In the video above, “Carol Atherton explores the character of Bertha Mason in Jane Eyre through ideas of the ‘Other’, Charlotte Brontë’s narrative doubling and 19th-century attitudes towards madness and ethnicity.”
“The three gentlemen retreated simultaneously. Mr. Rochester flung me behind him: the lunatic sprang and grappled his throat viciously, and laid her teeth to his cheek: they struggled. She was a big woman, in stature almost equalling her husband, and corpulent besides: she showed virile force in the contest — more than once she almost throttled him, athletic as he was. He could have settled her with a well-planted blow; but he would not strike: he would only wrestle. At last he mastered her arms; Grace Poole gave him a cord, and he pinioned them behind her: with more rope, which was at hand, he bound her to a chair. The operation was performed amidst the fiercest yells and the most convulsive plunges. Mr. Rochester then turned to the spectators: he looked at them with a smile both acrid and desolate” (Brönte, 289).
Bertha Mason is a Creole, the daughter of a European settler in the West Indies. “Tall and large, with thick and dark hair, as well as a discoloured [black] – savage face,” Bertha’s “alienness” is made apparent upon her introduction in Chapter 25, when she tears Jane’s wedding veil (Brönte, 280). In addition to her “alien” appearance, Bertha even exemplifies a disposition entirely different from those of cultivated England. For instance, described as a “hyena,” Bertha stands on her “hind feet,” crawling on the floor, “[gazing] wildly at her visitors” (Brönte, 289). The imagery is vivid and unsettling, leaving the impression that Bertha is anything but human. Perhaps that is what Englanders thought of those from the East?
Trapped and forced to live in an attic, Bertha is left marginalized. Her rights, both as a woman and, actually, as a human, have been removed because she is forced to live in a room where she is “incapable of being led to anything higher, expanded to anything larger” (Brönte, 300-301). Even worse, the only way that Bertha articulates herself is through demonic laughter and strange, cannibalistic gestures, as seen in the instance where she “[grapples Mr. Rochester’s] throat viciously, and [lays] her teeth to his cheek” (Brönte, 289). Mr. Rochester and Grace Poole literally have to tie Bertha down to prevent her from becoming too dangerous.
Despite the understanding that Bertha is actually mad, as Rochester states, Brönte shows that, in some ways, Bertha is still perceptive. After all, she figures out that Mr. Rochester and Jane are planning to get married, as seen in her tearing apart the wedding veil. Perhaps Bertha is trying to warn Jane, and tell her not to marry Mr. Rochester? Taking this into account, we are led to sympathize with Bertha because we really don’t know her side of the story.
Nevertheless, Bertha’s character is important because she seems to be a representation of the “other,” as she is not fully English. Here, she is represented as coarse, lustful, and unrestrained. After all, her vampiric appearance suggests that she is sucking the blood – aka life – away from the “innocent” Mr. Rochester. In other words, she is a complete opposite of the polite, educated, and restrained Victorian woman. Perhaps she has been brought to England because she is in need of British enlightenment?
Bertha’s character poses another interesting question, however. In terms of Jane’s story, Bertha is a mad, unrestrained “monster,” living in the confines of a secure, domestic home. Now apply this to an even greater scale: what if these monsters are actually running around England? Even worse, what if these “others” are hiding in the streets of London? In this sense, Bertha represents both the British fears of foreigners and the unrestrained, lustful woman.
