Jane Eyre简·爱 英文原版 [平装] pdf epub mobi txt 电子书 下载 2025

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☆☆☆☆☆

Charlotte Bront?（夏洛蒂·勃朗特） 著

图书标签:

• 经典文学
• 英文原版
• 小说
• 简·爱
• 维多利亚时期
• 爱情
• 成长
• 女性文学
• 平装本
• 布朗特姐妹

出版社： Random House

ISBN：9780553211405

版次：1

商品编码：19017054

包装：平装

丛书名： Bantam Classics

出版时间：1983-09-01

用纸：胶版纸

页数：492

正文语种：英文

商品尺寸：17.27x10.41x2.29cm;0.22kg

内容简介

Charlotte Bront?'s impassioned novel is the love story of Jane Eyre, a plain yet spirited governess, and her employer, the arrogant, brooding Mr. Rochester. Published in 1847 under the pseudonym Currer Bell, the book heralded a new kind of heroine—one whose virtuous integrity, keen intellect, and tireless perseverance broke through class barriers to win equal stature with the man she loved. Hailed by William Makepeace Thackeray as "the masterwork of a great genius," Jane Eyre is still regarded, over a century later, as one of the finest novels in English literature.

作者简介

Emily Jane Bront? was the most solitary member of a unique, tightly-knit, English provincial family. Born in 1818, she shared the parsonage of the town of Haworth, Yorkshire, with her older sister, Charlotte, her brother, Branwell, her younger sister, Anne, and her father, The Reverend Patrick Bront?. All five were poets and writers; all but Branwell would publish at least one book.

Fantasy was the Bront? children's one relief from the rigors of religion and the bleakness of life in an impoverished region. They invented a series of imaginary kingdoms and constructed a whole library of journals, stories, poems, and plays around their inhabitants. Emily's special province was a kingdom she called Gondal, whose romantic heroes and exiles owed much to the poems of Byron.

Brief stays at several boarding schools were the sum of her experiences outside Haworth until 1842, when she entered a school in Brussels with her sister Charlotte. After a year of study and teaching there, they felt qualified to announce the opening of a school in their own home, but could not attract a single pupil.

In 1845 Charlotte Bront? came across a manuscript volume of her sister's poems. She knew at once, she later wrote, that they were "not at all like poetry women generally write…they had a peculiar music–wild, melancholy, and elevating." At her sister's urging, Emily's poems, along with Anne's and Charlotte's, were published pseudonymously in 1846. An almost complete silence greeted this volume, but the three sisters, buoyed by the fact of publication, immediately began to write novels. Emily's effort was Wuthering Heights; appearing in 1847 it was treated at first as a lesser work by Charlotte, whose Jane Eyre had already been published to great acclaim. Emily Bront?'s name did not emerge from behind her pseudonym of Ellis Bell until the second edition of her novel appeared in 1850.

In the meantime, tragedy had struck the Bront? family. In September of 1848 Branwell had succumbed to a life of dissipation. By December, after a brief illness, Emily too was dead; her sister Anne would die the next year. Wuthering Heights, Emily's only novel, was just beginning to be understood as the wild and singular work of genius that it is. "Stronger than a man," wrote Charlotte, "Simpler than a child, her nature stood alone."

精彩书评

"At the end we are steeped through and through with the genius, the vehemence, the indignation of Charlotte Bront?."
——Virginia Woolf

精彩书摘

Chapter One

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 mamma 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 small 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 in 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.

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 half-comprehended 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 when, having brought her ironing-table to the nursery-hearth, she allowed us to sit about it, and while she got up Mrs. Reed's lace frills, and crimped her nightcap 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 was 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) Jane is not here: tell mamma she is run out into the rain--bad 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.

John Reed was a schoolboy of fourteen years old; four years older than I, for I was but ten; large and stout for his age, with a dingy and unwholesome skin; thick lineaments in a spacious visage, heavy limbs and large extremities. He gorged himself habitually at table, which made him bilious, and gave him a dim and bleared eye with flabby cheeks. He ought now to have been at school; but his mamma had taken him home for a month or two, "on account of his delicate health." Mr. Miles, the master, affirmed that he would do very well if he had fewer cakes and sweetmeats sent him from home; but the mother's heart turned from an opinion so harsh, and inclined rather to the more refined idea that John's sallowness was owing to over-application, and, perhaps, to pining after home.

John had not much affection for his mother and sisters, and an antipathy to me. He bullied and punished me; not two or three times in the week, nor once or twice in a day, but continually: every nerve I had feared him, and every morsel of flesh on my bones shrank when he came near. There were moments when I was bewildered by the terror he inspired, because I had no appeal whatever against either his menaces or his inflictions; the servants did not like to offend their young master by taking my part against him, and Mrs. Reed was blind and deaf on the subject: she never saw him strike or heard him abuse me, though he did both now and then in her very presence; more frequently, however, behind her back.

Habitually obedient to John, I came up to his chair: he spent some three minutes in thrusting out his tongue at me as far as he could without damaging the roots: I knew he would soon strike, and while dreading the blow, I mused on the disgusting and ugly appearance of him who would presently deal it. I wonder if he read that notion in my face; for, all at once, without speaking, he struck suddenly and strongly. I tottered, and on regaining my equilibrium retired back a step or two from his chair.

"That is for your impudence in answering mamma a while since," said he, "and for your sneaking way of getting behind curtains, and for the look you had in your eyes two minutes since, you rat!"

Accustomed to John Reed's abuse, I never had an idea of replying to it: my care was how to endure the blow which would certainly follow the insult.

"What were you doing behind the curtain?" he asked.

"I was reading."

"Show the book."

I returned to the window and fetched it thence.

"You have no business to take our books; you are a dependant, mamma says; you have no money; your father left you none; you ought to beg, and not to live here with gentlemen's children like us, and eat the same meals we do, and wear clothes at our mamma's expense. Now, I'll teach you to rummage my bookshelves: for they are mine; all the house belongs to me, or will do in a few years. Go and stand by the door, out of the way of the mirror and the windows."

I did so, not at first aware what was his intention; but when I saw him lift and poise the book and stand in act to hurl it, I instinctively started aside with a cry of alarm: not soon enough, however; the volume was flung, it hit me, and I fell, striking my head against the door and cutting it. The cut bled, the pain was sharp: my terror had passed its climax; other feelings succeeded.

"Wicked and cruel boy!" I said. "You are like a murderer--you are like a slave-driver--you are like the Roman emperors!"

I had read Goldsmith's History of Rome, and had formed my opinion of Nero, Caligula, &...

好的，这是一本名为《傲慢与偏见》的经典小说简介，完全不涉及《简·爱》的内容，力求详尽且富有文学气息。 --- 《傲慢与偏见》（Pride and Prejudice） 作者：简·奥斯汀 (Jane Austen) 内容简介 《傲慢与偏见》是英国文学史上最受人爱戴的经典小说之一，由文学巨匠简·奥斯汀于1813年首次出版。这部作品以其精妙的讽刺、对社会习俗入木三分的洞察，以及对人性复杂性的细腻描摹，超越了时代，成为永恒的爱情与社会评论的典范。 故事背景设定在19世纪初的英国乡绅阶层，聚焦于贝内特（Bennet）家族及其五个待嫁的女儿。贝内特先生是一位受过良好教育但性格有些玩世不恭的绅士，而贝内特夫人则是一位典型的“母亲”，毕生精力都投入到为女儿们物色到富裕的夫婿上，以确保她们在家庭经济状况并不宽裕的情况下，能够拥有体面的未来。 故事的核心冲突围绕着二女儿伊丽莎白·贝内特（Elizabeth Bennet）展开。伊丽莎白以其机智、独立思考的能力和敏锐的观察力在众多年轻女性中脱颖而出。她珍视个性和真诚的情感，对世俗的虚伪和肤浅抱持着一种近乎批判性的态度。她的世界观在两位重要人物的介入下，开始经历一场剧烈的动摇：一位是温文尔雅、富有教养的宾利先生（Mr. Bingley），以及他那位高傲、英俊但难以接近的朋友——达西先生（Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy）。 初遇与误解的序曲 故事始于尼日斐尔庄园（Netherfield Park）的到来，新邻居宾利先生的出现立刻点燃了贝内特夫人的希望之火。宾利先生风度翩翩，性格开朗，对大女儿简·贝内特（Jane Bennet）一见倾心。然而，他的朋友达西先生却截然不同。他拥有巨额的财富和显赫的社会地位，但其言行举止中流露出的冷漠与优越感，立刻为他赢得了“傲慢”的标签。 在一次乡村舞会上，伊丽莎白与达西先生的初次交锋便火药味十足。达西先生对伊丽莎白及她周围人群的轻蔑态度，被伊丽莎白洞若观火地捕捉到，并因此在他心中种下了强烈的偏见。她对达西的偏见，不仅源于他的态度，还受到了流言蜚语的影响，尤其是来自军官威克汉姆（Mr. Wickham）的倾诉。威克汉姆讲述了自己被达西不公正对待的“往事”，进一步巩固了伊丽莎白对达西的负面印象。 爱情的悖论与成长的阵痛 随着故事的发展，简与宾利先生的感情因为达西先生的干预——他认为贝内特家族的社会地位和家庭背景配不上他的朋友——而遭遇挫折。这使得伊丽莎白对达西的敌意达到了顶峰。 戏剧性的转折发生在达西先生向伊丽莎白求婚之时。他怀着一种居高临下的姿态，承认了自己对她的爱慕，却也毫不掩饰地指出了她家庭的低微和亲属的不妥。伊丽莎白的愤怒爆发了。她尖锐地拒绝了他，并列举了他拆散简与宾利以及苛待威克汉姆的“罪状”。 这次求婚失败，却成为了双方自我审视的催化剂。达西先生随后写给伊丽莎白的一封长信，详细解释了他行为背后的动机：他对简和宾利关系的担忧是基于对未来幸福的保护，而他对威克汉姆的判断则是基于对后者真实品性的了解。这封信迫使伊丽莎白开始正视，她的判断力是否被“偏见”蒙蔽，她是否因为达西的“傲慢”而错失了真相。 超越阶级与偏见的和解 故事的后半部分，伊丽莎白在旅行中，偶然发现了达西先生隐藏的正直和慷慨。当她得知，是达西先生在背后默默出资，挽救了她小妹莉迪亚（Lydia）因私奔而几乎毁掉的整个家族的名誉时，她为自己的先入为主深感羞愧。她开始理解，达西的“傲慢”源于根深蒂固的贵族教养和对社会规范的责任感，而她的“偏见”则是基于一时的情绪和未经证实的传闻。 与此同时，达西先生也经历了深刻的转变。伊丽莎白的正直、智慧和不屈服的个性，磨平了他尖锐的棱角，使他学会了尊重和谦逊。他学会了如何放下阶级隔阂，以更平等的姿态去爱人。 最终，误会消除，傲慢与偏见在真挚的相互理解面前土崩瓦解。简与宾利重归于好，而伊丽莎白与达西则在彼此的智慧与品格的映照下，成就了一段建立在相互尊重和深刻了解之上的伟大爱情。 主题深度 《傲慢与偏见》不仅仅是一部爱情小说，它更是对18世纪末至19世纪初英国社会结构、婚姻制度和财产继承权（特别是《安妮法案》对女性继承权的限制）的辛辣讽刺。奥斯汀通过伊丽莎白和达西的成长轨迹，探讨了真爱是否能超越社会阶级、财富差异以及个体性格上的缺陷。小说对“体面”与“品格”的探讨，以及对女性在社会中的生存困境的描绘，使其至今仍具有强大的现实意义和阅读价值。伊丽莎白，这位不愿被社会规范束缚、敢于质疑权威的女性形象，成为文学史上最受人爱戴的女性典范之一。

评分☆☆☆☆☆

这本书真是出乎我的意料，我原本以为它会是一本比较平淡的爱情故事，但读完后，才发现它所蕴含的力量远超我的想象。简·爱这个角色，她身上那种独立、坚韧、不向命运低头的精神，真的让我深受感动。在那个年代，女性的地位普遍较低，很多女性都依附于男性生存，但简·爱却始终坚持着自己的原则和尊严，不为了物质或者他人的眼光而妥协自己的内心。她对爱情有着纯粹而深刻的追求，不被虚荣和权势所迷惑，这在那个充斥着等级森严和拜金主义的社会里，显得尤为可贵。她与罗切斯特先生之间那种棋逢对手、灵魂契合的感情，更是令人动容。虽然他们之间存在着巨大的身份差距和情感上的纠葛，但简·爱始终保持着自己的清醒和独立，她没有因为爱而失去自我，也没有因为被伤害而放弃追求幸福的权利。这本书让我重新思考了什么是真正的爱情，什么是真正的独立，它不仅仅是一个故事，更像是一次心灵的洗礼，让我对生活有了更深的理解和感悟。平装本的设计也非常实用，方便携带，可以在通勤路上或者午休时间随时阅读，沉浸在简·爱那丰富细腻的内心世界里。

评分☆☆☆☆☆

说实话，一开始吸引我的是这本书简洁的封面和书名，那种朴素的风格让我觉得它可能蕴含着一些深刻的东西。当我真正开始阅读后，我发现我的预感是对的。这本书不仅仅是一个关于爱情的故事，它更是一个关于女性觉醒、关于个人价值的探索。简·爱，这个名字本身就充满了力量。她从一个孤苦无依的女孩，一步步成长为一位独立自主、有思想有见地的女性，她的经历充满了挑战，但也充满了希望。书中对于她内心世界的细腻刻画，那种对情感的敏感，对人生的思考，都让我感到共鸣。特别是她与罗切斯特先生之间那种复杂而又真挚的情感，并没有因为身份、财富的差异而变得肤浅，反而充满了对彼此灵魂的尊重和理解。这本书的魅力在于它的真实，它的深刻，它没有回避现实的残酷，但也没有失去对美好事物的追求。平装本的设计非常人性化，轻便易携，书页的质量也很好，让我可以随时随地沉浸在这本引人入胜的书籍中，思考人生，感悟情感。

评分☆☆☆☆☆

我一直认为，《简·爱》是一本值得反复阅读的书，而这本平装英文原版恰好满足了我这个愿望。每次重读，都会有新的发现，新的感悟。简·爱这个人物，她所展现出的那种不屈不挠的精神，在任何时代都具有强大的生命力。她面对不公，面对困境，从未选择妥协或放弃。她对尊严的看重，对自由的追求，对爱情的纯粹，都深深地触动着我。书中的情感描写，尤其是简·爱与罗切斯特先生之间那种复杂而又深刻的羁绊，并非简单的浪漫，而是充满了精神的契合和灵魂的碰撞。即使经历了种种磨难，他们之间的情感依然坚不可摧。这本书不仅仅是一个故事，它更像是一种哲学，一种对人生意义的探讨，一种对女性力量的赞颂。作者的文笔非常细腻，对于人物心理的刻画入木三分，让我能够深刻地理解简·爱内心的纠结与成长。平装本的设计让阅读变得更加轻松，我可以随时随地翻开它，与简·爱一同经历她的人生旅程，感受那份深刻而永恒的力量。

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当我拿到这本平装版的《简·爱》时，我并没有抱有多大的期待，以为它不过是又一本情节老套的言情小说。然而，随着我一页一页地翻阅，我被深深地吸引住了。简·爱这个角色，她不是那种娇弱需要保护的女性，也不是那种会为了爱情不顾一切的傻姑娘。她坚强、独立、有思想，敢于挑战权威，敢于追求平等。她与罗切斯特先生之间的关系，更是颠覆了我对传统爱情观的认知。他们之间不是简单的你侬我侬，而是灵魂的碰撞，思想的交流，甚至是一种互相救赎。书中对于简·爱内心的描绘，那种隐忍、那种渴望、那种对尊严的坚守，让我感同身受。即使身处逆境，她也从未放弃对知识的渴望，对生活的热爱。这种内在的力量，比任何外在的财富都更加耀眼。而且，这本书的语言风格非常典雅，虽然是英文原版，但读起来并不晦涩，反而有一种独特的韵味，让人沉醉其中。平装本的设计，让我在任何场合都能方便地捧读，沉浸在这部不朽的经典之中。

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这本书的书名虽然叫“简·爱”，但我认为它远不止于讲述一个名叫简·爱的女子的故事。它更像是一面镜子，映照出那个时代的社会现实，也映照出人性的复杂与美好。作者通过简·爱的视角，细致入微地描绘了当时英国社会的阶级差异、贫富悬殊以及女性在其中的艰难处境。从简·爱在孤儿院的凄惨遭遇，到她在庄园里作为家庭教师所经历的种种不公，再到她与罗切斯特先生之间那段充满波折的感情，每一个场景都真实而深刻。书中对人物心理的刻画更是达到了炉火纯青的地步，无论是简·爱内心的挣扎与成长，还是罗切斯特先生复杂矛盾的情感，都显得非常立体和真实。让我印象深刻的是，作者并没有将任何角色塑造得完美无缺，每个人都有自己的缺点和局限，但这恰恰是他们之所以如此动人的原因。这种真实感，让我在阅读时仿佛置身于那个时代，与书中的人物一同经历喜怒哀乐。平装本的质量也很好，纸张的触感很舒适，书页的印刷清晰，阅读起来非常享受。

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书是好书，物流也快，但是书的包装太差了，也没有个薄膜，就这么直接放在箱子里运过来！再生纸，印刷的页边距也不讲究，都不一样，还有一本书出现了图一的情况！

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原版字体小，看起来费眼睛，不知道原版就是这样的嘛

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很好。原版。

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很好

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还没开始读，不过书很轻方便携带，喜欢

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，非常好的原版作品，这个价格入手值了

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字挺小的，纸质也不好，有一种盗版的既视感

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很棒

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英文原版很给力，没赶上最优惠时段，不过已经很棒了！！