The effervescent sunbeams coat the eggshell blue walls, spilling down the cream chair rail, traveling across the upholstery, and finally reaching its destination on the worn, biblichor pages of a book. The eager young reader devours what the light illuminates—a story of a young Victorian girl, such as herself, who bravely clings to her faith amidst social isolation and familial abuse. This girl is Elsie Dinsmore. With the surpassing moral fortitude of a saint, Elsie exudes perfection as she solely places her worth in Heaven’s divinity. The little reader strives to be like the literary heroine, yet is Elsie worth strict emulation? The idea of the divine feminine in the Victorian era viewed women has untainted bearers of goodness, often being prescribed a salvific nature for men. Lucyle Werkmeister argues in “The Great Bronte Robbery” that Elsie Dinsmore is a carbon copy of Jane Eyre and consequently complicit in the Victorian standard of a female. Yet in Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte actually argues against this one-dimensional view with Jane being a direct foil to Elsie, with Helen Burns better fitting Werkmeister’s caricature. By exegetically analyzing the how the three petite pilgrims relate to family, handle hardship, and view their spiritual pilgrimages, Bronte literarily protests the Victorian conception of the divine feminine by penning a morally complex Jane, who consequently may be viewed as a more inspiring and compelling character for young girls.
The three girls all share a sense of familial isolation reinforced by the championed Victorian trope of children being seen and not heard. As an orphan, Jane is confined to the unhappy abode of Gateshead with a meanspirited aunt and petulant cousins. Abandoned at Lowood, Helen is essentially an orphan as her mother is dead and her father has started a new family with another woman. Elsie’s beautiful mother passed during childbirth and her father, Horace, does not reenter the picture until she reaches the age of 8; hence, she resides with her aunt, uncle, and cousins. Martha Finley describes how similar to Jane’s John, with a “conscience at ill,” Elsie’s cousin Arthur “continued his persecutions—tickling her, pulling her hair, twitching the book out of her hand.” A crucial scene in Finley’s domestic novel occurs in a piano room where Horace implores Elsie, clothed in an angelic and virginal white dress, to play music for guests. Refusing to play music on the Sabbath as she deems it wicked, Elsie’s religious fervor resulting in her fainting and hitting her head. Similarly, the abuse Jane faces from John results in a hit on the head. Both little girls find themselves in the female Victorian predicament; Horace and Rochester both desire control and gain their mastery of the subject through ridicule or humiliation, with Elsie’s fainting and Jane uncomfortable “trepidation” sitting among the guests in the drawing room. Werkmeister asserts that these familial commonalities between Elsie and Jane essentially point to a character amalgamation, but when looking beneath the surface at each girls’ internal state, Elsie is much more like Helen.
The unwavering righteousness of Helen as a martyr and Elsie as an angel illustrate almost a one-dimensional faith that is characteristic of the female Victorian standard. Jane, on the contrary, wrestles with Christian humility and her earthly sense of swift justice that Bronte utilizes to criticize that standard. As an apologist to Jane, Helen bestows biblical wisdom by encouraging her to read the New Testament and refusing to indulge her sensual reactions to Miss Scatcherd’s unjustified wrath. She calmly explains how Jane “think[s] too much of the love of human beings,” when she should instead focus on what is above. “There is an invisible world and a kingdom of spirit” where “God waits only the separation of spirit from flesh to crown us with a full reward.” Eschatologically minded, Helen only thinks of the spiritual and explicitly disregards the material or the human. When tragically encountering her death, Helen welcomes the afterlife with open arms. Likewise, Elise clings to God’s Word with extreme devotion when she faces hardship. Whether it be facing her father’s demands or reconciling her own faults, Elsie’s Bible “bore the marks of frequent use,” says Finley. After reading a Scriptural passage and “bursting into an agony of tears and sobs,” she exclaims, “I am afraid I am not following in His steps.” “Forgiving to a remarkable degree,” Elsie seems to be a blameless lamb that never utters a word of dissent or doubt. Maintaining stoicism, both girls borderline the self-effacing, as their flagellant language conveys a distaste for the substantive and a gravitation towards the spiritual.
However, Jane contrasts the two girls by maintaining a critical faith—one that is balanced. When having a theological discussion with Helen, Jane says, “If people were always kind and obedient to those who are cruel and unjust, the wicked people would have it all their own way.” Against passivity, Jane advocates for a Christian sense of accountability. Admittedly, little Jane still much grow in her faith at this point in the novel; however, the maintaining of individuality coupled with faith is still present. Moreover, Jane takes the wisdom in hardship advice from Helen and applies it with Mrs. Reed. Amidst the continued insults of her dying aunt and the revelation of a secret uncle with an inheritance, Jane “long[ed] earnestly to be reconciled” to Mrs. Reed. This Jane is not the same Jane eight years ago. Her ethical progression shows growth and an active faith that she claims as her own. Bronte writes of a Godly young woman who does not succumb to the Victorian standard of the divine feminine.
Considering the spiritual pilgrimages of the three Christ-followers, Jane’s is the most compelling. Although Helen seems to be a more mature version of Elsie, they both adhere to a carbon copy of strict biblical righteousness. Jeffrey Franklin insists that “Indeed, Helen represents an ideal that the novel suggests is too good to live.” Although the actions and philosophies of Elsie and Helen are certainly laudable in some respects, especially as children, they are almost too binary. Elsie seems to embody the sole law, order, and ritualism of the Old Testament, where beauty may surely be found. Yet the unrelenting grace of the Gospel is not perceivable. Helen embodies the comforting, salvific element of the New Testament, but it is too Gnostic. Jane is the Golden Mean. Her character undergoes instances of great temptation when Rochester becomes “almost [her] hope of heaven” and her “idol.” She is relatable because she has fleshly desires and wishes to love and be loved. As her “conscience turns tyrant” when Rochester begs her to stay, Jane refuses to ignore divine law by complying as a mistress and flees Thornfield to the desolate, chilling plains. Her brave devotion to Christian principles usurps her ardent love for Rochester. Jane is more inspiring because she chooses action, not rather than staying stagnant in unrealistic perfection. (This applies more so to Elsie than Helen).
The struggles Jane wavers, endures, and overcomes is Bronte reminding her audience of basic human nature. Women are not simply the domestic, thoughtless angels Coventry Patmore describes in his “The Angel of the House.” Bronte criticizes the Victorian idea of the divine feminine, not by degrading faith or traditional values, but upholding autonomy and a sense of self. Franklin illustrates this when stating, “But Jane (and the God of Love for which she will become a missionary) demands that reason be tempered with feeling.” Rather than simply rudimentary religiosity, Bronte advocates for the symbiotic relationship between faith and reason. Jane is lovable because she strives to do what is right while maintaining who she is. When young girls read Elsie Dinsmore, feelings of spiritual inadequacy may trickle into their minds. When reading of Helen Burns, they may be inspired encouraged by her sincere fortitude, but may be discouraged by her degradation of feelings. Yet with Jane Eyre, young girls may be not only emboldened in their faith, but also inspired to retain bold individuality.
Bronte literarily preserves a timeless message that applied to the young women of her era, as it does today: one can have faith and freedom. She does so by protesting the Victorian notion of the divine feminine being rudimentary. By observing how Elsie, Helen, and Jane relate to family, handle hardship, and view their spiritual pilgrimages, Bronte advocates for more Jane’s in the world for young girls to look up to and aspire to, as each petite pilgrim has her own journey ahead. Perhaps the aforementioned little Victorian reader should read Elsie Dinsmore with a cautionary mind and be wary of succumbing to childlike Gnosticism. And perhaps when she a bit older, her wise governess (of course not a “detestable” or “ridiculous” one) may bequeath her a copy of Jane Eyre.
