Villette is Charlotte Brontë’s novel narrated by Lucy Snowe, an Englishwoman who settles in the fictional town of Villette and teaches at a girls’ school. It explores solitude, love, resilience and the inner life with psychological depth. It is worth listening to for its atmospheric setting and Brontë’s restrained, searching prose.
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Text source: gutenberg.org · The work is in the public domain.
Opening of the book
Villette by Charlotte Brontë Contents I. BRETTON II. PAULINA III. THE PLAYMATES IV. MISS MARCHMONT V. TURNING A NEW LEAF VI. LONDON VII. VILLETTE VIII. MADAME BECK IX. ISIDORE X. DR. JOHN XI. THE PORTRESS’S CABINET XII. THE CASKET XIII. A SNEEZE OUT OF SEASON XIV. THE FÊTE XV. THE LONG VACATION XVI. AULD LANG SYNE
XVII. LA TERRASSE XVIII. WE QUARREL XIX. THE CLEOPATRA XX. THE CONCERT XXI. REACTION XXII. THE LETTER XXIII. VASHTI XXIV. M. DE BASSOMPIERRE XXV. THE LITTLE COUNTESS XXVI. A BURIAL XXVII. THE HÔTEL CRÉCY XXVIII. THE WATCHGUARD XXIX. MONSIEUR’S FÊTE XXX. M. PAUL XXXI. THE DRYAD XXXII. THE FIRST LETTER XXXIII. M. PAUL KEEPS HIS PROMISE XXXIV. MALEVOLA XXXV. FRATERNITY XXXVI. THE APPLE OF DISCORD XXXVII. SUNSHINE XXXVIII. CLOUD XXXIX. OLD AND NEW ACQUAINTANCE XL. THE HAPPY PAIR XLI. FAUBOURG CLOTILDE XLII. FINIS
VILLETTE.
CHAPTER I.
BRETTON.
My godmother lived in a handsome house in the clean and ancient town of Bretton. Her husband’s family had been residents there for generations, and bore, indeed, the name of their birthplace—Bretton of Bretton: whether by coincidence, or because some remote ancestor had been a personage of sufficient importance to leave his name to his neighbourhood, I know not.
When I was a girl I went to Bretton about twice a year, and well I liked the visit. The house and its inmates specially suited me. The large peaceful rooms, the well-arranged furniture, the clear wide windows, the balcony outside, looking down on a fine antique street, where Sundays and holidays seemed always to abide—so quiet was its atmosphere, so clean its pavement—these things pleased me well.
One child in a household of grown people is usually made very much of, and in a quiet way I was a good deal taken notice of by Mrs.
Bretton, who had been left a widow, with one son, before I knew her; her husband, a physician, having died while she was yet a young and handsome woman.
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