difficulty reconciling the authorial Lucy’s narrative with the story unfolding in the novel. For instance, although the reader wants to believe in Lucy’s romance with Paul, because it is a romance of equals, there is still the unsettling knowledge that after many years Lucy is still holding on to relics of Graham.
Since we are aware of Lucy’s fondness for objects, when she makes a special watchguard for Paul’s festival day we are clued in that she is beginning to see him as someone worthy of her attention. Perversely, she decides not to give him the present at the moment she is expected to, creating an odd and awkward spectacle. M. Paul responds to her neglect with a public diatribe on the horrors of English women. Lucy narrates:
Never have I heard English women handled as M. Paul that morning handled them: he spared nothing—neither their minds, morals, manners, nor personal appearance. I specially remember his abuse of their tall stature, their long necks, their thin arms, their slovenly dress, their pedantic education, their impious skepticism(!).... Oh! he was spiteful, acrid, savage; and, as a natural consequence, detestably ugly (pp. 385-386).
Imbedded in M. Paul’s rant is a kind of vituperative laundry list of their differences: He is French, she is English; he is Catholic, she is Protestant; he is classically educated, she is not; he is emotional, she is reserved. In short, neither one is what the other expects to be drawn toward. Their extended denial of affection eventually turns into love. Lucy forgives M. Paul for spying on her, yelling at her, and embarrassing her by pointing out her desire for Dr. John. Interestingly, Lucy can’t see Paul as a love object until there are obstacles: Madame Beck, whose own passion for M. Paul threatens to destroy their romance, and the tiny witch-like creature Madame Walravens, who holds the key to M. Paul’s mysterious past.
In one of the last segments of the novel, Lucy takes a walk around Villette under the influence of opium. The resolutions of the novel play out in front of her in a carnivalesque series of images. Lucy describes the events using theatrical imagery: “Somehow I felt, too, that the night’s drama was but begun, that the prologue was scarce spoken: throughout this woody and turfy theatre reigned a shadow of mystery; actors and incidents unlooked-for, waited behind the scenes” (p. 515). Lucy watches Polly, Graham, and Mrs. Bretton in a blissful moment of familial contentment. She looks at Graham but believes that he does not see her: “He might think, he might even believe that Lucy was contained within that shawl, and sheltered under that hat; he could never be certain for he did not see my face” (p. 515). She imagines that he keeps a small closet for her in his psyche called “Lucy’s room,” and she holds one for him, “All my life long I carried it folded in the hollow of my hand” (p. 515).
In her ghostly costume, Lucy floats on, witnessing several scenes that help to wrap up the plot of the novel. In one she discovers the schemings of Madame Beck, Père Silas, and Madame Walravens, who have plotted to send M. Paul to the West Indies to get him out of her way. In another, she spots Ginevra and her lover, who is the key to the mystery of the ubiquitous nun, eloping in a carriage.
Lucy’s deliberate invisibility in this scene seems parallel to the inexplicable and fantasy-driven tone of the end of the novel. After setting Lucy up with a lovely house and school of her own, M. Paul finally declares his feelings, “Lucy, take my love. One day share my life. Be my dearest, first on earth” (p. 551). He leaves for Antigua and the narrator tells her readers, “Let them picture union and a happy succeeding life” (p. 555). Yet, in the now famously ambiguous ending, it seems clear that M. Paul drowns at sea but not at all certain what becomes of Lucy Snowe. It is as if M. Paul sees what Lucy desires and constructs a life for her, and
Since we are aware of Lucy’s fondness for objects, when she makes a special watchguard for Paul’s festival day we are clued in that she is beginning to see him as someone worthy of her attention. Perversely, she decides not to give him the present at the moment she is expected to, creating an odd and awkward spectacle. M. Paul responds to her neglect with a public diatribe on the horrors of English women. Lucy narrates:
Never have I heard English women handled as M. Paul that morning handled them: he spared nothing—neither their minds, morals, manners, nor personal appearance. I specially remember his abuse of their tall stature, their long necks, their thin arms, their slovenly dress, their pedantic education, their impious skepticism(!).... Oh! he was spiteful, acrid, savage; and, as a natural consequence, detestably ugly (pp. 385-386).
Imbedded in M. Paul’s rant is a kind of vituperative laundry list of their differences: He is French, she is English; he is Catholic, she is Protestant; he is classically educated, she is not; he is emotional, she is reserved. In short, neither one is what the other expects to be drawn toward. Their extended denial of affection eventually turns into love. Lucy forgives M. Paul for spying on her, yelling at her, and embarrassing her by pointing out her desire for Dr. John. Interestingly, Lucy can’t see Paul as a love object until there are obstacles: Madame Beck, whose own passion for M. Paul threatens to destroy their romance, and the tiny witch-like creature Madame Walravens, who holds the key to M. Paul’s mysterious past.
In one of the last segments of the novel, Lucy takes a walk around Villette under the influence of opium. The resolutions of the novel play out in front of her in a carnivalesque series of images. Lucy describes the events using theatrical imagery: “Somehow I felt, too, that the night’s drama was but begun, that the prologue was scarce spoken: throughout this woody and turfy theatre reigned a shadow of mystery; actors and incidents unlooked-for, waited behind the scenes” (p. 515). Lucy watches Polly, Graham, and Mrs. Bretton in a blissful moment of familial contentment. She looks at Graham but believes that he does not see her: “He might think, he might even believe that Lucy was contained within that shawl, and sheltered under that hat; he could never be certain for he did not see my face” (p. 515). She imagines that he keeps a small closet for her in his psyche called “Lucy’s room,” and she holds one for him, “All my life long I carried it folded in the hollow of my hand” (p. 515).
In her ghostly costume, Lucy floats on, witnessing several scenes that help to wrap up the plot of the novel. In one she discovers the schemings of Madame Beck, Père Silas, and Madame Walravens, who have plotted to send M. Paul to the West Indies to get him out of her way. In another, she spots Ginevra and her lover, who is the key to the mystery of the ubiquitous nun, eloping in a carriage.
Lucy’s deliberate invisibility in this scene seems parallel to the inexplicable and fantasy-driven tone of the end of the novel. After setting Lucy up with a lovely house and school of her own, M. Paul finally declares his feelings, “Lucy, take my love. One day share my life. Be my dearest, first on earth” (p. 551). He leaves for Antigua and the narrator tells her readers, “Let them picture union and a happy succeeding life” (p. 555). Yet, in the now famously ambiguous ending, it seems clear that M. Paul drowns at sea but not at all certain what becomes of Lucy Snowe. It is as if M. Paul sees what Lucy desires and constructs a life for her, and
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