王芳

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the only line from an English novel more lavishly overused and adapted than the opening sentence to Jane Austens Pride and Prejudice1） must be Charlotte Bront?s triumphant climax to Jane Eyre： “Reader， I married him.”

Well， “universally acknowledged” might be a bit strong2）， but I think we can all agree that its more likely to show up not only in modern adaptations of the original classic， but in less traditionally literary places： Facebook engagement announcements！ Adorable stationery！ Endless wedding blogs！

This spring， in time for Bront?s 200th birthday， theres even a new collection of short stories， edited by Tracy Chevalier3）， entitled： Reader， I Married Him. The stories， penned by celebrated women writers， all claim Jane Eyre as inspiration. “Reader， I married him” doesnt appear in every story， but some variant appears in many.

A few other Jane Eyre do-overs from the past year： The Madwoman Upstairs by Catherine Lowell， a swoony4） modernization about Bront?s supposed last living relative coping with a bookish mystery and a romance with her aloof tutor； and Re Jane by Patricia Park， a retelling set in contemporary New York， where race and gender politics get a much-needed update. Each of the books has its own， sometimes overused or tooth-achingly sentimental， deployments of That Sentence， respectively： “Reader， I married him”； “Reader， I left him.”

In her introduction to Reader， I Married Him， Chevalier digs into why this simple sentence has had such lasting power， out of all of the simple and baroque5） sentences in Charlottes oeuvre6）：

“Reader， I married him” is Janes defiant conclusion to her rollercoaster story. It is not， “Reader， he married me”—as you would expect in a Victorian society where women were supposed to be passive； or even， “Reader， we married.” Instead Jane asserts herself； she is the driving force of her narrative.

But weve come a long， long way since Victorian times. Merely taking the active voice in announcing ones marriage no longer signals a girl-power rebellion； in fact， the proud emphasis it places on the marriage， by 2016， seems like a bit of a throwback to pre-womens lib times. “Reader， I married him” might be the most conventional， even coy way a modern woman could announce the crowning traditional achievement of her life： getting hitched7）.

A particularly bookish friend once told me， with some satisfaction， that shed already settled on the romantic-yet-dignified Facebook post to announce her eventual betrothal8） to her long-term boyfriend： Yes， “Reader， Im marrying him.” No wonder the quote is tempting to the modern woman who still yearns toward the safe， established comforts of wedded coupledom， and not just because the pedigree9） of the allusion is unimpeachable. Theres no Austen-esque irony to sully a joyfully entered union， but its not drippily sentimental， either. Its simple rather than bombastic10）， but holds a subtle note of triumph. “Reader，” Eyre and her many echoes say， virtually clearing their throats to ensure attention is being paid， “I married him.”

The enduring popularity of this phrase， long past a time when a woman using an active rather than a passive voice in describing her nuptials11） might be considered revolutionary， suggests theres something other than patriarchy12）-smashing at play. Today， in 2016—200 full years after Charlotte Bront?s birth—women can vote， own property， have high-powered careers， and even have children without direct male involvement if they wish. But the quietly smug affirmation of marital achievement persists. At this point， it reads more as a reassertion of marriage as a high form， if not the highest form， of female personal achievement； boilerplate13） language for saying “l(fā)ook， stop what youre doing and recognize that Ive married a man. I did it.”

Bront? could never have predicted this， but her phrasing， which directly addresses the reader， has never been more well-suited for allusion than now， over a century and a half after its writing. Its not just the narrator of a first-person novel like Jane Eyre who now expects a wide and indiscriminate audience for her self-documentation—its all of us. Every tweet and Facebook post assumes that this moment of our lives， whether its an engagement announcement or a photo of a brunch table laden with pancakes， will be taken in by a faceless crowd， turned into a sort of mini-autobiography of us. Theres no quote better suited to the social media age than Jane Eyres utterly self-conscious， slightly boastful， but humbly straining， “Reader， I married him.”

Would she be rolling over in her grave at the constant use of her most popular line to announce weddings and title bridal Pinterests14）？ Maybe not. Based on what we know of Bront?s own romantic troubles—and how they were reflected in her fiction—the rather personal sense of vindication and hard-earned victory that oozes from that quote is no accident.

In 1842， Bront? traveled to Brussels with her sister Emily， where they studied and taught at a boarding school run by Constantin Héger and his wife. By the time she returned to England permanently in 1844， shed developed strong feelings for Héger， and wrote him several passionate letters filled with longing and heartache. The married professor had， it seems， treated her as an intellectual equal， but her more romantic attentions didnt lead anywhere. Scholars believe he simply stopped responding to her increasingly desperate letters.

If this story sounds familiar， perhaps youve read Villette， Bront?s 1853 novel about a plain British governess who falls in love with a Belgian professor at a Brussels boarding school. Or Jane Eyre， of course. In Jane Eyre， the romantic hero is also an intellectual companion for the heroine. In entreating her to marry him， Rochester insists， “My bride is here ... because my equal is here， and my likeness.” But also like Héger， he is already married. In this novel， Bront? reworks the narrative such that her heroine takes the position of strength—rejecting mistresshood as beneath her， then returning to claim her husband when hes been widowed. For Bront? herself， who couldnt even get the man speculated to have been the love of her life to respond to a letter， there could be no more resounding emotional climax than “Reader， I married him.”

Jane Eyre is a classic work of literature， but it often resonates more with younger readers than other musty old books because its overflowing with Bront?s determined desires. Its a straightforward wish-fulfillment narrative， in which all the odds against the heroine， a brilliant but plain girl like the author herself， cant prevent her from finding her bliss at the end.

While Bront? seemingly longed for and couldnt find that romantic fulfillment during her lifetime， her hard-earned “Reader， I married him” still speaks to her own， and our own， most basic socially codified desires： to be wanted， to be good enough， to have a companion， to be a wife. Its not Jane Eyres most defiantly feminist moment， but somehow its the one we cling to. Despite all thats changed in 200 years， it seems some things stubbornly persist.

如果說英語小說中有一句話比簡·奧斯汀《傲慢與偏見》的開首語更常被人引用及改寫，那必定是夏洛蒂·勃朗特在《簡·愛》的高潮部分滿含得意的那句話：“讀者，我嫁給了他?！边@是一條舉世公認的真理。

當然，“舉世公認”也許有點言過其實，但我認為大家都同意這一點——這句話不僅極有可能出現(xiàn)在這部經(jīng)典原著的各種現(xiàn)代改編版本中，而且會出現(xiàn)在一些不那么傳統(tǒng)的文學場合：Facebook網(wǎng)站上的訂婚通告！可愛的信封！不計其數(shù)的婚禮博客！

在今年春天恰逢勃朗特200周年誕辰之際，甚至還有一本由特蕾西·雪佛蘭編輯的新的短篇小說集出版，名字就叫《讀者，我嫁給了他》。這些小說均出自著名女作家之手，她們都聲稱《簡·愛》是其靈感之源?！白x者，我嫁給了他”這句話并不會在每部作品中都出現(xiàn)，但是許多作品中出現(xiàn)了這句話的改編版。

去年還出現(xiàn)了其他幾部基于《簡·愛》二次創(chuàng)作的作品：凱瑟琳·洛厄爾的《樓上的瘋女人》是一個充滿現(xiàn)代氣息的令人著迷的故事，講述了一位據(jù)說是勃朗特最后一位健在的親戚忙于破解有關(guān)書籍的秘密，并處理與自己冷漠的導師之間的浪漫情事的故事。帕特里夏·帕克的《雷·簡》是對《簡·愛》的重敘，背景改為當今的紐約，作品中的種族與性別政治都作了必要的更新。其中每本書都分別用自己的方式用到了那句話，或過度使用，或極其感傷：“讀者，我嫁給了他”和“讀者，我離開了他”。

夏洛蒂的作品中有那么多簡潔的和充滿巴洛克風格的句子，為什么唯有這句有這么持久的魅力呢？在為《讀者，我嫁給了他》寫的前言中，雪佛蘭對此進行了剖析：

“讀者，我嫁給了他”是簡為自己跌宕起伏的故事設(shè)定的具有挑戰(zhàn)意味的結(jié)局。這句話不是“讀者，他娶了我”——如你所期待的那樣，在維多利亞時代女性應該是被動的；甚至也不是“讀者，我們結(jié)婚了”。相反，簡勇敢地說出心聲。她才是推動故事發(fā)展的力量。

但是自維多利亞時代以來，我們已取得了長足的進步。僅僅在宣布結(jié)婚時采用主動語態(tài)不再是顯示女性力量的反抗行為。事實上，到了2016年，這句話對婚姻引以為傲的強調(diào)倒有點像一種倒退，又回到了婦女解放之前的那些日子?！白x者，我嫁給了他”可能是現(xiàn)代女性宣布她一生最大的傳統(tǒng)成就結(jié)婚時最常見甚至有點害羞的表達方式。

我的一位特別書呆子氣的朋友曾滿意地告訴我，她已決定用浪漫而又頗有尊嚴的Facebook發(fā)帖方式來公布自己和交往多年的男友最終訂婚的消息：是的，“讀者，我要嫁給他了”。難怪對于那些仍然渴望安全、確定、和諧的夫妻關(guān)系的現(xiàn)代女性來說，這句引言會有誘惑力，而且原因還不僅僅是它的緣起無可指摘。這句引言中沒有奧斯汀式的那種敗壞歡歡喜喜的結(jié)合的諷刺，但也未過于多愁善感。這句引言樸實而不夸大，但有一絲微妙的勝利口氣?！白x者，”簡·愛和她的眾多效仿者說道，為了確保別人注意，實際上說之前還清了清嗓子，“我嫁給了他?！?/p>

這句話一直以來倍受青睞，在女性用主動語態(tài)而非被動語態(tài)宣布婚訊的時代過去很久之后仍然如此。這種情況可以說是革命性的，也表明個中緣由不僅僅是要搗碎男權(quán)社會。而今，在2016年，在夏洛蒂·勃朗特出生整200年之后，女性可以投票，可以擁有產(chǎn)權(quán)，可以身居要職，要是愿意的話甚至可以無需男性直接參與就能生兒育女。但對婚姻成就的暗中認可并未改變，這種認可還帶著自鳴得意的意味。從這一點來看，這句話更像是宣稱婚姻即便不是女性個人成就的最高形式，也可算是一種較高形式，也像是一種陳詞濫調(diào)，相當于說：“哎，放下手中的活?？纯窗?，我嫁人了。我做到了?！?/p>

勃朗特決不會預料到會這樣，但她的這句直接說給讀者的話最合適在其問世150年后的今天作為名言來引用了。因為它不僅適合《簡·愛》這類第一人稱小說中的敘述者（該敘述者的自我記錄如今擁有眾多不加選擇的受眾），也適合我們所有人。Twitter和Facebook上的每一個帖子都表明我們生命中的這一時刻，無論是一則訂婚通知，還是一張早午餐餐桌上放著煎餅的照片，都會有一群不知名的人參與其中，瀏覽查看，從而使之變成我們的微型自傳。在這個社交媒體時代，沒有哪句話比簡·愛這句充滿自我意識、略顯自負但卻又謙卑自持的話更適合作為名言：“讀者，我嫁給了他?！?/p>

勃朗特最受歡迎的這句話經(jīng)常被用來宣布婚訊，或是作為Pinterest網(wǎng)站上婚禮照片的標題，這會讓她在墓中輾轉(zhuǎn)反側(cè)嗎？也許不會。據(jù)我們所知，勃朗特在情事上遭遇諸多麻煩，這些在她的小說中有所反映，所以這句名言流露出個人化的申辯自己正確以及來之不易的勝利之感，絕非偶然。

1842年，勃朗特和她的妹妹艾米莉一起前往布魯塞爾，在康斯坦丁·黑格爾夫婦的寄宿學校里學習、教課。在1844年她永久回到英格蘭之前，她對黑格爾先生產(chǎn)生了強烈的感情，并給他寫了一些充滿激情的信，其中滿是渴望和心痛。這位已婚的教授似乎認為在才智上她與自己并駕齊驅(qū)，但她那更浪漫的想法最終無疾而終。學者們認為，他干脆不再回復她那越來越絕望的信了。

如果這個故事聽起來比較熟悉的話，也許你已經(jīng)讀過《維萊特》了——勃朗特于1853年出版的一部小說。小說描述了一位普通的英國女家庭教師在布魯塞爾的一所寄宿學校里愛上了一位比利時教授的故事。當然，也可以是《簡·愛》。在《簡·愛》中，浪漫多情的男主角也是女主角的精神伴侶。在羅切斯特祈求簡嫁給他時，他一再堅持說：“這就是我的新娘……因為我們是平等的，我們有共同之處?！辈贿^，就像黑格爾一樣，他也已婚。在這部小說中，勃朗特對故事進行了改寫，讓女主角擁有力量——拒絕當情婦，因為這配不上她的身份，然后等男主角成為鰥夫后，她又回到他身邊，讓其成為她的丈夫。而勃朗特本人甚至無法讓那個據(jù)測是自己終生所愛之人給自己回封信。對她來說，沒有哪句話比“讀者，我嫁給了他”更能響亮地表達高亢的情緒。

《簡·愛》是一部經(jīng)典的文學作品，但相比其他發(fā)霉的古書，它往往更能引起青年讀者的共鳴，因為書中流溢著勃朗特堅定的渴望。這是一部直接明了地講述愿望實現(xiàn)的敘事小說，書中所有不利于女主角的因素都無法阻止她最終找到幸福。女主角才華出眾但相貌平平，就像小說的作者本人一樣。

雖然勃朗特畢生都渴望但并未找到情感上浪漫的圓滿結(jié)局，但她那句來之不易的“讀者，我嫁給了他”證明了她自己——也是我們自己——心底里那最基本的符合社會規(guī)則的渴望：被需要、足夠好、有伴侶、為人婦。這不是簡·愛最大膽的帶有女性主義色彩的表白，但在某種程度上是我們堅守不放的一句表白。盡管200年以來，一切都發(fā)生了改變，但有些東西似乎仍在倔強地堅守。