Irony Becomes Her

Jane Eyre III: "Idolatrous devotion" and "silent revolt"

All grown up at 18, Jane arrives at her post as a governess to a French girl named Adele at an English gentleman's house, and she quickly falls into a rhythm of habit.

My pupil was a lively child, who had been spoilt and indulged, and therefore was sometimes wayward; but as she was committed entirely to my care, and no injudicious interference from any quarter ever thwarted my plans for her improvement, she soon forgot her little freaks, and became obedient and teachable. She had no great talents, no marked traits of character, no peculiar development of feeling or taste which raised her one inch above the ordinary level of childhood; but neither had she any deficiency or vice which sunk her below it. She made reasonable progress, entertained for me a vivacious, though perhaps not very profound, affection; and by her simplicity, gay prattle, and efforts to please, inspired me, in return, with a degree of attachment sufficient to make us both content in each other's society.

This, par parenthese, will be thought cool language by persons who entertain solemn doctrines about the angelic nature of children, and the duty of those charged with their education to conceive for them an idolatrous devotion: but I am not writing to flatter parental egotism, to echo cant, or prop up humbug; I am merely telling the truth. I felt a conscientious solicitude for Adele's welfare and progress, and a quiet liking for her little self ... .

I longed for a power of vision which might ... reach the busy world, towns, regions full of life I had heard of but never seen ... I desired more of practical experience than I possessed; more of intercourse with my kind, of acquaintance with variety of character, than was here within my reach. ...

Who blames me? Many, no doubt; and I shall be called discontented. I could not help it: the restlessness was in my nature; it agitated me to pain sometimes. Then my sole relief was to walk along the corridor of the third storey, backwards and forwards, safe in the silence and solitude of the spot, and allow my mind's eye to dwell on whatever bright visions rose before it -- and, certainly, they were many and glowing; to let my heart be heaved by the exultant movement, which, while it swelled it in trouble, expanded it with life; and, best of all, to open my inward ear to a tale that was never ended -- a tale my imagination created, and narrated continuously; quickened with all of incident, life, fire, feeling, that I desired and had not in my actual existence.

It is in vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquillity: they must have action; and they will make it if they cannot find it. Millions are condemned to a stiller doom than mine, and millions are in silent revolt against their lot. Nobody knows how many rebellions besides political rebellions ferment in the masses of life which people earth. Women are supposed to be very calm generally: but women feel just as men feel; they need exercise for their faculties, and a field for their efforts, as much as their brothers do; they suffer from too rigid a restraint, too absolute a stagnation, precisely as men would suffer; and it is narrow-minded in their more privileged fellow-creatures to say that they ought to confine themselves to making puddings and knitting stockings, to playing on the piano and embroidering bags. It is thoughtless to condemn them, or laugh at them, if they seek to do more or learn more than custom has pronounced necessary for their sex.

Ah, Jane! Am I your reincarnation? Alas, you never existed in hard fact, but in every other way you are entirely real to me.

I was offended when I was first called a "feminist" -- the word has certainly gathered negative connotations during the past century with which I didn't want to be associated. But Jane's closing statement, which I find insightful and profound, isn't really about gender (though it clearly applied to the women of her culture) and can be updated to apply to anyone who lacks an outlet for mental, emotional and spiritual energy. This energy will find a destructive outlet if it is not given a constructive one.

Nor does her opening observation about her pupil apply only to governesses of her time period, whose lives were often made miserable by the demands of parents who could admit no fault in their children. Teachers of today would probably testify to the same difficulty, and they might envy Jane's position of trust to teach as she sees fit without interference.

Indeed, American culture expects not just teachers but everyone to "conceive an idolatrous devotion" for "the children" and their supposed cause. Many true statements -- "they are our future," "they deserve our protection," "they need to make their own decisions" -- unfortunately mask so twisted an approach to child-rearing that it sounds wrong even to childless little moi. Are they being taught how to build a future worth having, which can only be built through discipline, selflessness and restraint? Is our protection actually an obsessive effort to alleviate our own actual or potential guilt if anything should happen to them? Have we given them the tools or (more importantly) the example to make good decisions, or is their "angelic nature" such that whatever they choose must be good?

Bronte, through Jane, hits on a couple of the timeless points which are what make great literature great. No, we don't have governesses, and women are not expected to knit and play the piano all day (if only!). But people are still people, with the same basic needs and inclinations as 150 years ago. I feel fortunate that Charlotte found her outlet in writing about them. Here's to her "silent revolt."

Labels: Jane Eyre

posted by Lynn @ 6:58 AM