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After reading Jane Eyre again (the first time being about 15 years
ago), I’m decidedly of a differing opinion than I was of it before. It
is true that I still do not like Mr. Rochester, and find nothing
redeeming about him; it is true that Jane is not the woman I always
hoped for. However, having more of life experience behind me, I am more
compassionate towards her, having a full understanding that you
definitely cannot help who you fell in love with.
I think that
I almost admire her, not for her religious convictions, necessarily,
but that she was able to stick TO those convictions when it mattered
most. Yes, she was a little dramatic about her departure, but who can
blame a broken heart for being dramatic? Trauma like that causes even
the most level headed of individuals to lose their minds- “crime of
passion” is a legitimate legal term as a result.
I think that
giving this book a second chance also helped me understand my mother
better, who has claimed for years a staunch love for this story.
There is one passage I found particularly interesting on a personal level:
“….and
during that time he made me feel what severe punishment a good yet
stern, a conscientious yet implacable man can inflict on one who has
offended him. Without one overt act of hostility, one upbraiding word,
he contrived to impress me momently with the conviction that I was put
beyond the pale of his favour.
Not that (he) harbored a
spirit of unchristian vindictiveness- not that he would have injured a
hair of my head, if it had been fully in his power to do so. Both by
nature and principle, he was superior to the mean gratification of
vengeance: he had forgiven me for saying I scorned him and his love,
but he had not forgotten the words’ and as long as he and I lived, he
would never forget them. I saw by his look, when he turned to me, that
they were always written on the air between me and him; whenever I
spoke, they sounded in my voice to his ear, and their echo toned every
answer he gave me.
He did not abstain from conversing with me:
he even called me as usual each morning to join him at his desk; and I
fear the corrupt man within him had a pleasure unimparted to, and
unshared by, the pure Christian, in evincing with what skill he could,
while acting and speaking apparently just as usual, extract from every
deed and every phrase the spirit of interest and approval which had
formerly communicated a certain austere charm to his language and
manner. To me, he was in reality no longer flesh, but marble; his eve
was a cold, bright, blue gem; his tongue a speaking instrument- nothing
more.”
Let me first inject here, that evincing means “to make
clear” or “to prove”, because I do realize that some people might not
use that word in any sort of regularity.
I’ve experienced this
sort of treatment a few times- and recently- so this particular passage
struck a chord with me. It’s always there, as an undercurrent.
Forgiveness is given, but whatever friendship was there is forever
altered, made possible by the nature of humans never to forgive such a
slight. I suppose if he had really loved her in the first place, his
treatment of her would have been to cover the hurt; but when there is
no love in the first place as is supposed, and then the so-called love
is replaced with a chilly disposition, and often a quick replacement
for one’s affection.
All in all, I don’t hate the story
anymore. It speaks quite truly to everything a novel like this should
be- a tough childhood, a woman scorned, true love, a horrible twist,
unrequited love, and of course, someone who becomes very rich and
doesn’t need to marry for convenience.
Ahh, if only real life
was really like that. The scorn may be true to reality- but the happy
ending? Maybe I’m too cynical, but I don’t think so.
