#—that of Edward Fairfax Rochester; and it spoke in pain and woe‚ wildly‚ eerily‚ urgently.''

[widowshill]

his comfort governess he needs his comfort governess

[grandhotelabyss]

What do you make of the overtly supernatural or magical realist moment near the end of Jane Eyre, when Jane hears Mr. Rochester calling for her from a great distance?

I learned this from Brigid Brophy's Fifty Works of English Literature We Could Do Without—which is embarrassing, because I think I read the two novels in the same semester of my junior year of college, in two different classes—but Brontë lifted the idea for that scene from Moll Flanders. One of Moll's lovers tries to leave her and then returns when he hears her call across an impossibly long distance:

I sat me down and looked upon these things two hours together, and scarce spoke a word, till my maid interrupted me by telling me my dinner was ready. I ate but little, and after dinner I fell into a vehement fit of crying, every now and then calling him by his name, which was James. “O Jemmy!” said I, “come back, come back. I’ll give you all I have; I’ll beg, I’ll starve with you.” And thus I ran raving about the room several times, and then sat down between whiles, and then walking about again, called upon him to come back, and then cried again; and thus I passed the afternoon, till about seven o’clock, when it was near dusk, in the evening, being August, when, to my unspeakable surprise, he comes back into the inn, but without a servant, and comes directly up into my chamber.

I was in the greatest confusion imaginable, and so was he too. I could not imagine what should be the occasion of it, and began to be at odds with myself whether to be glad or sorry; but my affection biassed all the rest, and it was impossible to conceal my joy, which was too great for smiles, for it burst out into tears. He was no sooner entered the room but he ran to me and took me in his arms, holding me fast, and almost stopping my breath with his kisses, but spoke not a word. At length I began. “My dear,” said I, “how could you go away from me?” to which he gave no answer, for it was impossible for him to speak.

When our ecstasies were a little over, he told me he was gone about fifteen miles, but it was not in his power to go any farther without coming back to see me again, and to take his leave of me once more.

I told him how I had passed my time, and how loud I had called him to come back again. He told me he heard me very plain upon Delamere Forest, at a place about twelve miles off. I smiled. “Nay,” says he, “do not think I am in jest, for if ever I heard your voice in my life, I heard you call me aloud, and sometimes I thought I saw you running after me.” “Why,” said I, “what did I say?”—for I had not named the words to him. “You called aloud,” says he, “and said, O Jemmy! O Jemmy! come back, come back.”

Ironically, this moment is much more out of place amid the grubby, money-counting realism of Moll Flanders than its like is in Jane Eyre, where it pairs well with the Romantic atmosphere:

“What have you heard? What do you see?” asked St. John. I saw nothing, but I heard a voice somewhere cry—

“Jane! Jane! Jane!”—nothing more.

“O God! what is it?” I gasped.

I might have said, “Where is it?” for it did not seem in the room—nor in the house—nor in the garden; it did not come out of the air—nor from under the earth—nor from overhead. I had heard it—where, or whence, for ever impossible to know! And it was the voice of a human being—a known, loved, well-remembered voice—that of Edward Fairfax Rochester; and it spoke in pain and woe, wildly, eerily, urgently.

“I am coming!” I cried. “Wait for me! Oh, I will come!” I flew to the door and looked into the passage: it was dark. I ran out into the garden: it was void.

The atmosphere justifies the intrusion of the unreal to me. It doesn't break the mood. It also has an ideological edge, since Rochester's voice intrudes on her conversation with St. John, as if to elevate the elemental or Byronic powers of love and nature over his God. I doubt she could have intended that meaning—who knows?—but it's latent in the presentation.

[thejcube]

“And it was the voice of a human being — a known, loved, well-remembered voice — that of Edward Fairfax Rochester; and it spoke in pain and woe, wildly, eerily, urgently.“