Charlotte Brontë was born at Thornton, Yorkshire, England, on
the 21st of April, 1816, of Irish and Cornish stock. By reason
of her father's manner of living, she was utterly deprived of
all companions of her own age. She therefore lived in a little
world of her own, and by the time she was thirteen years of
age, it had become her constant habit, and one of her few
pleasures, to weave imaginary tales, idealising her favorite
historical heroes, and setting forth in narrative form her own
thoughts and feelings. Both Charlotte and her sisters Emily
and Anne early found refuge in their habits of composition,
and about 1845 made their first literary venture--a small
volume of poems. This was not successful, but the authors were
encouraged to make a further trial, and each began to prepare
a prose tale. "Jane Eyre," perhaps the most poignant
love-story in the English tongue, was published on October 16,
1847. Its title ran: "Jane Eyre: an Autobiography. Edited by
Currer Bell." The romantic story of its acceptance by the
publishers has been told in our condensation of Mrs. Gaskell's
"Life of Charlotte Brontë." (See LIVES AND LETTERS, Vol. IX.)
Written secretly under the pressure of incessant domestic
anxiety, as if with the very life-blood of its author, the
wonderful intensity of the story kindled the imagination of
the reading public in an extraordinary degree, and the
popularity at once attained has never flagged. Though the
experiences of Jane Eyre were not, except in comparatively
unimportant episodes, the experiences of the authoress, Jane
Eyre is Charlotte Brontë. One of the most striking features of
the book--a feature preserved in the following summary--is the
haunting suggestion of sympathy between nature and human
emotion. The publication of "Jane Eyre" removed its authoress
from almost straitened circumstances and a narrow round of
life to material comfort and congenial society. In reality it
endowed at once the most diffident of women with lasting fame.
After a brief period of married life, Charlotte Brontë died on
March 31, 1855.
_I.--The Master of Thornfield Hall_
Thornfield, my new home after I left school, was, I found, a fine old
battlemented hall, and Mrs. Fairfax, who had answered my advertisement,
a mild, elderly lady, related by marriage to Mr. Rochester, the owner of
the estate and the guardian of Adela Varens, my little pupil.
It was not till three months after my arrival there that my adventures
began. One day Mrs. Fairfax proposed to show me over the house, much of
which was unoccupied. The third storey especially had the aspect of a
home of the past--a shrine of memory. I liked its hush and quaintness.
"If there were a ghost at Thornfield Hall this would be its haunt," said
Mrs. Fairfax, as we passed the range of apartments on our way to see the
view from the roof.
I was pacing through the corridor of the third floor on my return, when
the last sound I expected in so still a region struck my ear--a laugh,
distinct, formal, mirthless. At first it was very low, but it passed off
in a clamorous peal that seemed to wake an echo in every lonely chamber.
"Mrs. Fairfax," I called out, "did you hear that laugh? Who is it?"
"Some of the servants very likely," she answered; "perhaps Grace Poole."
The laugh was repeated in a low tone, and terminated in an odd murmur.
"Grace!" exclaimed Mrs. Fairfax.