‘I dreamt another dream, sir: that Thornfield Hall was a dreary ruin, the retreat of bats and owls. I thought that of all the stately front nothing remained but a shell-like wall, very high and very fragile-looking. I wandered, on a moonlight night, through the grass-grown enclosure within: here I stumbled over a marble hearth, and there over a fallen fragment of cornice. Wrapped u in a shawl, I still carried the unknown little child: I might not lay it down anywhere, however tired were my arms – however much its weight impeded my progress, I must retain it. I heard the gallop of a horse at a distance on the road; I was sure it was you; and you were departing for many years, and for a distant country. I climbed the thin wall with frantic, perilous haste, eager to catch one glimpse of you from the top: the stones rolled from under my feet, the ivy branches I grasped gave way, the child clung round my neck in terror, and almost strangled me: at last I gained the summit. I saw you like a speck on a white track, lessening every moment. The blast blew so strong I could not stand. I sat down on the narrow ledge; I hushed the scared infant in my lap: you turned an angle of the road: I bent forward to take a last look; the wall crumbled; I was shaken; the child rolled from my knee, I lost my balance, fell, and woke.’
It’s a long time since I first read Jane Eyre, I must have been about fourteen or so, and while I remember enjoying it my impression of it has since been overlaid by the Orson Welles film – a lovely film but I do not think it represents the novel very well at all. Things which surprised me on this rereading: how flawed all the characters are and how much more it is than the relationship between Jane and Rochester. Also (perhaps in reaction to The Golden Bowl) how extraordinarily light and rich the prose is, how quick the pace.
Since I am thinking about fairy tales a lot at present I was particularly struck by the fairy-tale elements in the novel. Amateur Reader points out that narrator-Jane herself refers to the passage to Bertha’s room, ‘with its two rows of black doors all shut, [is] like a corridor in some Bluebeard’s castle’, and although the murderous monster is the wife rather than the husband, certainly the forbidden chamber keeps his terrible secret (and Bertha ultimately throws herself off the battlements to elude Rochester’s outstretched hands, so perhaps he is not entirely innocent of her death in some sense). However, like Hayley at Desperate Reader I think the echoes of ‘Beauty and the Beast’ are strong too, with Jane as the dependant in the household of the brooding, moody Rochester, at the end of the novel returning to him and bringing him back to life. The decaying old house in the forest is also reminiscent of the Sleeping Beauty’s enchanted palace surrounded by briars. In his conversations with Jane, Rochester allows his imagination to play freely with the idea that she is an elf, a fairy, and Mrs Reed would probably agree with him that she is some sort of changeling. Mrs Reed herself is a wicked stepmother, Brocklehurst a wolf (‘What a face he had, now that it was almost on a level with mine! what a great nose! and what a mouth! and what large, prominent teeth!’) and Blanche a wicked stepsister who is vanquished by Cinderella-Jane. Jane is also an intrepid heroine who, upon learning her partner’s true nature, must undertake a quest to restore him, in the vein of stories like ‘East o’ the Sun, West o’ the Moon’. The novel ends with a marriage, as all good fairytales should.
These fairytale elements are overlaid with folk lore and the supernatural – narrator-Jane refers to the ghostly hound the Gytrash when she first sees Pilot gliding through the hazel in the moonlight, and to will-o’the-wisps; her dreams of Thornfield in ruins are prophetic – which all somehow make more plausible the terrors of the Red Room, the madwoman haunting the attics and creeping down to stare at Jane in her bed, Rochester’s remorseful cry which Jane hears far away with St John.
(Fritz Eichenberg, ‘A long grace was said an a hymn sung’, illustration for 1943 Random House edition, filched from Jane Eyre Illustrated which is a fascinating site)
Did I say that the novel ends with a marriage? That’s not quite true, is it? The novel ends with St John and his imminent demise. It is the fourth death in the novel (and yes, I cried when I read Helen Burns’s), and each death invites a consideration of the life which preceded it. Jane’s constant struggle is to live a ‘good’ life, to be true to herself, while yet being virtuous – not necessarily religious. Indeed, once out of Lowood she doesn’t seem to be much of a churchgoer. During the novel Jane comes into contact with different forms of Protestantism – Eliza Reed’s, Helen Burns’s, Brocklehurst’s and St John River’s. Brocklehurst, the wolf in sheep’s clothing, is easily dismissed as a hypocrite who starves and bullies children and causes their deaths. Eliza is also hypocritical as her religious ways do not blunt her spite; her obsession with the rubric and decision to retire to a convent reveal her to be a woman interested only in her own salvation and unprepared to work in the world for the good of others. St John, unlike Eliza, is an active Christian whose purpose in life is to save souls and this draws Jane’s admiration (also, he saved her life!), but he is like Eliza too for he is without love (see 1 Corinthians 13). Helen teaches Jane a great deal, not least to survive the horrors of Lowood. It’s very clear that while her philosophy is self-abnegating, it is an entirely justifiable way for a dying child to make sense of her brutally short and powerless life. I wish I knew more about nineteenth-century Christianity because I am sure there is a lot more to all this than these simplistic sketches suggest.
(Helen Sewell, ‘In sleep forgot sorrow’, illustration for 1938 Oxford University Press edition, also from Jane Eyre Illustrated)
Religion isn’t necessarily in opposition to fairytale, although organised religion seems to stifle the imaginative life the fairytale may represent. I think the two work together. Jane is a sort of pilgrim, but also a missionary who ‘saves’ Rochester. While he witters on about elves, she is often grooming his morals. Perhaps this missionary quality is what in her is sympathetic to St John (it’s true that he’s not a likeable character but narrator-Jane is at pains to emphasise that he has the qualities of a hero). At the end of the book both of them have succeeded.
Rats. This was supposed to be a short post written as a break from revising for my Flemish-language exams.
(The first illustration is by Dame Darcy for this illustrated Penguin edition)