charlottebronte

That both Jane Eyre and Villette are first person narratives is highly important. Unlike Catherine Earnshaw, Maggie Tulliver and Isabel Archer, Lucy Snowe and Jane Eyre are able to define their own stories, and subsequently, to define themselves. As Tony Tanner stated, Jane's "narrative act is not so much one of retrieval as of establishing and maintaining her identity" and this can easily be extended to Lucy. Indeed in Villette the importance of language to proclaim identity, and therefore power, is demonstrated by Lucy's inability to speak French when she arrives in Villette " I could say nothing whatever". Of course the role of teaching Lucy to speak French falls to M. Paul demonstrating the masculine control of language, indeed by extension the masculine control of the novel. In this respect there is a direct relation between Bronte and her heroines in their attempts to have women speak for themselves, something which I will return to later. Without language the self is mutilated and silenced and, as Tanner notes in his introduction to Villette, "to be wordless is to be powerless". By having Jane and Lucy narrate their own stories Bronte allows them to create self, to free themselves from the repression of silence and to be powerful. The implications of this are obvious if the same principal were to be applied to other novels - how different would Great Expectations be if Estella rather than Pip narrated the action or if Thackeray's narrator in Vanity Fair were to be replaced with Becky Sharp? This, however, is not to deny that both Lucy and Jane are flawed narrators. Jane's story is essentially an intellectually detached adult's view but this does not stop the "undeveloped [and] imperfect" child view manifesting itself in her story. Jane is also profoundly middle class - she is convinced that everything foreign is intrinsically unhealthy and immoral as shown in her desire to make Adele "English" and in her fear of the Indian climate. If Jane expresses some features of an unreliable narrator then Lucy is seriously flawed. Initially she appears precise, lucid and detached. However in her description of the events between Paulina and her father her tone is not in keeping with the pathos of the situation. If the red room at the beginning of Jane Eyre suggests an extreme of emotion, then the beginning of Villette suggests a total absence of emotion. Lucy can "see" but she cannot sympathise, and this has massive implications in her story. Indeed one of Lucy's favourite words is "perceiving" and this is precisely the problem with her narration - she perceives rather than feels (in this respect she is rather like Henry James's Isabel Archer who wants to "see but not to feel"). Lucy filters her story with selective description, she does not reveal her true feelings about M. Paul until almost the end of the novel, and never even explicitly writes about his death. Due to this differing reliability the reader trusts Jane more than Lucy and therefore Jane has more control over the reactions of the reader, most obviously shown in the fact that we trust her portrayal of the Reeds. This is not to say that Lucy has no control over the reader, it is simply that we learn that we must infer emotion from the novel.

There is, naturally, a distinction between Lucy and Jane the narrators and Lucy and Jane the characters in the story. Narration allows control and power something which participation doesn't always permit. In the opening chapter of Jane Eyre Jane's control is immediately challenged by John Reed. John invades her privacy, physically asserting the superiority which masculinity provides him with. In this respect this incident is mirrored throughout the novel with the physical strength of masculinity trying to assert control over femininity (it is also, rather interestingly, mirrored in Arnold's reaction to Bronte's "rage"). Jane's reaction, or Bronte's "rebellion", is that she is unwilling to let her gender place her in the position of inferior and the only way which she can see to prevent this is through her "rage". This "rage" leads directly to imprisonment, the repression which society places on her. Jane is unwilling to relinquish control over her life throughout the novel; she leaves each of the houses in her story, not because she is forced to but because she chooses to. Lucy is not so assertive about her direction in life, she instinctively seems to treat herself as other people treat her - often, as Tanner remarked, as an "unobtrusive article of furniture". This is not to say however that Jane is always assertive whilst Lucy is always passive. Jane is notably repressed during her time at Lowood when she is under the influence of Helen Burns and Miss Temple, and almost conforms to what is expected of her at Marsh End. Lucy meanwhile asserts her right not to dress as a man in the play, refuses to take M. Paul's test (though there is an element of compromise in both of these episodes) and, all be it with M. Paul, finally manages to stand up to Madame Beck. Jane and Lucy also share the repression placed upon them by their ambiguous places in society. Parentless, childless and, crucially, husbandless these middle class women are given no opportunity other than to become governesses (on a technicality Lucy is actually a school mistress, a position which Jane occupies during her stay with the Rivers, but the effect is precisely the same). Such a role denies both women either social status or identity. As reluctant as I am to use the word "fate" in connection with the quest for self of Lucy and Jane, it is undeniable that "fate" (in the form of a faceless masculine intervention) is a major factor in the emancipation of both women (and in particular in the case of Jane). Bronte's heroines may strive to take control of their lives but they ultimately require help from the patriarchal world around them to achieve their goals. Both characters also, however, face internal opposition to taking control of their lives. In an unsigned review of Villette in the Examiner a critic went as far as to claim that Lucy is directly responsible for her fate, that she is "needlessly tragical" and that "happiness is placed within her reach", she simply fails to grasp it. The same critic however considered the novel to have "a large spirit of humour and good feeling" which poses the question as to whether he (and I am assuming this gender) had even read Villette, the novel which Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan Gubar label "the most moving and terrifying account of female deprivation ever written". While that critic took Lucy's internal demons to an extraordinary length to negate the involvement of society, it is true that Lucy is, in the words of Gilbert and Gubar, "bound by the limits of her own mind". Society represses her identity so, in the name of self preservation, Lucy buries her identity, like her letters and the dead nun. Such denial of self leads to madness, or at the least a nervous breakdown, something which Lucy has to overcome before she can really seize life. Jane faces the opposite demon of excessive emotion which, as shown through Bertha, can be just as dangerous as Lucy's repression. When Jane (or indeed Bertha) reacts with physical uncontrolled rage she is imprisoned, and cannot possibly exert her will in such conditions. For both characters to succeed they have to overcome the very emotions which repression and imprisonment generate.

Both Lucy and Jane's emotions, repression, rebellion and rage are reflected in their surroundings, which they have to either reject or learn from in the quest for self. We first encounter Jane sitting by the window at Gateshead and, as in Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights, windows symbolise opportunity and freedom. Yet, as Karen Chase states in "Jane Eyre's Interior Design", it should be noted that Jane is "glad" that there is "no possibility of taking a walk" and consequently does not want to embrace the freedom which it offers. This is not to suggest that Jane does not want to be free, she undoubtedly does, but she recognises that to be free in the cold, as Lucy Snowe is, is just as dangerous to her survival as being devoured by the flames. This fear of over exposure is shown again at Lowood and when Jane leaves Thornfield. The fear of imprisonment, which for the majority of the novel is the more pressing fear for Jane, is revealed, as Gilbert and Gubar noted, at Thornfield. Gilbert and Gubar see Thornfield as symbolising "Jane's life, its floors and walls the architecture of experience". Of particular importance is the third floor where Bertha (the madwoman who is not quite in the attic) resides. Here is the alternative Jane, the one who didn't manage to control her "rage". For Lucy it is her journey on The Vivid and the garden at Madame Beck's school which are the most potent of the symbols of her situation. Her literal journey on The Vivid uses a metaphor which has been used by writers as far apart as Chaucer and Ishiguro. This is not just an actual journey but also Lucy's quest for self. She meets several different kinds of women, all of whom are imprisoned, and all of whom she must resist the temptation to be like. Water is a widely used symbol for cleansing, and it is when she is on deck that she asserts that she will not be forced into a "prison". Of course her illness forces her to go below deck, away from the revitalising power of the water, simply a further confinement which she has to break free of. The garden at Madame Beck's school is noticeable in that it is "enclosed" and contains the buried nun and Lucy's buried letters. Again nature is conspiring to entrap Lucy and prevent her from escaping. Of course the final building in each novel is the home of Lucy and Jane, the place where they can finally proclaim their identity. However neither is totally positive as both are removed from society, suggesting that the only way that either can find and express their self is if they remain isolated.

Lucy and Jane may be ultimately isolated but during their quests for self their relationships with other characters are highly important. As I have already noted, and as Gubar and Gilbert note at length, Bertha functions as Jane's double, the "rage" which Jane attempts to suppress. However I would extend Gilbert and Gubar?s argument to state that Jane has another double who suggests a possible outcome for her - Helen Burns. Even within Helen's name is the suggestion that she too is filled with the rage of the red room but, crucially, she suppresses her "rage" instead choosing to immerse herself in her religion. For Helen freedom from repression can only be achieved through death: "By dying young, I shall escape great sufferings". She therefore "bears" her fate and dies to free herself. This is the alternative escape for Jane to madness, and one which she must also avoid. If she is to choose this self renunciation, as she nearly does when staying with St John Rivers, there is little doubt that it will lead to her death, be it literal or metaphorical. Lucy's character is also mirrored in other female characters in her story. Again Gilbert and Gubar see Paulina as being the repressed part of Lucy's personality, Madame Beck as being "a symbol of repression" and embodiment of Lucy's commitment to self control, and Ginevra as the freedom which Lucy longs for. They are undoubtedly right in their character assessments of Paulina and Madame Beck but they appear to have misrepresented Ginevra. Undoubtedly there are aspects of Ginevra which Lucy is attracted to, there is possibly even a hint of repressed lesbianism in Lucy's pursuit of her during the play, but Ginevra is not a positive character. As Tanner notes "She is permanently sealed off from true being". To be indifferent to the world as Ginevra is, content to mix names up and substitute the word "chose" for words whenever she feels like it is not to be free, it is to be unknowingly repressed. In Villette there is a notable lack of solidarity between the women; they all compete for the affections of Dr John, Lucy ridicules the six year old Paulina and Madame Beck is compared to a superintendent of the police. Initially Jane faces the same opposition from Eliza, Georgina and Mrs Reed but as she progresses this situation improves. At Thornfield however there is again the situation, personified by Grace Poole and Bertha, where it is a woman who force imprisonment on other women. Of course Grace Poole, as many of the women ultimately are, is under the control of a masculine keeper.

It is impossible for either Jane or Lucy to define their identities without placing them in relation to the powerful masculine figures of their world. For Jane it is initially absent male figures who dominate her imagination. Mr Reed is dead, but it is of him that she thinks during her time in the red room and Mr Brocklehurst is absent from Lowood for the majority of the time but still, mainly through Miss Temple's adherence to his wishes, casts his shadow over Lowood continually. When Mr Brocklehurst does appear at Lowood it is to make sure that all signs of the girls' femininity are removed - he forces Julia Severn to cut her naturally curly hair. His aim, which is precisely the same as Madame Beck's, "is to mortify in these girls the lusts of the flesh". Lucy encounters a similar notion in the form of the patriarchal Catholic Church and the buried nun. To remove sexuality is to remove part of identity and this is something which both Lucy and Jane have to face. For Jane this is through her relationship with Rochester, who despite their differing age and experience proves to be her equal. He needs her help from their first meeting when Jane tells how he is "leaning on" her and she is the only woman who is not fooled by his impersonation of a gypsy. Once they are engaged however Rochester attempts to assert his control, rather like Mr Brocklehurst did, by dictating what she will wear. As convention dictates Jane will be dressed in a "vapoury veil", in white with all the connotations of passivity which this contains. Indeed when Jane looks in the mirror on her wedding day she sees "a robed and veiled figure the image of a stranger". To become Jane Rochester at this point she must not only loose her name but also her identity, becoming a stranger to herself. Lucy also has to exert her right to dress how she wants when M. Paul wants her to dress as a man for the play. This, like Mr Brocklehurst's removal of Julia?s hair, is an attempt to defeminise women. Lucy, however, chooses which garments of masculinity she wishes to wear and this makes her, temporarily, gender neutral, and, with the confinements of femininity removed, she is empowered. She is even given enough confidence to taunt Dr John about his feelings for Ginevra. However after the play is finished she is returned to her powerless status, and subsequently her breakdown occurs. As Tanner notes "there is something unbalanced in the relationship between male and female" in Villette. This is shown clearly in the relationship between Lucy and M. Paul, which never reaches the equality of Jane and Rochester. M. Paul after all believes in "passive feminine mediocrity" and will later become Lucy's "King" (something which never happens to Rochester, who, if anything, makes Jane his Queen). It is noticeable that the happiest years of Lucy's life are the three when she is engaged to M. Paul but he is not with her. To truly be empowered since she is in a relationship which is not one of equality she has to be alone. Jane, however, does not share the same fate. She is Rochester's eyes and therefore can finally assert her self.

The endings of both Villette and Jane Eyre are both enigmatic as to whether true self has been found for either protagonist. Lucy is highly evasive, leaving "sunny imaginations" to hope despite the fact that M. Paul is obviously dead and she is alone. Indeed she finishes her narrative in the manner in which she began it, in describing other people. Her self once again is pushed into the shadows and the mood which pervades her final chapter is one of quiet sorrow. She has pursued her quest for self, however painful it has been along the way, but she is not given her happy ending. Jane does end up with Rochester but in contrast to the rest of the novel the final lines are not spoken by Jane but by St John Rivers. Indeed "Amen; even so come, Lord Jesus" are also the final words of St John's book of Revelation. It is hard to reconcile a character of "rebellion" such as Jane finishing her definition of self in the words of someone else, especially in those of a man she has rejected and ones which link to the patriarchy and repression of religion. Bronte qualifies the readers remembrance of "Reader I married him" with this line. Jane as an individual has triumphed but there is too much oppression to be overcome for total emancipation of all women. Jane's "I" is singular and so is her victory.

David Cecil in his 1936 article "Charlotte Bronte as a freak genius" stated that Bronte's "principal characters are all the same person and that is Charlotte Bronte". As I have already noted there is a direct parallel between Bronte and her heroines in as much as they are exercising the right of women to speak, and write, for themselves, but is it fair to say that in reading Lucy and Jane's quest for self we are actually reading Charlotte's quest for self? There are too many connections between Bronte and her heroines to emphatically state that there is no relation whatsoever between them but to suggest that as emotionally diverse characters as Jane and Lucy (not to mention Shirley and Frances) are Charlotte is to suggest that Bronte was suffering from a mental disease equivalent to that of Lucy. A more accurate view of her heroines is that they are reflections of Bronte. They are not universal representations of women, they are far to embedded in early Victorian bourgeoisie culture for that, but they do reflect universal concerns - imprisonment, freedom and the need for self. That Bronte drew on her own experiences is not a flaw as Cecil would have us believe but one of her greatest strengths. One of Cecil's greatest criticisms of her (and indeed of all female novelists) was that "serious male characters are always a problem" and in stating this he effectively misses the point of Villette and Jane Eyre. To have produced a "serious male character" would not have fulfilled either the quest for self or have produced Bronte's "hunger, rebellion and rage". Through Lucy and Jane, Bronte managed to produce serious female characters and thereby freed herself from Thackeray's description of a "poor little woman".