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- Шарлотта Бронте
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- Джэйн Эйр
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"
Jane
,
I
will
not
trouble
you
with
abominable
details
:
some
strong
words
shall
express
what
I
have
to
say
.
I
lived
with
that
woman
upstairs
four
years
,
and
before
that
time
she
had
tried
me
indeed
:
her
character
ripened
and
developed
with
frightful
rapidity
;
her
vices
sprang
up
fast
and
rank
:
they
were
so
strong
,
only
cruelty
could
check
them
,
and
I
would
not
use
cruelty
.
What
a
pigmy
intellect
she
had
,
and
what
giant
propensities
!
How
fearful
were
the
curses
those
propensities
entailed
on
me
!
Bertha
Mason
,
the
true
daughter
of
an
infamous
mother
,
dragged
me
through
all
the
hideous
and
degrading
agonies
which
must
attend
a
man
bound
to
a
wife
at
once
intemperate
and
unchaste
.
"
My
brother
in
the
interval
was
dead
,
and
at
the
end
of
the
four
years
my
father
died
too
.
I
was
rich
enough
now
--
yet
poor
to
hideous
indigence
:
a
nature
the
most
gross
,
impure
,
depraved
I
ever
saw
,
was
associated
with
mine
,
and
called
by
the
law
and
by
society
a
part
of
me
.
And
I
could
not
rid
myself
of
it
by
any
legal
proceedings
:
for
the
doctors
now
discovered
that
my
wife
was
mad
--
her
excesses
had
prematurely
developed
the
germs
of
insanity
.
Jane
,
you
do
n't
like
my
narrative
;
you
look
almost
sick
--
shall
I
defer
the
rest
to
another
day
?
"
"
No
,
sir
,
finish
it
now
;
I
pity
you
--
I
do
earnestly
pity
you
.
"
"
Pity
,
Jane
,
from
some
people
is
a
noxious
and
insulting
sort
of
tribute
,
which
one
is
justified
in
hurling
back
in
the
teeth
of
those
who
offer
it
;
but
that
is
the
sort
of
pity
native
to
callous
,
selfish
hearts
;
it
is
a
hybrid
,
egotistical
pain
at
hearing
of
woes
,
crossed
with
ignorant
contempt
for
those
who
have
endured
them
.
But
that
is
not
your
pity
,
Jane
;
it
is
not
the
feeling
of
which
your
whole
face
is
full
at
this
moment
--
with
which
your
eyes
are
now
almost
overflowing
--
with
which
your
heart
is
heaving
--
with
which
your
hand
is
trembling
in
mine
.
Your
pity
,
my
darling
,
is
the
suffering
mother
of
love
:
its
anguish
is
the
very
natal
pang
of
the
divine
passion
.
I
accept
it
,
Jane
;
let
the
daughter
have
free
advent
--
my
arms
wait
to
receive
her
.
"
"
Now
,
sir
,
proceed
;
what
did
you
do
when
you
found
she
was
mad
?
"
"
Jane
,
I
approached
the
verge
of
despair
;
a
remnant
of
self-respect
was
all
that
intervened
between
me
and
the
gulf
.
In
the
eyes
of
the
world
,
I
was
doubtless
covered
with
grimy
dishonour
;
but
I
resolved
to
be
clean
in
my
own
sight
--
and
to
the
last
I
repudiated
the
contamination
of
her
crimes
,
and
wrenched
myself
from
connection
with
her
mental
defects
.
Still
,
society
associated
my
name
and
person
with
hers
;
I
yet
saw
her
and
heard
her
daily
:
something
of
her
breath
(
faugh
!
)
mixed
with
the
air
I
breathed
;
and
besides
,
I
remembered
I
had
once
been
her
husband
--
that
recollection
was
then
,
and
is
now
,
inexpressibly
odious
to
me
;
moreover
,
I
knew
that
while
she
lived
I
could
never
be
the
husband
of
another
and
better
wife
;
and
,
though
five
years
my
senior
(
her
family
and
her
father
had
lied
to
me
even
in
the
particular
of
her
age
)
,
she
was
likely
to
live
as
long
as
I
,
being
as
robust
in
frame
as
she
was
infirm
in
mind
.
Thus
,
at
the
age
of
twenty-six
,
I
was
hopeless
.
"
One
night
I
had
been
awakened
by
her
yells
--
(
since
the
medical
men
had
pronounced
her
mad
,
she
had
,
of
course
,
been
shut
up
)
--
it
was
a
fiery
West
Indian
night
;
one
of
the
description
that
frequently
precede
the
hurricanes
of
those
climates
.
Being
unable
to
sleep
in
bed
,
I
got
up
and
opened
the
window
.
The
air
was
like
sulphur-steams
--
I
could
find
no
refreshment
anywhere
.
Mosquitoes
came
buzzing
in
and
hummed
sullenly
round
the
room
;
the
sea
,
which
I
could
hear
from
thence
,
rumbled
dull
like
an
earthquake
--
black
clouds
were
casting
up
over
it
;
the
moon
was
setting
in
the
waves
,
broad
and
red
,
like
a
hot
cannon-ball
--
she
threw
her
last
bloody
glance
over
a
world
quivering
with
the
ferment
of
tempest
.
I
was
physically
influenced
by
the
atmosphere
and
scene
,
and
my
ears
were
filled
with
the
curses
the
maniac
still
shrieked
out
;
wherein
she
momentarily
mingled
my
name
with
such
a
tone
of
demon-hate
,
with
such
language
!
--
no
professed
harlot
ever
had
a
fouler
vocabulary
than
she
:
though
two
rooms
off
,
I
heard
every
word
--
the
thin
partitions
of
the
West
India
house
opposing
but
slight
obstruction
to
her
wolfish
cries
.
