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Watch and Learn: The Power of Seeing in Jane Eyre and Villette


            In a time when rapid industrialization and urbanization threatened to obscure individuality and blur the boundaries between the public and private spheres, Victorian society became increasingly concerned with appearances as a way of distinguishing one person from another. This desire to use appearances to discern a person’s inner character paved the way for the rise of physiognomy, which claimed that one could read another’s character by studying his or her face, and phrenology, which professed that strengths, weaknesses, and potential could be discovered by reading bumps on the skull (Andrews 7; Shuttleworth 59). These methods of reading became quite popular, and nearly all Victorians were familiar with the idea of using a person’s appearance to judge his or her character (Fahnestock 337). Charlotte Bronte was as fascinated by the idea that a person’s exterior could give clues about their interior as the rest of her peers. She included several references to physiognomy and phrenology in her novels, but she used them to mean more than just the literal reading of faces and skulls—in Villette and Jane Eyre, the pseudo-sciences represent a whole new way of seeing. This type of seeing, termed the “clinical gaze” by Michel Foucault, is a way of obtaining an “exhaustive, clear, and complete reading” of the gazer’s subject and gives the gazer a measure of control over others as well as over him or herself (qtd. in Dames 369).

            Bronte’s characters who best utilize the clinical gaze are Lucy Snowe, the narrator of Villette, and Jane Eyre, the narrator of the book of the same name. Though different in many ways, Lucy and Jane have several important traits in common: they are plain, observant, and easily overlooked.

            This plainness is an important feature, as it is the reason that both heroines are such keen wielders of the clinical gaze; plainness, according to Andrews, “is more conducive than beauty for both legibility and the ability to read others” (56). Being plain causes the two women to be overlooked, “liberating them both from social scripts and…potentially stifling expectations” as well as allowing them to see without being seen in return (Andrews 10-11). Lucy, for example, is regarded by Dr. John Graham Bretton as “‘his quiet Lucy Snowe,’ his ‘inoffensive shadow,’” and when a task must be undertaken with secrecy it is Lucy who is sent, as “nobody will take notice of you” (Villette 317; 123). Likewise, Jane in her childhood is constantly overlooked by her heartless Aunt Reed and her cousins John, Eliza, and Georgiana. The family’s Abigail, Miss Abbott, attributes this to Jane’s appearance, saying, “if she were a nice, pretty child, one might compassionate her forlornness; but one really cannot care for such a little toad as that” (Jane Eyre 21).

Another reason that plain heroines tend to be gifted with the clinical gaze is that it is one of the only types of power they possess. Lucy and Jane, though not ugly, are far from striking beauties, and they are therefore incapable of charming and influencing those around them the way more attractive ladies are. Lucy Snowe’s maddening acquaintance Ginevra Fanshawe, for example, succeeds in winning dresses, jewelry, and other treasures by virtue of her “white shoulders” and “fair long curls” (Villette 86). Ginevra’s loveliness also allows her to be held in higher esteem than she would be if she were unattractive: though lazy, self-absorbed, and lacking any true intellect, Ginevra’s beauty causes her admirers to consider her a “graceful angel” who is “so lovely [that] one cannot help but be loving towards her” (Villette 151). Lucy and Jane, in contrast, are not fortunate enough to possess such beauty and must therefore learn to hone and develop their gift of observation as much as possible.

This is not to say that beautiful women do not make judgments based on phrenology and physiognomy—indeed, they do so frequently. One example of this occurs in Jane Eyre when Mr. Rochester, the story’s hero, invites his friends to his house at Thornfield. The guests and Mr. Rochester are assembled in the drawing room, and the presence of Rochester’s ward, Adele, inspires a conversation about the education of children. When Rochester mentions that Adele is taught by a governess one of the guests, the attractive Blanche Ingram, avows her disdain of the profession. Her mother agrees, stating loudly that governesses are incompetent wastes of money. When another guest suggests that Lady Ingram lower her voice, pointing out that there is in fact a governess (Jane) present, Lady Ingram dismisses this, declaring, “I hope it may do her good …. I am a judge of physiognomy, and in hers I see all the faults of her class” (Jane Eyre 151).

 This example illustrates the difference between seeing, and seeing correctly. In Essays on Physiognomy, the text which greatly influenced the spread of physiognomy to Victorian England, Lavater declares that interpreting a person’s physiognomy requires “expert decoding: mere ‘literal’ classification is to be replaced by skilled reading and interpretation” (Shuttleworth 60). Because the Ingrams are beautiful, they are more used to being looked at than they are to looking for themselves, and they therefore have not exercised their powers of observation enough to be able to judge properly. Plain women, on the other hand, are deeply concerned with making correct judgments. Evidence of this is given by Lucy’s assertion: “I always, through my whole life, liked to penetrate to the real truth; I liked seeing the goddess in her temple, and handling the veil, and daring the dread glance” (Villette 465).

This gift of penetrating observation gives Lucy and Jane a measure of power in several ways, the first being that they are able to correctly discern the character of those around them. One of the first characters that young Jane meets and must judge is Mr. Brocklehurst, the proprietor of Lowood School. Although Jane does not use phrenology or physiognomy to evaluate Mr. Brocklehurst, her descriptions of him show her unique way of seeing him. While most timid young girls would merely notice that Brocklehurst is tall, stern, and frightening, Jane’s observations are very singular and specific and reveal just how perceptive she is. Her first impression of Mr. Brocklehurst is that of “a black pillar,” a “straight, narrow, sable-clad shape standing erect on the rug” (Jane Eyre 26). Mr. Brocklehurst towers over Jane like the wrath of God’s judgment, thus showing that he is a man whose time and energy is focused on judging others and frightening them into obedience and “godliness.”

            Another description of Mr. Brocklehurst likens him to the big, bad wolf from the fairy tale “Little Red Riding Hood.” Jane, who is only a little girl when she meets Mr. Brocklehurst, exclaims to herself, “What a great nose! and what a mouth! and what large prominent teeth!” (Jane Eyre 26). This observation causes Jane to realize that Mr. Brocklehurst, like the villainous wolf from the fairy tale, is a dangerous character, one to be feared, and she does her best to avoid him.

            Another character whose physical traits Jane uses to gage their personality is St. John Rivers, Jane’s benefactor and cousin. When she first meets St. John, Jane’s description of her cousin likens him to a Greek work of art:

Had he been a statue instead of a man, he could not have been easier [to examine]…it was like a Greek face, very pure in outline: quite a straight, classic nose; quite an Athenian mouth and chin. It is seldom, indeed, an English face comes so near the antique models as did his. (Jane Eyre 294)

 This description hints at St. John’s personality: like a statue, he is cold, hard, and immovable. Although he is full of strong impulses, such as restlessness and ambition, St. John resists these things “with all his firmness and self-control” and “locks every feeling and pang within” (Jane Eyre 316). This is especially evident in his interactions with the lovely Rosamond Oliver, and during one scene Jane can actually see St. John’s efforts to control his emotions:

I saw a glow rise to that master’s face. I saw his solemn eye melt with sudden fire, and flicker with resistless emotion…. His chest heaved once, as if his large heart, weary of despotic constriction, had expanded, despite the will, and made a vigorous bound for the attainment of liberty. But he curbed it, I think, as a resolute rider would curb a rearing steed.  (Jane Eyre 311)

Because St. John is able to maintain such strict composure and self-control, he expects the same of others. When St. John asks Jane to marry him so that she may accompany him to India and aid him in his mission work, Jane refuses on the grounds that St. John does not love her. St. John is disgusted with this answer and grows cool and distant towards Jane. He shows no pity towards her despite her entreaties, and upon looking at him Jane realizes that, “To me, he was in reality become no longer flesh, but marble; his eye was a cold, bright blue gem; his tongue, a speaking instrument—nothing more” (Jane Eyre 350). St. John is truly the marble statue that he appears to be, and Jane’s recognition of this saves her from agreeing to become his wife, a position which would have brought her little joy and even less affection.

Villette’s Lucy Snow, like Jane Eyre, also uses phrenology and physiognomy to learn about those around her. One character whom Lucy frequently watches is Dr. John. Lucy is drawn to the handsome, kind-hearted doctor and finds that she cannot help watching him, saying:

It was not perhaps my business to observe the mystery of his bearing, or search out its origin or aim; but, placed as I was, I could hardly help it…. Often, while waiting for Madame, he would muse, smile, watch, or listen like a man who thinks himself alone. I, meantime, was free to puzzle over his countenance and movements, and wonder what could be the meaning of that particular interest and attachment…. (Villette 98)

Lucy’s intense scrutiny of Dr. John eventually leads to the discovery that his exceptional attractiveness mirrors his exceptional goodness. Lucy notes that Dr. John’s is the “best face, the finest figure, I thought, I had ever seen” (Villette 209) and associates the doctor, with his burnished locks, to the golden idol of Nebuchadnezzar (Villette 209; 98). This nearly-perfect physique coincides with Lucy’s belief that Dr. John is one of the noblest men she has ever known, and she states that Dr. John

[is] one of those on whose birth benign planets have certainly smiled. Adversity might set against him her most sullen front: he was the man to beat her down with smiles. Strong and cheerful, and firm and courteous; not rash, yet valiant; he was the aspirant to woo Destiny herself, and to win from her stone eye-balls a beam almost loving.” (Villette 177)

Despite Lucy’s appreciation of Dr. John’s looks and demeanor, she acknowledges that he, like all humans, has his share of flaws. Lucy, after studying the good doctor’s skull, notes

[the] sympathetic faculty was not prominent in him: to feel, and to seize quickly another’s feelings, are separate properties….. Make your need known, his hand was open. Put your grief into words, he turned no deaf ear. Expect refinements of perception, miracles of intuition, and realize disappointment.” (Villette 190)

In other words, Lucy understands that for all of his goodness, Dr. John lacks the powers of perception that Lucy herself possesses, and this eventually forces her to admit that they are not compatible.

            In addition to allowing them to comprehend the characters of others, Lucy and Jane’s understanding of the powerful clinical gaze makes them aware that they must control how they themselves are seen. Andrews asserts, “By being adept physiognomists, [Bronte’s female narrators] are better equipped to interpret the world and control meaning by creating their own narratives” (53), and this is exactly what Jane and Lucy do. Both heroines are full of a passion that is not condoned by the Victorian society in which they live, and for this reason they must make sure that no one sees this side of them.

            Jane, as already mentioned, is not beautiful, but neither is she truly ugly; instead, her looks are merely strange, her “features so irregular and …marked” (Jane Eyre 84). Fahnestock claims that irregular features represent irregular character traits, and in Jane’s case this is true (330). Jane is filled with restlessness, and she often paces the halls of Thornfield,

[walking] backwards and forwards […allowing] 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.” (Jane Eyre 93)

These are the words of a passionate spirit longing to be free. Unfortunately, however, Victorian society found passion dangerous and unbecoming in a woman, and for this reason Jane must control and mask her emotions. She does this by dressing in simple, unassuming Quakerish dresses of black and gray, and the “image of neatness and professionalism that she projects helps her to maintain self-control” (Andrews 11).

            This “disguise” fools many of the less astute characters with whom Jane comes in contact, but she meets her match in Mr. Rochester, who employs her as a governess for his young ward Adele. Jane’s first indication that Rochester is different occurs when he notices her studying his face. Unlike most people whom Jane studies, Rochester is fully aware that he is being “read,” and he shows that he, like Jane, understands the power of the clinical gaze when he engages her in conversation in an attempt to “keep those searching eyes of yours away from my physiognomy” (Jane Eyre 113). In fact, Rochester is so familiar with the clinical gaze and its power that he does not hesitate to utilize it towards Jane. He is “Jane’s most accurate reader”, seeing through her controlled, sensible exterior and recognizing her for what she is: a passionate, strong-willed, independent woman (Andrews 94). This is shown when Mr. Rochester, disguised as a gypsy fortune-teller, calls Jane to his side and reads her physiognomy with frightening accuracy, reporting

“[the] brow professes to say,--‘I can live alone, if self-respect and circumstances require me so to do. I need not sell my soul to buy bliss. I have an inward treasure, born with me, which can keep me alive if all extraneous delights should be withheld; or offered only at a price I cannot afford to give.’” (Jane Eyre 171)

            Rochester enjoys thrilling Jane with his piercingly accurate readings of her, and he therefore persists in evaluating her in a form of flirtatious courtship. He playfully likens Jane’s appearance to that of a fairy, saying, after his first interaction with her, “[Y]ou have the look of another world. I marveled where you had got that sort of face. When you came on me in Hay Lane last night, I thought unaccountably of fairy tales” (Jane Eyre 104). Rochester continues to compare her looks to those of fairy-tale creatures, calling her his “pale little elf” (Jane Eyre 220) and a “mocking changeling—fairy-born and human-bred” (Jane Eyre 373). Indeed, Jane’s diminutive size, slim fingers, and lineless palms are all characteristics of fairies (Reigart).

            These comparisons of Jane to creatures of the fairy world, though meant teasingly at first, soon become “distortions that encroach on her vision of herself” (Andrews 94). Rochester eventually attempts to force his idea of fairy-tale femininity on Jane, as is seen when the two go on a shopping excursion to Millcote, a nearby town. Rochester chooses dress materials far different from Jane’s customary grays and blacks, selecting “rich silk of the most brilliant amethyst dye, and a superb pink satin” (Jane Eyre 228). Jane, aware of how important exteriors are, refuses to accept these gifts, rejecting the clothing that would mark her as soft and feminine and reasserting her right to dress in her controlled, Quakerish attire. It is only at the end of the book that Jane, safely married to Mr. Rochester (who, it is important to note, is no longer able to see Jane, having been blinded in a fire), begins to relax and let her appearance reflect her inner passion and emotions by wearing a pale blue dress and pretty gold watch.

            While Jane takes care to make sure that others do not see her correctly in Jane Eyre, Lucy Snowe takes even greater pains to control the way she is seen in Villette. Whereas readers of Jane Eyre are at least allowed to find out that Jane is small and pale, with dark hair and green eyes, readers of Villette learn no specific details about Lucy’s appearance whatsoever—Lucy is in such control that she shields herself from the gaze of her very readers. She portrays those around her with intricate detail—Zelie St. Pierre, for example, has “perfect teeth, lips like a thread, a large, prominent chin, a well-opened but frozen eye” (Villette 127)—but gives absolutely no description of herself. There is one scene, and only one, in which Lucy comes close to granting the reader a glimpse at her face, and even then she resists at the last minute. This occurs when she sees a reflection of herself and her two companions in a mirror. She does not initially realize who the people in the reflection are, and she examines the figures, noting that the first two are fine and handsome. She stops short of describing the third figure, however, at last realizing that it is herself, and she says merely, “Thus for the first, and perhaps only time in my life, I enjoyed the ‘giftie’ of seeing myself as others see me. No need to dwell on the result” (Villette 210). This refusal to let the reader see her puts her audience at a disadvantage, which is precisely what Lucy wants (Dames 369).

            Lucy’s dodging of her reader’s glance occurs because she both desires and fears being seen correctly. Because Lucy is plain and quiet, she is accustomed to being overlooked, and her role among her friends, students, and coworkers is that of a “model teacher, the essence of the sedate and discreet: somewhat conventional perhaps, too strict, limited and scrupulous, but still the pink and pattern of governess-correctness” (Villette 301). Although this role is praiseworthy, it is also restrictive. Lucy is expected to maintain composure and correctness at all times—for her to exhibit any strong feelings or opinions would be to shock and disappoint those around her. Therefore, Lucy is forced to be the calm, rational, somewhat prudish pillar of wisdom and sense, a figure to be respected but not loved or adored. Indeed, everyone, even her closest friends the Brettons, treats Lucy with “a bland affection that is in some ways more horrifying than actual cruelty” and reduces her “to the status of a serviceable body about the house” instead of regarding her as a human being whose feelings need to be taken seriously (Clark-Beattie 826).

Lucy feels that she deserves recognition for acting as everyone believes she should, but no one takes notice of the burden of loneliness and separation that her role imposes on her. This lack of acknowledgement fills Lucy with a resentment that she has no way of expressing. As one critic states:

She cannot throw off the constraints imposed upon her by her acceptance of society’s right to expect a calm, ‘equable’ façade and reveal the anger and hunger that ‘lies below’ without infringing against her own sense of propriety and sacrificing the worthiness that is the basis of her claim to have suffered unfairly. (Clark-Beattie 826)

 Therefore, as much as Lucy yearns for her friends to see that they have pained her by forcing her to suppress love, passion, anger, and other emotions that are unbecoming in a lady of “reason,” at the same time she hopes that they will not see, as such a discovery could result in disparagement and rejection.

One character in Villette that serves to remind Lucy of just how dangerous the revelation of strong emotions can be is Vashti, the actress whose performance Lucy and Graham attend. Lucy is both drawn to and repelled by Vashti’s acting,

[finding] upon her something neither of woman nor of man: in each of her eyes sat a devil. These evil forces bore her through the tragedy…and as the action rose and the stir deepened, how wildly they shook her with their passions of the Pit! They wrote HELL on her straight, haughty brow. They tuned her voice to the note of torment. They writhed her regal face to a demoniac mask. Hate and Murder and Madness incarnate, she stood. It was a marvelous sight: a mighty revelation. It was a spectacle low, horrible, immoral.” (Villette 257-8)

            For Lucy, Vashti represents “the threat of raw, publicly displayed emotion,” and Lucy looks to Dr. John, the man with whom she is in love, to see how he responds to this display (Andrews 133). She is disheartened but not surprised, to find that “for what belonged to storm, what was wild and intense, dangerous, sudden, and flaming, he had no sympathy, and held with it no communion” (Villette 259), and this serves to remind her to restrain herself lest she be met with the same lack of sympathy.

            It seems, then, that Lucy is sentenced to a life of repression, doomed to be overlooked at best and completely ignored at worst. Despite her valiant effort to be the cool, passive woman of whom Dr. John approves, Lucy still cannot manage to win his love, and it pains her to realize that “while Graham could devote to others the most grave and earnest, the manliest interest, he had no more than light raillery for Lucy, the friend of lang syne” (Villette 315).

            Lucy’s feelings go unnoticed among others as well. The best example of this occurs towards the end of the novel at a time when Lucy is so distraught that her “cheeks and lips were sodden-white, [her] eyes glassy, and [her] eye-lids swollen and purple” (Villette 448). Although it should be evident to any observer that something was the matter with “Miss Snowe,” none of Lucy’s students or cohorts notice her condition, and Lucy is forced to realize that that few are as observant as she is—“The multitude have something else to do than to read hearts and interpret dark sayings” (Villette 448).

            There is one, however, who sees Lucy for who she truly is. This is Monsieur Paul, one of Lucy’s fellow teachers, whose physiognomy she enjoys reading more than most. Lucy notes that she cannot

“[be] blind to certain vigorous characteristics of his physiognomy, rendered conspicuous now by the contrast with a throng of tamer faces: the deep, intent keenness of his eye, the power of his forehead—pale, broad, and full—the mobility of his most flexible mouth. He lacked the calm of force, but its movement and its fire he signally possessed.” (Villette 220)

What Lucy does not realize, however, at least at first, is that M. Paul is as keen an observer as Lucy, and he startles her by frequently disproving her composed façade. He makes it clear that he does not fall for her guise of meek, quiet spinster, and he proclaims:

I know you! Other people in this house see you pass, and think that a colourless shadow has gone by…[but] I watched you, and saw a passionate ardour for triumph in your physiognomy. What fire shot into the glance! Not mere light, but flame.” (Villette 156)

M. Paul’s impertinent but clear readings of Lucy initially aggravate her, and she attempts to avoid him, burying her face in Dr. John’s arm when she spots M. Paul at a concert and evading his gaze by hiding behind Ginevra during an outing in the country. Eventually, however, she begins to realize that M. Paul not only sees hers, but accepts her as she is. He makes this clear when he says, most eloquently, “I was conscious of rapport between you and myself…we are alike—there is affinity. Do you see it, Mademoiselle, when you look in the glass? Do you observe that your forehead is shaped like mine—that your eyes are cut like mine?” (Villette 367).

The revelation that she has finally found someone like her, someone who appreciates her and shares her ability to read clearly and completely, fills Lucy with joy, and her bitter loneliness is replaced with feelings of friendship and contentment. Unfortunately, however, these feelings cannot last, and M. Paul perishes at sea, leaving Lucy more bitter and alone than ever.

In summation, it is evident that the pseudo-sciences phrenology and physiognomy play a large role in Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre and Villette. They serve to introduce a new way of seeing, a clinical gaze that allows the most careful observers to penetrate their acquaintances’ souls and discover their inner secrets. This gaze brings a measure of power to the gazers, specifically Jane Eyre and Lucy Snowe, by giving them insights into the lives of their friends and enemies and by reminding them to keep their own appearances carefully neutral.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Works Cited

Andrews, Elaine J. Arvan. “The Physiognomy of Fashion: Faces, Dress, and the Self in the Juvenilia and Novels of Charlotte Bronte.” Diss. Ohio U, 2004. OhioLink Electronic Theses and Dissertations Center. Web. 5 Nov. 2010. <etd.ohiolink.edu...‌send-pdf.cgi/‌Arvan%20Andrews%20Elaine.pdf?ohiou1107275437>.

 

Bronte, Charlotte. Jane Eyre. Ed. Richard J. Dunn. 3rd ed. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2001.

 

- - -. Villette. Ed. Margaret Smith and Herbert Rosengarten. New York: Oxford University Press, 1984.

 

Clark-Beattie, Rosemary. “Fables of Rebellion: Anti-Catholicism and the Structure of Villette” (1986). Course Reader for EN 430.

 

Dames, Nicholas. “The Clinical Novel: Phrenology in Villette.” Novel: A Forum on Fiction 29.3 (1996): 367-90. Academic Search Premier. Web. 7 Nov. 2010. <web.ebscohost.com.ezproxy.etown.edu‌ehost/‌resultsadvanced?vid=9&hid=105&sid=e64ca065-09d6-4e50-8e43-59e81a0e719b%40sessionmgr110&bquery=(villette)+and+(physiognomy)&bdata=JmRiPWFwaCZ0eXBlPTEmc2l0ZT1laG9zdC1saXZl>.

 

Fahnestock, Jeanne. “The Heroine of Irregular Features: Physiognomy and Conventions of Heroine Description.” Victorian Studies 24.3 (1981): 325-50. Academic Search Premier. Web. 4 Oct. 2010. <web.ebscohost.com.ezproxy.etown.edu...‌ehost/‌detail?vid=4&hid=15&sid=4e6107d2-1fb6-4fa4-a8a8-1690bbbb8411%40sessionmgr13&bdata=JnNpdGU9ZWhvc3QtbGl2ZQ%3d%3d#db=aph&AN=6886620>.

Reigart, Emily. Fairy Tales & Jane Eyre. Elizabethtown: n.p., 2010. N. pag.

 

Shuttleworth, Sally. “Reading the mind: phrenology and physiognomy.” Charlotte Bronte and Victorian Psychology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996. 57-71.

 

DRAFT: This module has unpublished changes.