is a man in our own days whose words are not framed totickle delicate ears: who, to my thinking, comes before the greatones of society,muchasthesonof Imlah camebeforethethronedKings of Judah and Israel; and who speaks truth as deep, with apower as prophet-like and as vital-a mien as dauntless and asCharlotte BronteElecBookClassics
Jane Eyre Charlotte Brontë ElecBook Classics 7 Conventionality is not morality. Self-righteousness is not religion. To attack the first is not to assail the last. To pluck the mask from the face of the Pharisee, is not to lift an impious hand to the Crown of Thorns. These things and deeds are diametrically opposed: they are as distinct as is vice from virtue. Men too often confound them: they should not be confounded: appearance should not be mistaken for truth; narrow human doctrines, that only tend to elate and magnify a few, should not be substituted for the world-redeeming creed of Christ. There is—I repeat it—a difference; and it is a good, and not a bad action to mark broadly and clearly the line of separation between them. The world may not like to see these ideas dissevered, for it has been accustomed to blend them; finding it convenient to make external show pass for sterling worth—to let white-washed walls vouch for clean shrines. It may hate him who dares to scrutinise and expose—to rase the gilding, and show base metal under it—to penetrate the sepulchre, and reveal charnel relics: but hate as it will, it is indebted to him. Ahab did not like Micaiah, because he never prophesied good concerning him, but evil; probably he liked the sycophant son of Chenaannah better; yet might Ahab have escaped a bloody death, had he but stopped his ears to flattery, and opened them to faithful counsel. There is a man in our own days whose words are not framed to tickle delicate ears: who, to my thinking, comes before the great ones of society, much as the son of Imlah came before the throned Kings of Judah and Israel; and who speaks truth as deep, with a power as prophet-like and as vital—a mien as dauntless and as
8JaneEyredaring.Is the satirist of "Vanity Fair" admired in high places?Icannot tell; but I think if some of those amongst whom he hurlsthe Greek fire of his sarcasm, and over whom he flashes the levin-brand of his denunciation, were to take his warnings in time-theyortheir seed mightyetescape afatal Rimoth-Gilead.Why have I alluded to this man? I have alluded to him, Reader,becauseI thinkI see in him an intellect profounder and moreunique than his contemporaries have yet recognised; because Iregard him as the first social regenerator of the day-as the verymaster of that working corps who would restore to rectitude thewarped system of things; because I think no commentator on hiswritings has yet found the comparison that suits him, the termswhich rightly characterise his talent. They say he is like Fielding:they talk of his wit, humour, comic powers. He resembles Fieldingas an eagle does a vulture: Fielding could stoop on carrion, butThackeray never does.His wit is bright, his humour attractive, butboth bear the same relation to his serious genius that the merelambent sheet-lightning playing under the edge of the summer-cloud does to the electric death-spark hid in its womb.Finally,Ihavealluded to Mr.Thackeray,becausetohim-if hewill acceptthetribute of a total strangerI have dedicated this secondedition of Jane Eyre.CURRERBELL.December21st,1847.NOTETOTHETHIRDEDITIONI avail myself of the opportunity which a third edition of JaneEyre affords me, of again addressing a word to the Public, toCharlotteBronteElecBookClassics
Jane Eyre Charlotte Brontë ElecBook Classics 8 daring. Is the satirist of “Vanity Fair” admired in high places? I cannot tell; but I think if some of those amongst whom he hurls the Greek fire of his sarcasm, and over whom he flashes the levinbrand of his denunciation, were to take his warnings in time—they or their seed might yet escape a fatal Rimoth-Gilead. Why have I alluded to this man? I have alluded to him, Reader, because I think I see in him an intellect profounder and more unique than his contemporaries have yet recognised; because I regard him as the first social regenerator of the day—as the very master of that working corps who would restore to rectitude the warped system of things; because I think no commentator on his writings has yet found the comparison that suits him, the terms which rightly characterise his talent. They say he is like Fielding: they talk of his wit, humour, comic powers. He resembles Fielding as an eagle does a vulture: Fielding could stoop on carrion, but Thackeray never does. His wit is bright, his humour attractive, but both bear the same relation to his serious genius that the mere lambent sheet-lightning playing under the edge of the summercloud does to the electric death-spark hid in its womb. Finally, I have alluded to Mr. Thackeray, because to him—if he will accept the tribute of a total stranger—I have dedicated this second edition of Jane Eyre. CURRER BELL. December 21st, 1847. NOTE TO THE THIRD EDITION I avail myself of the opportunity which a third edition of Jane Eyre affords me, of again addressing a word to the Public, to
9JaneEyreexplainthatmy claimtothe title of novelistrests onthis one workalone.If, therefore, the authorship of other works of fiction hasbeen attributed to me, an honour is awarded where it is notmerited; and consequently, denied where it is justly due.This explanation will serve to rectify mistakes which mayalreadyhave been made,and toprevent futureerrors.CURRER BELL.April 13th, 1848.Charlotte BronteElecBookClassics
Jane Eyre Charlotte Brontë ElecBook Classics 9 explain that my claim to the title of novelist rests on this one work alone. If, therefore, the authorship of other works of fiction has been attributed to me, an honour is awarded where it is not merited; and consequently, denied where it is justly due. This explanation will serve to rectify mistakes which may already have been made, and to prevent future errors. CURRER BELL. April 13th, 1848
10Jane EyreChapter Ihere was nopossibility of takingawalkthatday.WehadTbeen wandering,indeed,in the leafless shrubbery an hourin the morning; but since dinner (Mrs. Reed, when therewas no company,dined early)thecold winter wind had broughtwith it clouds so sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that furtherout-doorexercise was now out of the question.I was glad of it: I never liked long walks, especially on chillyafternoons: dreadful to me was the coming home in the rawtwilight, with nipped fingers and toes, and a heart saddened by thechidings of Bessie, the nurse, and humbled by the consciousnessof myphysical inferiorityto Eliza, John, and Georgiana Reed.The said Eliza, John, and Georgiana were now clustered roundtheir mama in the drawing-room: she lay reclined on a sofa by thefireside, and with her darlings about her (for the time neitherquarrelling nor crying)looked perfectly happy. Me, she haddispensed from joining the group; saying,"She regretted to beunder the necessity of keeping me at a distance; but that until sheheard from Bessie,and could discover by her own observation,that I was endeavouring in good earnest to acquire a moresociable and childlike disposition,a more attractive and sprightlymannersomething lighter, franker,more natural, as it wereshereally must exclude me from privileges intended only forcontented, happy,littlechildren.""What does Bessie sayIhavedone?"Iasked."Jane, I don't like cavillers or questioners; besides, there issomething truly forbidding in a child taking up her elders in thatCharlotte BronteElecBookClassics
Jane Eyre Charlotte Brontë ElecBook Classics 10 Chapter I here 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 out-door 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 childlike disposition, a more attractive and sprightly manner—something lighter, franker, more natural, as it were—she really must exclude me from privileges intended only for contented, happy, little children.” “What does Bessie say I have done?” I asked. “Jane, I don’t like cavillers or questioners; besides, there is something truly forbidding in a child taking up her elders in that T
11JaneEyremanner. Be seated somewhere; and until you can speakpleasantly,remain silent."A breakfast-room adjoined the drawing-room,I slipped inthere.It contained a bookcase:I soon possessed myself of avolume, taking care that it should be one stored with pictures. Imounted into the window-seat: gathering up my feet, I sat cross-legged, like a Turk; and, having drawn the red moreen curtainnearlyclose,I was shrined in doubleretirement.Folds of scarlet drapery shut in my view to the right hand; tothe left were the clear panes of glass, protecting, but notseparating me from the drear November day.At intervals, whileturning over the leaves of my book, I studied the aspect of thatwinter afternoon. Afar, it offered a pale blank of mist and cloud;neara sceneofwetlawnandstorm-beatshrub,with ceaselessrainsweeping away wildlybeforealong and lamentableblast.I returned tomybook-Bewick's HistoryofBritishBirds:theletterpress thereof I cared little for,generally speaking; and yetthere were certain introductory pages that, child as I was, I couldnot pass quite as a blank. They were those which treat of thehaunts of sea-fowl; of “the solitary rocks and promontories" bythem only inhabited; of the coast of Norway, studded with islesfrom its southern extremity, the Lindeness, or Naze, to the NorthCape-"Where theNorthern Ocean,in vast whirls,Boilsround thenaked, melancholyislesOffarthestThule; andtheAtlanticsurgePoursinamongthestormyHebrides."CharlotteBronteElecBookClassics
Jane Eyre Charlotte Brontë ElecBook Classics 11 manner. Be seated somewhere; and until you can speak pleasantly, remain silent.” A breakfast-room adjoined the drawing-room, I slipped in there. It contained a bookcase: 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 crosslegged, 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 book—Bewick’s History of British Birds: the letterpress 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 promontories” by them only inhabited; of the coast of Norway, studded with isles from its southern extremity, the Lindeness, 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
12Jane EyreNor couldIpassunnoticed the suggestionof thebleak shoresofLapland,Siberia,Spitzbergen,Nova Zembla,Iceland,Greenland,with“the vast sweep of the Arctic Zone,and those forlorn regionsof dreary space,that reservoir of frost and snow, where firmfields of ice, the accumulation of centuries of winters, glazed inAlpine heights above heights, surround the pole, and concentrethe multiplied rigours of extreme cold." Of these death-whiterealms I formed an idea of my own: shadowy, like all the half-comprehended notions that float dim through children's brains,but strangely impressive. The words in these introductory pagesconnected themselves with the succeeding vignettes, and gavesignificance to the rock standing up alone in a sea of billow andspray; to the broken boat stranded on a desolate coast; to the coldand ghastly moon glancing through bars of cloud at a wreck justsinking.I cannot tell what sentiment haunted the quite solitarychurchyard, with its inscribed headstone; its gate, its two trees, itslow horizon,girdled bya broken wall,and its newly-risen crescent,attestingthehourofeventide.The two ships becalmed on a torpid sea, I believed to be marinephantoms.The fiend pinning down the thief's pack behind him, I passedoverquickly:itwasanobjectofterror.So was the black horned thing seated aloof on a rock, surveyinga distant crowd surrounding agallows.Each picture told a story; mysterious often to my undevelopedunderstanding and imperfect feelings, yet ever profoundlyinteresting: as interesting as the tales Bessie sometimes narratedon winter evenings, when she chanced to be in good humour; andCharlotte BronteElecBookClassics
Jane Eyre Charlotte Brontë ElecBook Classics 12 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 rigours of extreme cold.” Of these death-white realms I formed an idea of my own: shadowy, like all the halfcomprehended notions that float dim through children’s 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 eventide. The two ships becalmed on a torpid sea, I believed to be marine phantoms. The fiend pinning down the thief’s 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