Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre (1847)
Jane Eyre, aged 10, has been living with relatives - the Reeds - since her
parents died.
"What do you want?" I asked, with awkward diffidence.
« Say, 'What do vou want, Master Reed?" was the answer. "I want you to
come here:" and sitting 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 and 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 the 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, 1 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 awhile 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 dependent, 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 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, 1 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, &c. Also I had drawn parallels in silence, which I never thought
thus to have declared aloud.
"What! what!" he cried. "Did she say that to me? Did you hear her, Eliza
and Georgiana? Won't I tell mamma? but first"
He ran headlong at me: I felt him grasp my hair and my shoulder: he had
closed with a desperate thing. I really saw in him a tyrant, a murderer. I felt a
drop or two of blood from my head trickle down my neck, and was sensible of
somewhat pungent suffering: these sensations for the time predominated over
fear, and I received him in frantic sort. I don't very well know what I did with
my hands, but he called me "Rat! Rat!" and bellowed out aloud. Aid was near
him: Eliza and Georgiana had run for Mrs. Reed, who was gone upstairs: she
now came upon the scene, followed by Bessie and her maid Abbot. We were
parted: I heard the words- "Dear! dear! What a fury to fly at Master John!"
"Did ever anybody see such a picture of passion!"
Then Mrs. Reed subjoined – "Take her away to the red-room, and lock her
in there." Four hands were immediately laid upon me, and I was borne upstairs.
Charlotte Brontë (1816-55), Jane Eyre, An Autobiography, 1847
Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre (1847)
Pistes pour un commentaire d’un extrait
Jane Eyre, aged 10, has been living with relatives - the Reeds - since her
parents died.
"What do you want?" I asked, with awkward diffidence.
« Say, 'What do vou want, Master Reed?" was the answer. "I want you to
come here:" and sitting 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 and 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 the 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, 1 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 awhile 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 dependent, 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 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, 1 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, &c. Also I had drawn parallels in silence, which I never thought
thus to have declared aloud.
"What! what!" he cried. "Did she say that to me? Did you hear her, Eliza
and Georgiana? Won't I tell mamma? but first"
He ran headlong at me: I felt him grasp my hair and my shoulder: he had
closed with a desperate thing. I really saw in him a tyrant, a murderer. I felt a
drop or two of blood from my head trickle down my neck, and was sensible of
somewhat pungent suffering: these sensations for the time predominated over
fear, and I received him in frantic sort. I don't very well know what I did with
my hands, but he called me "Rat! Rat!" and bellowed out aloud. Aid was near
him: Eliza and Georgiana had run for Mrs. Reed, who was gone upstairs: she
now came upon the scene, followed by Bessie and her maid Abbot. We were
parted: I heard the words- "Dear! dear! What a fury to fly at Master John!"
"Did ever anybody see such a picture of passion!"
Then Mrs. Reed subjoined – "Take her away to the red-room, and lock her
in there." Four hands were immediately laid upon me, and I was borne upstairs.
Charlotte Brontë (1816-55), Jane Eyre, An Autobiography, 1847
Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre (1847)
Pistes pour un commentaire d’un extrait
