Seeing the life that she would live with St. John, Jane refused his offer, but he continued to try to convince her to marry him. Jane realized that a life with St. John would be exactly the opposite of what she has with Rochester. With St. John, she would live the life of a normal wife in the Victorian period where she would be under St.
The veil was a symbol of the marriage and by destroying the veil, Bertha destroyed the wedding because on their wedding day, Mason shows up and tells everyone that Rochester cannot marry Jane because he is already married. Begin typing your search term above and press enter to search.
Press ESC to cancel. Ben Davis March 17, Why did Jane leave Thornfield Hall and Rochester? What happens in Jane Eyre Chapter 24? John she had to be very sure there was no remaining possibility for her and Rochester to be together. Very luckily he was now free to marry. View 1 comment. Jessica This answer contains spoilers… view spoiler [She left Rochester to be herself and to be true to herself - she returned to him for the same reason. Remember her hearing him call to her? Despite his wife, she knew she needed to see him again.
She wasn't going to surrender her individuality for St John. She had the things she'd wanted most in her life - love, a family Rochester loses an arm and a great deal of his sight for his sin of trying to wed Jane while he still has a wife. I didn't get this the first or second reading, it took many readings and didn't hit me full, just sort of crept up on me.
Panchalee It was definitely for the most part because she had fostered a profound love for the man. However I feel that in part it was also because conscientiously she felt that it was the right thing to do. She was a woman who gave a large part of her life to helping people and she was a strict believer in God's work of giving to humanity.
Perhaps, since her life was for an important part, influenced and touched by Mr. Rochester and because he was a tangible presence that really meant something to her she felt it was her foremost duty to look to his safety and well being Which made her abandon her journey to help the poor in India and arrive at Thornfield. Anisha Because she loved him like she loved no other and also mainly because she was worried as she didn't know anything about his whereabouts and well-being which kept her perturbed.
Whether or not Charlotte Bronte believed in this sort of thing in real life, in the book there is certainly some mystical sort of stuff going on. It is also a sort of approval from God--remember the major tension between her morals and her love. As well, part of it was simply that St John's proposals made her realise how much she was pining for him St John and Mr R are foils.
Janneke This answer contains spoilers… view spoiler [The real reason is because she heard a voice in her head that belonged to Mr. He called out her name in desperation and I guess she knew he needed her. He turned away; he threw himself on his face on the sofa. Then came a deep, strong sob. I had already gained the door; but, reader, I walked back — walked back as determinedly as I had retreated. I knelt down by him; I turned his face from the cushion to me; I kissed his cheek; I smoothed his hair with my hand.
But Jane will give me her love: yes — nobly, generously. Up the blood rushed to his face; forth flashed the fire from his eyes; erect he sprang; he held his arms out; but I evaded the embrace, and at once quitted the room.
That night I never thought to sleep; but a slumber fell on me as soon as I lay down in bed. I was transported in thought to the scenes of childhood: I dreamt I lay in the red-room at Gateshead; that the night was dark, and my mind impressed with strange fears. The light that long ago had struck me into syncope, recalled in this vision, seemed glidingly to mount the wall, and tremblingly to pause in the centre of the obscured ceiling.
I lifted up my head to look: the roof resolved to clouds, high and dim; the gleam was such as the moon imparts to vapours she is about to sever.
I watched her come — watched with the strangest anticipation; as though some word of doom were to be written on her disk. She broke forth as never moon yet burst from cloud: a hand first penetrated the sable folds and waved them away; then, not a moon, but a white human form shone in the azure, inclining a glorious brow earthward.
It gazed and gazed on me. It spoke to my spirit: immeasurably distant was the tone, yet so near, it whispered in my heart —. So I answered after I had waked from the trance-like dream. It was yet night, but July nights are short: soon after midnight, dawn comes. I rose: I was dressed; for I had taken off nothing but my shoes. I knew where to find in my drawers some linen, a locket, a ring.
In seeking these articles, I encountered the beads of a pearl necklace Mr. Rochester had forced me to accept a few days ago. I left that; it was not mine: it was the visionary bride's who had melted in air. The other articles I made up in a parcel; my purse, containing twenty shillings it was all I had , I put in my pocket: I tied on my straw bonnet, pinned my shawl, took the parcel and my slippers, which I would not put on yet, and stole from my room.
No thought could be admitted of entering to embrace her. I had to deceive a fine ear: for aught I knew it might now be listening. I would have got past Mr. Rochester's chamber without a pause; but my heart momentarily stopping its beat at that threshold, my foot was forced to stop also.
No sleep was there: the inmate was walking restlessly from wall to wall; and again and again he sighed while I listened. There was a heaven — a temporary heaven — in this room for me, if I chose: I had but to go in and to say —. Rochester, I will love you and live with you through life till death," and a fount of rapture would spring to my lips.
I thought of this. That kind master, who could not sleep now, was waiting with impatience for day. He would send for me in the morning; I should be gone. He would have me sought for: vainly.
He would feel himself forsaken; his love rejected: he would suffer; perhaps grow desperate. I thought of this too. My hand moved towards the lock: I caught it back, and glided on. Drearily I wound my way downstairs: I knew what I had to do, and I did it mechanically. I sought the key of the side-door in the kitchen; I sought, too, a phial of oil and a feather; I oiled the key and the lock. I got some water, I got some bread: for perhaps I should have to walk far; and my strength, sorely shaken of late, must not break down.
All this I did without one sound. I opened the door, passed out, shut it softly. Dim dawn glimmered in the yard. The great gates were closed and locked; but a wicket in one of them was only latched. Through that I departed: it, too, I shut; and now I was out of Thornfield. A mile off, beyond the fields, lay a road which stretched in the contrary direction to Millcote; a road I had never travelled, but often noticed, and wondered where it led: thither I bent my steps.
No reflection was to be allowed now: not one glance was to be cast back; not even one forward. Not one thought was to be given either to the past or the future.
The first was a page so heavenly sweet — so deadly sad — that to read one line of it would dissolve my courage and break down my energy. The last was an awful blank: something like the world when the deluge was gone by. I skirted fields, and hedges, and lanes till after sunrise. I believe it was a lovely summer morning: I know my shoes, which I had put on when I left the house, were soon wet with dew. But I looked neither to rising sun, nor smiling sky, nor wakening nature.
He who is taken out to pass through a fair scene to the scaffold, thinks not of the flowers that smile on his road, but of the block and axe-edge; of the disseverment of bone and vein; of the grave gaping at the end: and I thought of drear flight and homeless wandering — and oh! I could not help it. I thought of him now — in his room — watching the sunrise; hoping I should soon come to say I would stay with him and be his.
I longed to be his; I panted to return: it was not too late; I could yet spare him the bitter pang of bereavement. As yet my flight, I was sure, was undiscovered. I could go back and be his comforter — his pride; his redeemer from misery, perhaps from ruin.
Oh, that fear of his self-abandonment — far worse than my abandonment — how it goaded me! It was a barbed arrow-head in my breast; it tore me when I tried to extract it; it sickened me when remembrance thrust it farther in.
Birds began singing in brake and copse: birds were faithful to their mates; birds were emblems of love. What was I? In the midst of my pain of heart and frantic effort of principle, I abhorred myself. I had no solace from self-approbation: none even from self-respect. I had injured — wounded — left my master. I was hateful in my own eyes.
Still I could not turn, nor retrace one step. God must have led me on. As to my own will or conscience, impassioned grief had trampled one and stifled the other. I was weeping wildly as I walked along my solitary way: fast, fast I went like one delirious.
A weakness, beginning inwardly, extending to the limbs, seized me, and I fell: I lay on the ground some minutes, pressing my face to the wet turf. I had some fear — or hope — that here I should die: but I was soon up; crawling forwards on my hands and knees, and then again raised to my feet — as eager and as determined as ever to reach the road.
When I got there, I was forced to sit to rest me under the hedge; and while I sat, I heard wheels, and saw a coach come on. I stood up and lifted my hand; it stopped. I asked where it was going: the driver named a place a long way off, and where I was sure Mr. Rochester had no connections. I asked for what sum he would take me there; he said thirty shillings; I answered I had but twenty; well, he would try to make it do.
He further gave me leave to get into the inside, as the vehicle was empty: I entered, was shut in, and it rolled on its way. Gentle reader, may you never feel what I then felt! May your eyes never shed such stormy, scalding, heart-wrung tears as poured from mine. May you never appeal to Heaven in prayers so hopeless and so agonised as in that hour left my lips; for never may you, like me, dread to be the instrument of evil to what you wholly love.
Contents Author's preface 1. We meet Jane reading. John Reed, her cousin, hurts her 2. Jane is punished in the Red Room 3. Bessie takes care of Jane 4.
Brocklehurst interviews Jane 5. Jane arrives at Lowood School 6. Helen Burns 7. Life at Lowood; Brocklehurst visits; Jane shamed 8. Jane and Helen Burns 9. Spring at Lowood; Helen dies Improvements at Lowood; eight years pass; Jane meets Bessie Jane travels of Thornfield to become Adele's governess; mistakes Ms.
Fairfax for her employer Jane settles in and encounters a dark, rugged stranger Jane's second encounter with Rochesster, who interviews her and examines her drawings Jane and Rochester have a conversation Jane, who begins to find Rochester, learn's Adele's story and saves him from a fiery death Jane suspects Grace Poole; learns about Blanche Ingram Wealthy neighbors arrive for a long visit The group plays charade; a gypsy arrives Rochester disguised as a gypsy tells Jane's fortune; Mason arrives Mason is mysteriously wounded and sent away Jane returns to Gatehead to comfort Ms.
Reed on her deathbed; learns she has a relative Jane returns to Thornfield Rochester proposes marriage Rochester tries to dress up plain Jane Jane sees Bertha Mason Mason stops the wedding; Rochester shows Jane his wife Rochester tells Jane his story; presses her to become his mistress; Jane flees Thornfield Jane nearly starves before St.
John Rivers takes her in Jane settles in with her new family at Moor House Jane learns Mary and Dianah's story Jane obtains her own little cottage Jane teaches successfully; learns St.
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