To Have and To Hold: Manhood as a Class Act in Mary Barton and Jane Eyre
An Essay in Victorian Fiction
Saturday, March 13, 2021
Boy meets girl, boy likes girl, boy gets girl, or so the tried-and-true romance plot formula goes. While this sustained cultural production of romance is suggestive of a broader fascination with desire, it also reveals a readerly investment in identity. In Victorian marriage plot novels, we are presented with the choice between male love interests whose identities often signify social mobility or a lack thereof. Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre (1847) and Elizabeth Gaskell’s Mary Barton (1848), both Victorian novels with a middle-class readership, feature endogamous suitors vying for the hand of the poor maiden; St. John Rivers of Jane Eyre and Jem Wilson of Mary Barton hold lower-class positions. These novels provide us with insights into what I refer to as occupationally-informed masculinities, in that class serves as a vehicle through which gender can be performed. To map the contours of masculinity onto the discursive space of class, I offer a two-pronged understanding of occupationally-informed masculinities rooted in first, production and second, reproduction. Whereas St. John displays a dogmatic conformity to Biblical masculinities, Jem exhibits a more fluid masculinity that allows for affective attachments. I read the intimate ties between class and masculine identities intertextually in which they register a recursive relationship between social structure and agency.
The novels’ language of productivity differs for the two male suitors. In Jane Eyre, the individual attributes St. John deems praiseworthy are derived from output, or rather, fruitfulness, this being a more ecclesiastical term. We get a sense of St. John’s evangelical ambitions when he visits Jane on holiday while she is completing Rosamond Oliver’s portrait. Here, he insists that Rosamond is ill-suited for missionary work, declaring that he cannot yield to his attraction because it will undermine his “hopes of being numbered in the band who have merged all ambitions in the glorious one of bettering their race—of carrying knowledge into the realms of ignorance—of substituting peace for war—freedom for bondage” (Brontë, 431, ch. 32). In other words, his desire for Rosamund will make him less productive in the eyes of his Christian God. As a devout spiritual leader, he must be vigilant to resist straying from the path laid before him. When St. John envisions the stumbling blocks following a life lived with Rosamond, his language is dominated by verbs, namely a past participle (“merged”) and a series of gerunds (“bettering,” “carrying,” “substituting”). His syntactical choice denotes a fixation on action-based measures. The thought of marrying Rosamond hinders his Christian productivity and thus, challenges his notions of masculinity. St. John describes this cognitive dissonance as an “unwarped consciousness” (Brontë, 431, ch. 32). St. John concisely sums his principles, stating, “I honour endurance, perseverance, industry, talent; because these are the means by which men achieve great ends and mount to lofty eminence” (Brontë, 432, ch. 32). He regards these commendable traits as criteria for godly manhood, so he must strive to be worthy of this calling. The fulfilment of a religious to-do list is the standard of measure for St. John’s masculinity. In this sense, St. John’s masculinity is molded by his faith. Based on St. John’s own words, his ability to run the race set before him is, at least in part, how he conceives of his masculinity.
St. John Rivers is to ambition as Jem is to intelligence; the hallmark of Jem’s industrious manhood is his intellect. A few years after Mary Barton senior’s passing, the Gaskell narrator explains that Jem Wilson “had shot up into the powerful, well-made young man” that “worked with one of the great firms of engineers,” and “his father and mother were never weary of praising” him (Gaskell, ch. 4). We can gather that Jem is an impressive young man with a potentially bright future. Later in the novel after Mary rejects Jem’s proposal, Margaret visits Mary and updates her on Jem’s state of affairs: “He telled me all about his invention for doing away wi’ the crank, or somewhat. His master’s bought it from him, and ta’en out a patent, and Jem’s a gentleman for life wi’ the money his master gied him” (Gaskell, ch. 12). Our understanding of Jem as a high aptitude learner is supplemented by these details of his career progression. Jem’s characterization as a self-starter implies he may be able to use his strengths to climb even further up the social ladder. Notably, whenever Jem’s career success is mentioned in the novel, it is not Jem speaking. He hardly takes credit for his accomplishments, and instead what we see are other characters attesting to his talent. We as readers must then make inferences about how Jem conceives of his own masculinity through other characters’ perceptions of him. Because Jem does not inform us of his occupation himself. I frame his masculinity in terms of the most immediate association with Jem’s character, his engineering career. His job is a practical means of providing for his mother and aunt after his father’s passing. In addition to his breadwinning, he emotionally supports his mother, which we can deduce through Jem’s request of Job Legh during his trial: “Take care of my mother. Not in the money way, for she will have enough for her and Aunt Alice; but you must let her talk to you of me...be tender with her” (Gaskell, ch. 32). Jem’s masculinity is still occupationally-informed, albeit not as rigidly as in St. John’s case. Jem models a more expansive form of masculinity because his productivity is inclusive of affective reasonings.
The second aspect of occupationally-informed masculinity is reproduction, which I frame in terms of the heteronormative conception of sex. Reproduction relates to occupation because masculine ideologies, like trade, are often passed down generationally. Because neither novels describe reproduction in the physiological sense, I focus on the prospect of reproduction through each suitor’s marriage proposal. In Jane Eyre, St. John makes no attempt to appeal to Jane’s desires in his offer of marriage, which I argue significantly decreases his chances of reproduction. Invoking God as supreme authority, St. John claims, “It is not personal, but mental endowments they have given you: you are formed for labour, not for love. A missionary’s wife you must be...I claim you—not for my pleasure, but for my Sovereign’s service” (Brontë, 464, ch. 34). St. John projects his evangelistic, action-based masculinity onto Jane by stating her sole purpose is labor; after all, she is a woman, so he expects her to follow his example without question. St. John assures Jane she is suitable to be his wife by recounting his observations of her: “In the village school I found you could perform well punctually, uprightly, labour uncongenial to your habits and inclinations; I saw you could perform it with capacity and tact” (Brontë, 465, ch. 34). However, being a good partner for ministerial work is not Jane’s concern. She refuses to marry St. John simply because they do not love one another, an affective motivation that St. John pays no mind to. He pushes the narrative that in order for her to actualize her spiritual gifts, she must suffer by working doggedly as his helper, to which Jane retorts, “I scorn the counterfeit sentiment you offer” (Brontë, 471, ch. 34). Jane disputes St. John’s notion of duty, and hence, he treats her resolved protest as a threat to his Biblically defined masculinity. St. John believed his masculinity to be built on rock, only for Jane to expose it being built on sand. To assuage the angry confusion that comes with the complication of his gendered identity, he admonishes Jane to “not forget that if you reject [my offer], it is not me you deny, but God” (Brontë, 471, ch. 34). This is an example of psychological splitting; by claiming Jane is either following God or actively rejecting God, St. John’s rationale is that Jane is either entirely a woman of God or a heathen fallen woman—very romantic. St. John’s failure to obtain Jane’s hand in marriage means he is unable to reproduce. In this sense, his occupationally-informed masculinity has only one leg to stand on, the productivity generated through his solitary missionary work in India.
Unlike St. John’s offputtingly ascetic petition, Jem Wilson’s passionate entreaty indicates to us readers that Jem may be more successful in reproduction. His sincere adoration for Mary seeps through his facial expressions as well as the language he uses in his proposal. Before Jem even brings up the subject of marriage, Mary’s “eyes fell veiled before [Jem’s] passionate look fixed upon her,” and she “understood from his countenance what was coming” (Gaskell, ch. 11). Rather than listing the duties a wife must fulfill to serve her husband like St. John does, Jem gives Mary a verbal inventory of how he can meet her needs. He begins by stating his occupation, “I’m foreman in th’ works,” followed by, “I’ve a home to offer you” (Gaskell, ch. 11). Jem’s decision to open his proposal by affirming his ability to provide for Mary’s material needs is strategic because he is attempting to make Mary feel secure. This prioritization of economic stability conveys their poor station in society, and it also serves as a primer for the rest of the proposal because Jem wants to soften Mary’s heart and make her more open to hearing the rest of his proposal. Jem then proceeds to say he also offers “a heart as true as ever man had to love you and cherish you...if a loving heart and a strong right arm can shield you from sorrow, or from want, mine shall do it” (Gaskell, ch. 11). In comparison to St. John, Jem is less guarded emotionally and wears his heart on his sleeve to convince Mary he is prepared to be an accommodating husband. We get a hopeful glimpse into a future of reproduction when Jem pleads, “Darling, say you’ll believe me” (Gaskell, ch. 11). Reproduction hinges on Mary’s response, so Jem implores Mary to have faith that he will deliver on his promises. To translate, by believing in Jem’s abilities as a provider, as a supporter of her physical and emotional needs, Mary would be validating his masculinity which might then lead to reproduction. We find out at the end of the novel that Jem and Mary end up together with a child of their own, so we know that the reproduction of Jem’s masculinity is successful.
We as critical readers are charged with the task of trying to understand what constitutes a fitting match. We may be tempted to conclude that the difference between St. John and Jem is the likelihood of an affective marriage, but we must also take into account how these endogamous suitors’ masculinities are situated in their social station. As I have discussed, St. John and Jem view their manhood through the lens of profession and marriage, i.e. production and reproduction. This is the theoretical arc of my argument, that our identities are colored by the social milieu we are immersed in. We do not live insular existences. The world around us influences how we understand ourselves and how we interact with those around us. We see this through how class constructions factor into St. John and Jem’s masculinities, and how their masculinities in turn guide their approach to proposing marriage.
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