Jane Eyre and England

Jane Eyre and England

“The ground was hard, the air was still; my road was lonely. I walked fast at first to get warm, and then I walked slowly to enjoy and analyze the species of pleasure brooding for me in the hour and situation.” Thus, begins the prelude to one of my favorite parts of Jane Eyre — where she first meets Mr. Rochester.

I have walked on that lonely road that is “best known for wild roses in the summer, and blackberries in the fall . . . ” so many times I can feel the crisp English air as I read.

My love for Charlotte Bronte’s classic is a heritage given to me from my mother. She probably read it a hundred times in her ninety years; I have read it almost as many, and my three daughters have the same love for this book.

The first time through, I knew that I had just read the most beautiful love story ever written. Upon further readings, I found the wonder of the book lays in the depth of Jane’s character. She knows who she is and what is important to her in life, and she allows no one’s opinion or action to move her from that solid sense of self. Charlotte Brontë created her to be so alive and so real that I find it is possible to gain strength and lessons from this fictitious character.

I realized early on that one of the elements of the book that draws me back again and again is the aura of England. I discovered a strong attraction to this British Isle, and I began to read anything that was set in England. With a maiden name of Hawkins, I have found that my family roots go deep into English history, and reading about the customs, and the country transports me to surroundings that whisper of familiarity, so I read on.

I have never actually been to England, but through the pen of Thomas Hardy in Mayor of Caster Bridge, I have visited an English country fair in “. . . the late summer, before the nineteenth century had reached one-third of its span . . . ” I have lived the court-life during the fourteenth century as Anya Seaton took me there with Katherine. As Jane Austin guided me through Regency England, in Pride and Prejudice, I fell in love with Mr. Darcy and his elegant English estate, Pemberley. I have taken long walks with Madeleine Brent’s heroine Lucy in Moonraker’s Bride and viewed Victorian England through her eyes. I have returned, with Smithy and Paula, more than once to that enchanting country village James Hilton allowed us to visit in in Random Harvest. And I have strolled in the rain many times with Maxim DeWinter and his unnamed bride, to find myself standing with them in the “little narrow cove . . . with the sea breaking on the shore beyond us,” as I became familiar with the surroundings and the mystery of Manderly, in Dauphne du Marier’s, Rebecca.

I love living in my small-town home in the western United States, but I find that I often experience a sense of longing that comes to me across ocean and continent. At these times, I do not know if ancestral roots are tugging at me, or if it is memories, painted so vividly with words, that beckon me to return. It often happens on a rainy day. And when it does, I find a comfortable chair, open one of my many volumes of Jane Eyre and visit England with an old friend.

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