名著《简爱》（夏落蒂勃郎特）
古今中外有许多脍炙人口的佳作。它们有的赞颂美丽纯洁的爱情，有的提倡契而不舍的精神，有的批判社灰的黑暗。曾经我读过一篇名叫《简爱》的中外名著。
它的著者是英国作家——夏落蒂勃郎特。它讲述了一个名叫简爱的孤儿的成长过程。
命运把简爱抛弃到了一个父母双亡，寄人篱下的生存环境中。面对姨妈，表姐，表兄的侮辱与毒打，她没有屈服，而是与其作斗争，用自己的幼小身体与其对抗，让她姨妈胆战心惊，不得不将她逐出盖茨赫德，送去罗沃德。这样她的寄宿生活便开始。她在学校中，通过自己的努力，让所有的同学信任她，尊敬她。
文章有许多令人反思的地方。当我读到她被学校的施主罗克赫特先生当着全体师生的面诋毁她，把她置于耻辱台上示众的时候，她感到她内心的酸楚。自己的尊严全部毁掉，如果是我，我会作什么。也许我会再也抬不起头来，再也无法面对我的老师，我的同伴，甚至会一个人离开学校。而她却恰恰相反，她在好友海伦的帮助下，重新开始努力，取得非凡的成绩，继而获得老师与同学的认可。
在人生的漫漫的旅途中，总会有坎坷，被小石子拌倒后后，难道就再也爬不起来了吗？歌中也唱到：“阳光总在风雨后，乌云上有晴空。”“不经历风雨，怎能见彩虹，没有人能随随便便成功。”在困难面前不能低头，站起来，迈出你的脚步，才能踏上成功的彼岸。
离开学校后，她为自己寻找到一分家教的职业，她一踏进桑菲尔德，便卷入了爱情的漩涡，她与罗切斯特地位悬殊，但她以她的精神与思想打动了他。她说过：“我的灵魂同你的灵魂在对话，就仿佛我们两人穿过坟墓，站在上帝脚下，彼此平等——本来就如此！”但罗切斯特有妻子，她出于自尊自重，便断然离开了她，有由于她渴望自由，又拒绝了后来爱上她的圣约瀚。最后回到了由于救自己妻子于大火中而失明的罗其斯特的身边，照顾他。
简爱的爱是无私的，她不要求回报，不为金钱而建立爱情。合上书本，遥望远方，绿草青青，阳光洒满大地，多么美好。但在美好的世界的背后，有多少人为了金钱而使用卑劣的手段往上爬，有多少人为了追逐名利，而无视自己的肉体和损坏一向纯洁的爱啊！
如果人人多有像简爱一样追求自由平等和维护人的尊严的信念和举动，世界将变得更加美好。
简爱的伟大女性形象将永远留在我的心底。读了这本书，让我受道了一次思想的洗礼，永远激励我前进！
19世纪英国文坛“勃朗特三姐妹”之一的夏洛蒂·勃朗特的小说《简·爱》，以19世纪早期英国偏远乡村为背景，用女主人公简·爱的视角以自叙方式讲述了一个受尽摧毁、凌辱的孤儿，如何在犹如儿童的人间地狱的孤儿院顽强地生存下去，成为一个独立、坚强、自尊、自信的女性的成长故事。
简·爱是个孤儿，从小寄养在舅母家中，受尽百般欺凌。后来进了慈善学校洛伍德孤儿院，灵魂和肉体都经受了苦痛的折磨，但她以顽强的意志以成绩优秀完成了学业。为了追求独立生活，她受聘在桑菲尔德庄园任家庭教师。故事的重点是身份低下的家庭教师简·爱与男主人罗切斯特之间历经磨难的爱情。这段爱情因男女主人公悬殊的社会地位和个性的差异而充满了激烈碰撞，也因两人志趣相同、真诚相爱而迸发出灿烂的火花。作者以简·爱鲜明独特的女性视角和叙事风格娓娓道来，真实而有艺术感染力。特别是简·爱的独特个性和思想，在打动身为贵族的男主人公的同时，也紧紧抓住了我们读者的心。
简·爱作为爱情小说的女主人公是以前所未有的女性形象出现在这部十九世纪的文学作品中的。以往爱情故事的女主人公都是些美丽温柔、高贵贤淑的女子形象。而简·爱，她“贫穷，低微，不美，矮小”，但她拥有的一颗智慧、坚强、勇敢的心灵，使那些外在的美在这内在美面前黯然失色。更为可贵的是简·爱并不因为自己的贫穷和外貌而自卑，相反，她勇敢坚定：“我和你的灵魂是平等的。”“我跟你一样有灵魂，——也完全一样有一颗心！”“我现在不是凭习俗、常规，甚至也不是凭着血肉之躯跟你讲话——这是我的心灵在跟你的心灵说话，就仿佛我们都已离开了人世，两人一同站立在上帝的跟前，彼此平等——就像我们本来就是的那样！”
也正因为此，简·爱敢于去爱一个社会阶层远远高于自己的男人，更敢于主动向对方表白自己的爱情——这在当时的社会是极其大胆的。幸福不再是某个人、某个阶层的专利，她属于芸芸众生的每一个人。只有两个相互对等的灵魂才能组成一份完整的爱情，所以简·爱坚持，自身的独立与追求爱情的完整是不能分离的。后来，简·爱含着悲痛离开了罗切斯特，也是基于同样的理由，她决不能允许自己和一个有妇之夫结合在一起。那会是一份不完整的爱。如果她继续留在罗切斯特的身边，那她也就不会还是原来那个独立、平等的简·爱了。如果说简·爱的这次离去是由于无法改变的现实而不得不做出的一次理性选择的话，那么她最后的归来则是她出于坚持感情的追求的又一次理性选择。
在这里，我们看到的不仅仅是一个如何赢得了男贵族爱情的平民女子的苍白的灰姑娘的故事。而是简·爱勇敢果决的走出了灰姑娘的童话，迈向一个有着新女性、真女性的文学道路的起步。简·爱藐视财富、社会地位和宗教的威仪，她认为，“真正的幸福，在于美好的精神世界和高尚纯洁的心灵。”她的信念和行动展现出来的力量,，深打动了一代又一代读者的心，使生活在金钱万能的社会中的人们的灵魂得到净化。简·爱是，一个对自己的思想和人格有着理性认识的女性，一个对自己的幸福和情感有着坚定追求的女性，一个不再只是盲从于男人和世俗要求的女性，一个对自己的价值和情感做出了独立判断的女性，一个坚强独立的女性。夏洛蒂·勃朗特创造了一个前所未有的女性形象；简·爱发出了一个属于女性自己的声音——对于平等、独立、完整、自由的坚持和追求。
夏洛蒂·勃朗特的《简爱》这部现实主义长篇小说自1847年出版以来，以不同语言在全世界不同种族的人们中广为流传，经久不衰。每个时代的女性读者更是以这部十九世纪的文学作品，来探求她们自身的人生、思想和情感。简·爱，她所象征的女性理想和追求已超越了时空，成了人们心中的永恒。
《简爱》读后感
《简爱》是一本具有多年历史的文学著作。至今已152年的历史了。它的成功在于它详细的内容，精彩的片段。在译序中，它还详细地介绍了《简爱》的作者一些背景故事。 从中我了解到了作者夏洛蒂．勃郎特的许多事。她出生在一个年经济困顿、多灾多难的家庭；居住在一个远离尘器的穷乡僻壤；生活在革命势头正健，国家由农民向工业国过渡，新兴资产阶级日益壮大的时代，这些都给她的小说创作上打上了可见的烙印。 可惜，上帝似乎毫不吝啬的塑造了这个天才们。有似乎急不可耐伸出了毁灭之手。这些才华横溢的儿女，都无一例外的先于父亲再人生的黄金时间离开了人间。惜乎，勃郎特姐妹！ 《简爱》这本小说，主要通过简.爱与罗切斯特之间一波三折的爱情故事，塑造了一个出生低微、生活道路曲折，却始终坚持维护独立人格、追求个性自由、主张人生平等、不向人生低头的坚强女性。 简.爱生存在一个父母双亡，寄人篱下的环境。从小就承受着与同龄人不一样的待遇：姨妈的嫌弃，表姐的蔑视，表哥的侮辱和毒打......然而，她并没有绝望，她并没有自我摧毁，并没有在侮辱中沉沦.所带来的种种不幸的一切，相反，换回的却是简.爱的无限信心，却是简.爱的坚强不屈的精神，一种可战胜的内在人格力量. 不幸，在学习生活中，简.爱仍然是承受着肉体上的受罚和心灵上的催残.学校的施主罗可赫斯特不但当着全校师生的面诋毁她，而且把她置于耻辱台上示众.使她在全校师生面前丢尽了脸.但简.爱仍坚强不屈，化悲愤为力量，不但在学习上飞速进步，而且也取得了师生们的理解. 不久，简.爱又陷入了爱情的旋涡.个性及强的她同样保持着个人高贵的尊严，在情敌面前显得大家闺秀，毫不逊色，对于英格拉姆小姐的咄咄逼人，她从容面对. 同样， 在罗切斯特的面前，她从不因为自己是一个地位低贱的家庭教师，而感到自卑，她认为他们是平等的.不应该因为她是仆人，而不能受到别人的尊重.也正因为她的正直，高尚，纯洁，心灵没有受到世俗社会的污染。使得罗切斯特感到自惭性秽，同时对她肃然起敬，并深深地爱上了她。他的真心，让她感动，她接受了他.后来，简.爱发现罗切斯特已有了妻子，她的自尊自重再次出现，毫不犹豫地离开了他，她对爱情的专一，让我敬佩. 最后，简.爱得知，罗切斯特为了拯救在活中的妻子不幸双目失明.躯体严重残疾，完全丧失了生活能力，而同时又妻亡财毁.简.爱全身心的爱再次投入了他的怀抱...... 从这本书中，可以看出它塑造了一个体现新兴阶级的某些要求的女性形象，刻画了工业革命时期的时代精神
带着心灵的感动与震撼漫步了简爱苦难却又充满爱的人生，她童年生活的寂寞，她与罗切斯特先生真挚的爱情，无不叩击着我的心扉。
简爱，一位伟大的女性，她生于苦难却勇于战胜挫折，她备受凌辱却自尊自爱，她忠于爱情却不依赖爱情。她像一朵奔放的 野百合，独立坚强；她又像一朵娇羞的月季，柔和而充满爱意。
蒲公英伴随着风儿漫天飞舞,然后落地生根;花儿献出自己的青春绚然绽放,然后化作春泥;流水越过顽石的阻挡,然后归入大海…….它们虽然微不足道,但都始终不渝地实现了人生地价值.简爱也正是拥有那样地勇气与坚强,独立自主的意识,踏上她的人生征程.
谁也不敢说有来世,那么人生一遭,如果一世过着养尊处优的日子,从没有经历过酸甜苦辣,这一遭还有何意义呢?简爱受尽折磨.苦痛,也恨过,最终却以一颗善心把仇恨抹去,坚强地生活,人生的真谛不正是如此吗?没有爱哪来恨,恨若太累,那就放下,让我们的胸怀像海一样宽广容纳百川吧!
谁也不知道爱情是什么,也许爱情像一朵含苞待放的花朵,羞涩地绽放;爱情像一朵柔柔的云彩,看得见感受得到却摸不到;爱情像一丝春雨,滋润着心田……我们为罗切斯特先生与简爱生死相随的爱而感动,可是,我们又怎能真切体会到他们之间刻骨铭心的感觉呢?
人就这么一辈子,错过的,失去的便不能再挽回,如果爱什么人,就要勇敢大声地说出来,否则,当所爱之人远离,就再也没有机会.爱是没有界限的,简爱不顾一切地追求自己的爱情,无私无畏,这不正是爱之真谛吗?
蓝天依旧,白云飘飘,让我们用最纯洁的心灵祝福简爱吧!
Jane Eyre, is a poor but aspiring, small in body but huge in soul, obscure but self-respecting girl. After we close the covers of the book, after having a long journey of the spirit, Jane Eyre, a marvelous figure, has left us so much to recall and to think:
We remember her goodness: for someone who lost arms and blinded in eyes, for someone who despised her for her ordinariness, and even for someone who had hurt her deeply in the past.
We remember her pursuit of justice. It’s like a companion with the goodness. But still, a virtuous person should promote the goodness on one side and must check the badness on the other side.
We remember her self-respect and the clear situation on equality. In her opinion, everyone is the same at the God’s feet. Though there are differences in status、in property and also in appearance, but all the human being are equal in personality.
We also remember her striving for life, her toughness and her confidence…
When we think of this girl, what she gave us was not a pretty face or a transcendent temperament that make us admire deeply, but a huge charm of her personality.
Actually, she wasn’t pretty, and of course, the ordinary appearance didn’t make others feel good of her, even her own aunt felt disgusted with it. And some others even thought that she was easy to look down on and to tease, so when Miss Ingram met Jane Eyre, she seemed quite contemptuous, for that she was obviously much more prettier than ‘the plain and ugly governess’. But as the little governess had said: ‘Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong!’ This is the idea of equality in Jane Eyre’s mind. God hadn’t given her beauty and wealth, but instead, God gave her a kind mind and a thinking brain. Her idea of equality and self-respect impress us so much and let us feel the power inside her body.
In my mind, though a person’s beauty on the face can make others once feel that one is attractive and charming, if his or her mind isn’t the same beautiful as the appearance, such as beauty cannot last for, when others find that the beauty which had charmed them was only a falsity, it’s not true, they will like the person no more. For a long time, only a person’s great virtue, a noble soul, a beautiful heart can be called as AN EVERLASTING BEAUTY, just as Kahill Gibran has said, that ‘Beauty is a heart enflamed and a soul enchanted’. I can feel that how beauty really is, as we are all fleshly men, so we can’t distinguish whether a man is of nobleness or humbleness, but fleshly men, so we can’t distinguish whether a man is of nobleness or humbleness, but as there are great differences in our souls, and from that, we can know that whether a man is noble or ordinary, and even obscure, that is, whether he is beautiful or not.
Her story makes us thinking about life and we learn much from her experience, at least, that is a fresh new recognition of the real beauty.
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 mama 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 cross-legged, 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 of 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 other 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 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) Joan is not here: tell mama 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 armchair, 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 mama 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 in 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 mama 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 dependant, mama 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 mama'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, etc. 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 mama? 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.
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