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《简·爱》（Jane Eyre）十九世纪英国著名女作家夏洛蒂·爱和罗切斯特之间的爱情描写为思想、才能、品质与精神上的完全默契。

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Primarily of the bildungsroman genre, Jane Eyre follows the emoti*** and

experiences of its title character, including her growth to ***hood and her

love for Mr. Rochester, the Byronic master of fictitious Thornfield Hall. In

its internalisation of the action—the focus is on the gradual unfolding of

Jane's moral and spiritual sensibility, and all the events are coloured by a

heightened intensity that was previously the domain of poetry—Jane Eyre revolutionised

the art of fiction. Charlotte Bront has been called the “first historian of

the private c***ciousness” and the li***ry ancestor of writers, like Joyce and

Proust. The novel contains elements of social criticism, with a strong sense of

morality at its core, but is nonetheless a novel many c***ider ahead of its

time given the individualistic character of Jane and the novel's exploration of

classism, ***uality, religion, and proto-feminism.

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夏洛蒂Charlotte Bronte，1847年，夏洛蒂·爱》，轰动文坛。1849年她的弟弟和两个妹妹相继去世。在死亡的阴影和困惑下，她坚持完成了《谢利》一书，寄托了她对妹妹艾米莉的哀思，并描写了英国早期自发的工人运动。夏洛蒂

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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 winte***ind 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 afterno***: 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 c***ciousness

of my physical inferiority to Eliza, John, and Ge***iana Reed.

The said Eliza, John, and

Ge***iana 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 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 d***ry 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 ***ect 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.”

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

regi*** 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 half-comprehended noti*** 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.

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《简·爱》（Jane Eyre）十九世纪英国著名女作家夏洛蒂

书摘插图

前言

A 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 pretensi***.

To the Press, for the fair field its honest suffrage has opened to an obscure

***irant.

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 personificati*** 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 largehearted 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 distincti***; I would remind them of certain *** truths.

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 scrutinize 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 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 ove***hom he flashes the levin-brand 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 characterize 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 T***ay 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

summer-cloud does to the electric death-spark hid in its womb. Finally, I have

alluded to Mr. T***ay, 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 explain that my claim

to the title of novelist rests on this one work alone. If, therefore, the

authorship of othe***orks of fiction has been attributed to me, an honour is

awarded where it is not merited; and c***equently, 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.