Jane Eyre

My name is Jane Eyre.

I was born in 1820, a harsh time of

change in England.

Money and position seemed

all that mattered.

Charity was a cold

and disagreeable word.

Religion too often wore a mask of

Bigotry and crueIty.

There was no proper place for the poor

or the unfortunate.

I had no father or mother,

brother or sister.

As a child, I lived with my aunt,

Mrs. Reed of Gateshead Hall.

I do not remember that she ever

spoke one kind word to me.

Careful, Bessie. She bites.

Come on out, Jane Eyre.

Mrs. Reed wants to see you in

the drawing room.

Go on. Knock.

Don't bully the child.

Knock!

Come in.

This, Mr. Brocklehurst,

is the child in question.

She's the daughter of

my late husband's sister,

by an unfortunate union which we,

in the family, prefer to forget.

For some years,

she's lived in this house.

The recipient, I can clearly see,

of every care which her loving

benefactress could lavish upon her.

Come here, little girl.

What is your name?

Jane Eyre, sir.

Well, Jane Eyre, are you a good child?

The less said on tat subject,the better

Indeed.

Only this morning,

she struck her little cousin

most brutally and without provocation.

That isn't true.

Jane!

He hit me first.

Silence!

John, dear, did you strike her first?

No, indeed, mama.

You did. You know you did.

You knocked me down and hit my bead

and made it bleed.

I did not!

You did, you did, you did!

Silence!

I won't listen to your odious lies.

You see, Mr. Brockelehurst,

how passionate and wicked she is.

I do, indeed. Come here, child.

You and I must have some talk.

No sight so sad as that of

a wicked child.

Do you know where the wicked

go after death?

They go to hell.

And what is hell?

A pit full of fire.

And should you like to fall into

that pit and be burning there forever?

No, sir.

Then what must you do to avoid it?

I must keep in good heaIth and not die.

But children younger than you die daily

Only last week, we buried

a little child of 5.

A good little child,

whose soul is now in heaven.

But what of your soul, Jane Eyre?

I don't see why it shouldn't go

to heave, too.

You don't see,

but others see clearly enough,

do they not, Mrs. Reed?

You have heard the name of Lowood?

No, sir.

It is a school for unfortunate orphans.

My estate lies within a mile,

and as chairman of the board,

I spend much time on its supervision.

Would you like to go there,

little girl?

You mean not live here anymore?

I don't know what Aunt Reed would say.

It was your kind benefactress

who suggested the plan.

Do you wish to go?

Yes, sir.

You've made a wise choice,

wiser than you know.

And now I must pray God to

take away your heart of stone

and make you meek and humble

and penitent.

You may rest assured, Mrs. Reed,

we shall do our best to collaborate

with the Almighty.

Bessie.

Yes, Jane?

I never dreamt I'd get away from here

till I was quite grown-up.

Would't you even be sorry to

leave your poor old Bessie?

What does Bessie care for me?

She's always scolding and punishing.

All the same,

I am rather sorry to be leaving you.

Rather sorry? Is that all?

And I suppose,

if I asked you to give me a liss,

you'd say you would rather not.

I'll kiss you, and welcome, Bessie.

You are such a strange,

solitary little thing.

Here's a keepsake, Jane.

It will help you remember me.

Come on. Hurry up.

Be a good girl,

and I hope you'll be happy.

Thank you, Bessie. Goodbye.

Goodbye, Jane.

Goodbye, Mrs. Reed. I hate you and

I hate everything about you.

I'll never come and see you

when I'm grown-up,

and I'll never call you aunt

as long as I live!

And if anyone asks me

how you treated me,

I'll say you are bad,

and hardhearted and mean.

The very sight of you makes me sick!

At school, I shall have drawing lessons

and French lessons and history lessons

and music lessons,

and there'll be hundreds of other girls

to play with.

And, uh, what's the name of

this school of yours?

It's called Lowood.

Lowood?

Lowood.

(Lowood lnstitution, Henry Brocklehurst

Esq., Chairman of the Board of Trustees)

Here you are.

she's been asleep for hours.

Ride away, Bill.

I was to awaken in the morning to

find mydreams of Lowood shattered.

In their place was to stand a school

that was more like a prison,

dominated by the cold, implacable

crueIty of Mr. Brocklehurst.

Pupils, observe this child.

She is yet young.

She possesses the ordinary form

of girlhood.

No single deformity points her out as

a marked character.

Who would believe that the evil one

had already found in her a servant

and an agent?

Yet such, I grieve to tell you,

is the case.

Therefore, you must be on

your guard against her.

Shun her example, avoid her company,

exclude her from your sports,

and shut her out from your converse.

Teachers! You must watch her,

weigh well her words,

and scrutinize her actions.

Punish her body to save her soul.

For it is my duty to warn you,

and my tongue faIters as l tell it,

that this girl, this child,

the native of a Christian land,

no better than many a little heathen

that said its prayers to Brahma

and kneels before Jagannath.

This girl is a liar.

Let her remain on that stool.Let no one

speak to her for the rest of the day.

I brought you this from supper.

Didn't you hear what he said?

He said you mustn't have anything

to do with me.

Go on. Take it.

I'm not bad.

I promise I'm not, but I hate him.

I hate him!

It's wrong to hate people.

I can't help it!

I thought school would be a place

where people would love me.

I want people to love me and believe

in me and be kind to me.

I'd let my arm be broken if it would

make anyone love me.

Or let a horse kick me,

or be tossed by a bull.

Don't say such things.

But I would! I would!

Eat your bread, Jane.

O merciful Providence,

who of thy generous plenty

doth give us the abundant fruits of

the field for our sustenance,

grant us that, though we are duly

and properly grateful for

this our earthly food,

yet our hearts may be more lastingly

fixed upon thy heavenly manor. Amen.

Helen, where does that road go?

I told you before. To Bradford.

But after Bradford.

Darby, I suppose, and Nottingham,

and then London.

From London to Dover,

and across the sea to France,

and then over the mountains

and down to Italy,

and to Florence and Rome and Madrid and

Madrid isn't in Italy, Jane.

That road goes there all the same.

We'll drive along it one day,

when we're grown-up, Helen,

in a lovely coach and four.

And I'll have beautiful, curly hair,

just like yours,

and I'll have read all the books

in the world,

and I'll play the piano and talk French

almost as well as you do.

Dreaming again, Jane?

Oh, Dr. Rivers.

I know somebody who's going to be late

for inspection.

Not this time. I'll beat you there.

Ah.

Ah.

Ah.

Ah.

Ah.

That cough doesn't seem any better,

Helen.

We'll have to take care of it.

Ah.

Ah.

Ah.

Ah.

Thank you.

You keep your schoolroom uncommonly

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