Victorians! discussion

And we've come to the end of Section II. M. Paul fluctuates between flattery and attack. Paulina worries Dr. John prefers Ginerva. Lucy struggles with her feelings for Dr. John.

Some questions to get our thoughts moving. Please remember anything re the author, book, time period, etc. may be discussed. The questions are just to get us started.

1. Lucy says in Chapter 23 that she is beginning to believe in happiness. What has caused this change?

2. Did you see Polly (Paulina) being the injured girl in the fire prior to her being identified?

3. "...the hermit - if he be a sensible hermit - will swallow his own thoughts, and lock up his own emotions during these weeks of inward winter..." (chapter 24). What does this say about Lucy? Is this statement true for anybody?

4.What is Paulina's and Dr. John's relationship?

5. What is happening with M. Paul and Lucy?

6. Why does Lucy care what Mrs. Beck thinks of Dr. John's letters to her (chapter 26)?

7. Who is Lucy Snowe?

#1- chapter 23.
Dr. John is such a GUY! Don't you just want to smack him up the back of the head. With a board. Ugh! "Oh! This delicate flower in my arms is not a child, is it???? Pray tell the servants to treat her with the utmost care!!! She's so fragile and sweet!!!!" Then Lucy doesn't get a letter for eons. The big galoot! Blek! Well, if he's the quarterback, I suppose he should be tracking down the next cheerleader now that Ginevra has dissed him badly enough to turn him away from worshipping her pointy little steps.

#2- No. But I should have. How absolutely hilarious. I mean, of course! And Ginevra's cousin too! Gah! Poor Lucy's lonely little heart!
:( :( :(

#3- Bronte's exposition of Lucy's character is just brilliant. The pangs of being cut off from her beloved, much-anticipated correspondence is literally painful to read. The pain and resignation! Holy Hannah! The recognition that she indeed has been all along removed from the flow of life, cloistered there among the students, that is brutally honest and yet without self-pity.

I've been marveling at how masterfully Bronte has wielded the unreliable narrator. How fragile and vulnerable the emotions of this character who dissimulates her feelings even in her recollections. How much more poignant they are because we see through the veil. How crushing in the moments when she admits to tears.

I'm dying to know who else has been reading Lucy's letters besides M. Beck. I felt certain it was Ginevra, but was surprised that the contents wasn't used as a weapon by the end of Chapter 27. Could it be Paul??? Is that why he seems so jealous? His reaction could be generated by observation. I don't know that sneaking a peek at her correspondence seems like his style. Sooo curious. You just know it has got to come out somewhere.

Chapter 23 certainly propels the narrative forward, and some of the symbols that Bronte has been working with take a prominent place in the chapter.

While Lucy seems to be slowly opening up her feelings and becoming more candid with the reader, the world of secrets, containment and eerie occurrences continue to surround her. As she excitedly prepares to attend a night of theatre with Graham she must enter the garret for an item of clothing. Once there, she must unlock the door, where she immediately discerns a "solemn light" with a "scarlet curtain drawn over it." As we read on into the chapter intermittent flashes of red are mentioned. These colour words are heightened when a fire breaks out. Graham rescues a young lady, makes acquaintance with her father, and sees them returned to their home. In the home's drawing-room we find a place "whose hearth glowed with an English fire, and whose walls gleamed with foreign mirrors." Fires, mirrors, a young lady rescued by Dr. Graham. This scene, backdropped with the ending sentence of the chapter that the fire was "but of some loose drapery on which a spark had fallen, and which had blazed up and been quenched in a moment" parallels the night's events and emotions of Lucy. She wants so much to unfurl her emotions towards Dr. Graham, she yearns so much to be resuced by him, to be swept off her feet by him, and yet she becomes only a witness in the night's events. Her spark of hope, her wish for the heat of emotion has also been "quenched in a moment."

The revelation that the young lady rescued is Polly, and so the past, once again, meets up with Lucy. Polly recalls in her memory the " looking glass" of Bretton. Once again, a looking glass in introduced and remembered. Lucy is again unable to forget the past, to look beyond who she was, and still is.

Renee wrote: "#2- No. But I should have. How absolutely hilarious. I mean, of course! And Ginevra's cousin too! Gah! Poor Lucy's lonely little heart!
:( :( :("

For some reason I saw it coming.

Great observations. Keep them coming.

Near the end of Ch. 24 Paulina, reflecting on their shared past, comments "but yet he is Graham, just as I am little Polly, or you are Lucy Snowe." I find this comment very meaningful. Through the changing and evolution of names from Graham to Dr. John and Polly to M. De Bassompierre these two characters have changed. They are, no longer just Graham or Polly. Lucy, however, is still locked into her past. While Graham and Polly have moved forward in their lives, as seen by their evolved names, Lucy has remained the same. Her traits of keeping personal possessions and letters under lock and key, and re-visiting these items both frequently and furtively, suggest she remains captured in her past.

Lucy's life remains one of an observer, not an active participant. Her life is also one of implied tragedy. When outside the school she spends time contemplating a portrait of Cleopatra and watching the play "Vashti," both of which portray women who are ultimately tragic figures.

In the chapter "A Burial" Lucy frets over the letters and her own insecurity. She laments "In what corner of this strange house was it possible to find security or secrecy? Where could a key be a safeguard, or a padlock a barrier?" Lucy's solution is to bury the letters under "[o]ne great old pear tree - the nun's pear tree." Lucy takes the letters and in "[t]hat grief over which I had been weeping, as I wrapped it in its winding-sheet" buries the letters. The use of the pronoun "it" has a duel purpose here. I believe the word relates to both the glass jar, and by implication, her grief.

During this action, the mysterious nun appears as "a tall, sable-robed snowy-veiled woman" who "had no face-no features: all below her brow was masked with a white cloth; but she had eyes, and they viewed me."

Wow! Lots going on now!

In the beginning Lucy really frustrated me. Now that she's showing more emotion, she's getting more interesting.

Lol. So true. It's easier to identify with her and empathize.

Peter wrote: "Lucy's life remains one of an observer, not an active participant. Her life is also one of implied tragedy. When outside the school she spends time contemplating a portrait of Cleopatra and watching the play "Vashti," both of which portray women who are ultimately tragic figures..."

I think Lucy is becoming more engaged (at least with the reader), and I agree that her life is definitely one of "implied tragedy." So implied that I am beginning to think the whole story is really about what we are not being told, rather than what Lucy is telling us.

I really hope the other implied story -- the intriguing and frustrating relationship between M. Paul and Lucy -- has a happy ending. I actually think they are perfect for each other, a relationship that would definitely suit the objective, intelligent, compassionate, and mature Lucy, whom we have seen glimpses of.

Janice George (JG) wrote: "Peter wrote: "Lucy's life remains one of an observer, not an active participant. Her life is also one of implied tragedy. When outside the school she spends time contemplating a portrait of Cleopat..."

I really like your statement that the novel could really be about what we are not being told. I have never framed my thoughts around that concept. Thanks.

Lucy seems to be showing more of herself and her feelings of late. She shows affection toward Polly and plots with her to 'test' Ginevra. She showed her displeasure to M. Paul at his behaviour.

Who is reading her letters? She thinks M. Beck is giving them to M. Paul which could account for his jealousies, but I wonder if Ginevra isn't prying too.

Who is Lucy Snowe? I have a feeling, but, no, not here, not now! If it were she, would Lucy really be the unreliable narrator?

There's nothing like a good Victorian mystery :)

One particular sentence that caught my attention (when Lucy was mourning the end of Dr. John's attentions) was "Though stoical, I was not quite a stoic." I think those few words can summarize all of Lucy's personality, and perhaps Charlotte's as well. Someone might seem like a calm, austere person, but there is still a world of emotions that they keep bottled up.

Jaq-Lin wrote: "One particular sentence that caught my attention (when Lucy was mourning the end of Dr. John's attentions) was "Though stoical, I was not quite a stoic." I think those few words can summarize all o..."
I thought those words summed her up perfectly as well. And it's interesting to note that most of Lucy's friends and acquaintances don't really know her. They take the surface appearance as representative of her. Ginevra assumes Lucy has no feelings, and Polly has no idea that Lucy has a tenderness for Graham.

I believe the only two people who know her inner capacities are M. Paul and Madame Beck.

I find the sparks between Lucy and M. Paul to be fascinating! The hissing episode and the gentle apology offered reveal that M. Paul is highly tuned to Lucy. And there is a significant moment in that parting scene where Lucy sees something of a transformation in his face. She glimpses something of the tenderness in his heart expressed in his face.

These two seem to be a great match. There's fire in both of them, and they challenge each other. They act as equals.

Trudy wrote: "I believe the only two people who know her inner capacities are M. Paul and Madame Beck.
..."

Yes, and I don't think Lucy realizes it either.

Peter wrote: "Lucy's solution is to bury the letters under "[o]ne great old pear tree - the nun's pear tree.""

It seems so significant that she hides the letters that have been such excitement and comfort to her under a nun's tree. The pear tree apparently can symbolise man's salvation in Christian mythology, or in German tradition was associated with happy marriages and fertile health for daughters.

I found this section again filled with beautiful writing and dense with rich images.

The sense of identity is at the forefront, Polly is able to take on lots of different characters whereas the key moment for me was when she asked 'who is Lucy Snowe' and Lucy gives an unsatisfactory answer. Is it a difficult question that most of us would have trouble answering? Or is Lucy used to identifying herself as a shadow, someone who is so inconsequential she can be locked in an attic all day at a time of celebration with no one noticing or caring? She is almost a blank space, filled with watching others and wondering what other people think of her.

I thought a heart breaking scene was 'The Hotel Crecy' where Lucy watches and judges Graham's reaction to the two young beauties, while he says to her you should have been a man so we could have been friends!
Bronte writes loneliness so well.

Also in a narrative sense it was interesting to hear Polly have perfect recollection of the scenes that open the novel and Graham only vaguely remember. It brings up the whole issue of how much Lucy Snowe herself is a reliable narrator.

Just a query as I am reading it, are Mme Beck and M Paul supposed to be speaking French all the time, but Lucy puts some of their speech into English and some in French, or is it as reported? I am confused as sometimes it appears Lucy is speaking English and they answer in French, or she uses French and they speak English. Plus I got the impression that M Paul cannot speak English well?

Clari wrote: "I found this section again filled with beautiful writing and dense with rich images.

The sense of identity is at the forefront, Polly is able to take on lots of different characters whereas the ke..."

Perhaps the memory difference resides in the genders of the individuals. Women seem more likely to remember the little details than men do. No offense meant, just speaking from personal experience.

Clari wrote: "Just a query as I am reading it, are Mme Beck and M Paul supposed to be speaking French all the time, but Lucy puts some of their speech into English and some in French, or is it as reported? I am ..."

I think Mme Beck and M Paul speak French consistently. It's in English for the benefit of the reader.

Clari wrote: "I found this section again filled with beautiful writing and dense with rich images.

The sense of identity is at the forefront, Polly is able to take on lots of different characters whereas the ke..."

Your point of contrasting Polly's recollection of past events with Graham and Lucy's memory is very interesting. I wonder if we will ever resolve the issues of Lucy's unspoken/untold past.

Deborah wrote: "Clari wrote: "I found this section again filled with beautiful writing and dense with rich images.

The sense of identity is at the forefront, Polly is able to take on lots of different characters ..."

Deb

I think I had a comment here ... But I forget what it was! ;-)

Peter wrote: "Deborah wrote: "Clari wrote: "I found this section again filled with beautiful writing and dense with rich images.

The sense of identity is at the forefront, Polly is able to take on lots of diffe..."

Lol. Thanks for the giggle

Clari wrote: "Peter wrote: "Lucy's solution is to bury the letters under "[o]ne great old pear tree - the nun's pear tree.""

It seems so significant that she hides the letters that have been such excitement and comfort to her under a nun's tree. The pear tree apparently can symbolise man's salvation in Christian mythology, or in German tradition was associated with happy marriages and fertile health for daughters..."

I have also wondered about that, and keep expecting the pear tree, or the buried letters, or the act of burying them, to come up again in some other context. It feels like a foreshadowing. And thanks for the background info on the mythology of the pear tree, Clari, perhaps the metaphor will just have to be enough.

Coming belatedly back to the novel, I was struck by a circular feeling with the way Polly was re-introduced. Just as the younger child is carried, bundled up, into the Bretton home, the older Polly is carried out of the theatre. Both times she speaks before they get a good look at her face; both times she politely gives orders, in a girlish voice. The servant's name, Harriet, confirmed her identity, for me.

I found the comparisons of memory between Graham and Polly interesting. They both seem to need Lucy to reflect their memories back to them. Although Lucy wonders at meeting her 'double' in Polly's thoughts, Polly denies that Graham was partial to her, although Lucy had told her that at the time. And Graham at first says he had forgotten Polly, but the revival of his memories need a witness in Lucy. As Peter mentioned, I think the use of mirrors is significant. Lucy becomes one herself. I was relieved she refused Graham's wish to watch her remind Polly of how fond the latter was of him. It was a moment of distinction and separation, where she no longer reflects the other characters' ideas.

Although I anticipated Graham's neglect of Lucy in some respects, I was disappointed in him as a 'god-brother' and a doctor. He doesn't speak to her in 3 months, despite her nervous breakdown and 'illusion' of the nun? I was surprised by Mrs. Bretton's assumptions as well, and waiting 7 weeks to write. I wasn't sure if it was a plot device, or a fascinating look at attitudes to mental illness in the 19th C.

Vanessa wrote: "I was surprised by Mrs. Bretton's assumptions as well, and waiting 7 weeks to write. I wasn't sure if it was a plot device, or a fascinating look at attitudes to mental illness in the 19th C. "

In their relationship, Lucy admires the reserve that when they do recognise each other there is no overflowing of emotion, so perhaps that works with leaving Lucy a lone, Mrs Bretton would expect her to be stoical and get through any mental problems. Although there are lots of lonely people still nowadays, so maybe we haven't progressed that far in helping each other?

Clari wrote: "Vanessa wrote: "I was surprised by Mrs. Bretton's assumptions as well, and waiting 7 weeks to write. I wasn't sure if it was a plot device, or a fascinating look at attitudes to mental illness in t..."

Very good question

Yes, it's questionable whether we've made progress alleviating loneliness, especially with technology :) Lucy's suffering goes beyond that though, and Mrs. Bretton's expectation that she would be as happy as the Brettons during those weeks, sharply contrasted her closing the letter with 'grave little god-daughter'. Her concern appears limited, considering Lucy's condition when they were reunited, and her improvement while staying with them. Dr. John's prescription of happiness, and wanting her to snap her fingers (snap out of it?), was of course far worse.

On the other hand, Lucy's nervous collapse was more easily accepted than her depression. Lucy seems to believe her melancholy is rare, and that no one will understand it, making her sense of isolation worse.

Vanessa wrote: "Her concern appears limited, considering Lucy's condition when they were reunited, and her improvement while staying with them. Dr. John's prescription of happiness, and wanting her to snap her fingers (snap out of it?), was of course far worse. "

In my edition it has some interesting notes about Lucy's melancholia. Dr John's advice to make herself happy comes straight from a medical book in the Bronte household. It is also noticeable the author of the book advised parents not to let their daughters engage in any arts such as music or painting as it excites the imagination. Which is the exact opposite to the creative therapies of mental illnesses now. It also feeds into the text where Lucy acts, goes to the theatre and art galleries. When Bronte wrote to Robert Southey for advice at the beginning of her career he replied saying that, 'The day dreams in which you habitually indulge are likely to induce a distempered state of mind'.
Some contemporary critics were patronising to Lucy as a female character, Thackery commented, 'the poor little woman of genius!...she want some Tomkins of another to lover her and be in love with her...a noble heart longing to mate itself and destined to wither away into old maidenhood with no chance to fulfil the burning desire.'

How much of Bronte's own loneliness and isolation do you read into Lucy?
I read the emotions as very autobiographical, which may be a fault in me as a reader, but it does add to the power of the text, thinking behind Lucy is a woman struggling with desperate loss.

Clari, your last paragraph on Lucy's emotions being autobiographical is quite intriguing. Autobiographies are never or rarely 100% complete or accurate. We all like to hide part of our life, thoughts and emotions. If I were to write an autobiography, I guarantee it would be selective, so why not Charlotte Bronte and as an extension Lucy Snowe. In a way it adds to the suspense and intrigue of the novel.

Thanks for sharing your edition's interesting notes on melancholia and the opinions to which Bronte was exposed, Clari. I'm not very familiar with Bronte's life, except the info I've gleaned in this discussion. But it seems to me that Lucy's (Charlotte's?) assessment of the King's 'constitutional' melancholy at the concert shows a surprising recognition of depression, especially in light of (and in spite of) the Brontes' medical book. Also, since depression runs in families, it's likely that Charlotte lost not only loved ones with the deaths of her siblings, but those few who might have empathized, increasing her isolation.

I enjoyed Lucy's response (if only she'd spoken it!) to Dr. John's advice to cultivate happiness: "Happiness is not a potato, to be planted in mould, and tilled with manure." She shows an intuitive sense of his ignorance, and I think it's probable this comes from Bronte's own experience. Fortunately for her readers, she overcame the advice to curb her imagination!