The other day I was reading The Cat in the Hat to Jonathan, and when I read the opening lines,
The sun did not shine,
It was too
wet to play.
So we sat in the house
all that
cold, cold wet day
they somehow reminded me of the first paragraph of Jane Eyre:
There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; but since dinner (Mrs. Reed, when there was no company, dined early) the cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that further out-door exercise was now out of the question.
It was such a funny juxtaposition that I went on to ponder what the result might be if the story of Jane Eyre were written in the poetic style of The Cat in the Hat. I had a lot of fun with this experiment, and this is what I came up with. I hope you like it!
*********
The sun did not shine, it was too
wet to play.
So Jane sat in the house all that
cold, cold wet day.
Living with her Aunt Reed was no
fun for young Jane
‘Cause her cousins and aunt made
their enmity plain.
Jane was their “poor relation”;
they treated her badly.
They locked the girl up till she
cried and screamed madly.
When released, Jane was angry and
called her aunt mean.
Aunt Reed said, “You’re the worst
child I ever have seen!”
So she called up the master of a
school called Lowood,
And he took young Jane there for
(he said) her own good.
She was cold, she was lonely, and
so poorly fed;
Then her best friend got sick and
ended up dead.
But Jane stayed there at Lowood till
she was eighteen,
At which time she desired a
complete change of scene.
She applied for a job as a paid
governess
And when told that she got it, pumped
her fist and said “YES!!”
So she travelled to Thornfield, a
gloomy estate,
And arrived in the evening at
twenty past eight.
Housekeeper Fairfax received Jane
with great cheer
And said, “Adele and I are so
happy you’re here!”
Adele was Jane’s student, a
flighty young thing
Whom Jane had to teach pretty
much everything.
Though the master, Rochester, was
nowhere in sight,
Mrs. Fairfax told Jane that he
was all right –
Just a little eccentric … and
moody … and odd.
(But hey: who among us is not somewhat flawed?)
He was not Adele’s father –
Fairfax made that clear –
He looked after her welfare,
though, year after year.
So with patience and firmness and
scholarly vigor
Jane taught her young charge, and
Adele’s brain got bigger.
Yet boredom set in, and Jane felt
distressed.
Work was fine, life was pleasant
– but was this the best?
She longed for the freedom of
birds in the sky;
She felt passion for life that
she could not deny.
Then one evening while walking,
she saw a strange man
Riding past her on horseback as
fast as one can.
The horse, seeing Jane, bucked
sharply and fell;
The man crashed to the ground,
shouting out “Bloody hell!”
He accused Jane forthwith of
bewitching his steed,
But she stoutly denied having
done such a deed.
The man said, “Harrumph,” climbed
back on, rode away,
Leaving Jane there to ponder this
end to her day.
But when she got home, she was
soon made aware
The irascible rider had preceded
her there.
The horseman was Rochester – in
truth, her boss –
And a man, she had heard, that
nobody dared cross.
He invited her in to his study to
chat;
He was cranky and harsh, but she
didn’t mind that.
She told him her past, which
didn’t take long,
And he said that in hiring her,
he’d done no wrong,
For Adele was improved; he was
pleased with Jane’s work.
Then he told her “Get out!” and
she thought, “What a jerk.”
But her feelings soon changed as
she talked to him more:
Though he grumbled and growled
and occasionally swore,
She sensed his warm heart and his
depth of emotion,
And Jane soon felt for him the
most fervent devotion.
He often would treat her as his
confidante
And being in his presence was all
she could want.
She listened and watched and
gained Rochester’s trust,
For despite his dark moods, she
was never nonplussed.
However, strange laughs now and
then emanated
From a tower in the house – then
quickly abated.
But Jane was assured that a
servant named Grace
Was sometimes too loud as she
worked round the place.
This lame explanation did not
satisfy,
But Jane was reluctant to poke or
to pry.
One night she smelled smoke and
she rushed down the stair;
His room was in flames, but he
slept, unaware.
She woke him and helped him
extinguish the blaze;
He said he’d be indebted to her
all his days.
Then Rochester invited some
friends for the night
And from Jane’s observation, he
seemed to delight
In a certain young woman –
Blanche Ingram her name –
And it seemed quite apparent that
Blanche felt the same.
Jane was sure they would wed, and
if that mournful day
Ever came, she knew she’d be
unable to stay.
Then Jane heard from her aunt,
who had lost her one son
And now lay on her death-bed
demanding Jane come.
Jane went to Aunt Reed, who,
despite her sad state,
Still mustered up strength to
condemn and berate
Jane, and tell her a rich uncle,
living afar,
Had asked for her address. Jane said, “That’s bizarre!
No relative wrote; I know nothing
of this.”
Then her aunt, with a deathly and
devilish hiss,
Said she’d withheld the letter
out of hatred and spite.
Jane was hurt, and at first
thought she very well might
Have just stayed back at
Thornfield and not come at all.
But she gazed down and saw that
her aunt was in thrall
To a bitter resentment she’d
nurtured for years.
Jane kindly forgave her and
kissed her, with tears.
She left her aunt’s house and to
Thornfield she went,
Knowing there she’d discovered what “home” truly meant.
But Rochester’s marriage plans
seemed in full swing,
And Jane knew that that could
mean only one thing:
She’d have to leave
Thornfield. It just broke her heart
To think she and Rochester soon
had to part.
Then he asked her to stay; she
said, “I may be poor
And little, and plain, and
completely obscure,
But I’m a free person. I must leave this place.”
Then he gathered her into a
loving embrace
And said she was his soul mate. Jane
hardly believed it,
But he offered his heart, and she
gladly received it.
They planned to be married. He wanted to hurry,
And although Jane was glad, there
were moments of worry.
She had some misgivings – some
things seemed not right –
But she set them aside in her joy
and delight.
The wedding day came, she put on
her white dress,
And they rushed to the church –
but then, oh, what a mess!
When objections are asked for, we
never expect
That someone will come forth and
the wedding be wrecked.
But that’s just what
happened: up stepped a man
And put the kibosh on the whole
wedding plan.
He said “Rochester’s already
married, you see,”
And the minister stopped things
immediately.
Rochester explained that he had a
mad wife
Who’d been locked up in
Thornfield for much of her life.
He’d been tricked into marrying,
but found out too late
That his wife was a lunatic –
what a sad fate.
He’d locked her away, tried
escaping his pain,
And felt destined for misery till
he met Jane.
Jane’s poor heart was broken, her
dreams were now dead.
Where she’d hoped for joy, she’d
found sorrow instead.
She could not live in sin. She knew she must flee.
Rochester cried out, “But Jane,
what about ME?”
She pitied and loved him but knew
what was right;
She packed up and fled in the
dark of the night.
Jane wandered alone, full of
terror and dread,
Then she knocked at a cottage and
asked for some bread.
The servant said no, but the
home’s owner came
And helped her inside and asked
her her name.
Poor Jane could not speak; she
slept in a haze
And only recovered after several
long days.
The parson who’d rescued her
lived in that place
With his sisters. Concern showed in each woman’s face
But the brother, St. John, was a
cool, distant bloke.
While his sisters effused, why,
he barely spoke.
They cared for Jane kindly, but
he stood aloof,
Though he seemed glad to have her
there under his roof.
She would not give her name nor
explain her whole past,
So he bided his time: it would come clear at last.
Jane got her strength back. St. John offered a place
As a village schoolteacher; she
accepted with grace.
She enjoyed her new friends and
her new, quiet life,
Though her longing was still to
be Rochester’s wife.
One day St. John came with some good
news to share.
He’d discovered her name was
really Jane Eyre,
And he also disclosed that the
uncle (now dead)
Whom her Aunt Reed had mentioned
upon her death-bed
Had left Jane some money. She also discovered
That she was a relative to the
girls and their brother.
She shared her inheritance with
them, elated
To find out they were not just
her friends, but related.
Then St. John surprised her by
proposing they marry.
He was heading to Africa as a
missionary
And he thought Jane was suited to
that kind of task—
But to Jane, the prospect was
just too much to ask.
She could not marry him: he was
more like her brother!
Her love was for Rochester and
for no other.
She knew well that St. John was
full of ambition
And would freeze her warm heart
with his lofty, cold mission.
But she loved him – so, wanting
to please him somehow,
She suggested a plan that might
just do for now.
She would go as his sister. But he said, “No way!
Why, that would be lying, and
that’s NOT okay.”
He resisted all beggin’ and
pleadin’ and whingin’,
For he was a cold-hearted dude,
was our St. John.
But then Jane, just as she was
about to succumb,
Heard a voice call out to her. She
answered, “I’ll come!”
She knew that Rochester was
calling her name,
And to go back and help him was
her only aim.
She rushed back to Thornfield to
find it in ruin.
Some servants soon told her of
these latest doings:
The mad wife had set fire to
Thornfield estate,
Then jumped from the wall –
sudden death was her fate.
Rochester had suffered some burns
and was blind.
Jane’s heart swelled with pity,
but she knew her own mind:
She knew that with him she was
destined to be
And would cleave to him whether
or not he could see.
She found him, then reached out
and gave him her hand.
He took it, cried out – he could
not understand
Whether she was a ghost or the
Jane he once knew,
But she soon reassured him that
yes, it was true:
His own Jane was back, and her love
was unshaken.
Though she’d left – rightly so –
he was never forsaken.
And now, with no deep moral
qualms to impede her,
Well, what do you think? -- She married him, reader.
********************
Jeannie Prinsen 2015
