她说：读者，我嫁给了他

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 “look， 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.

如果说英语小说中有一句话比简·奥斯汀《傲慢与偏见》的开首语更常被人引用及改写，那必定是夏洛蒂·勃朗特在《简·爱》的高潮部分满含得意的那句话：“读者，我嫁给了他。”这是一条举世公认的真理。

当然，“举世公认”也许有点言过其实，但我认为大家都同意这一点——这句话不仅极有可能出现在这部经典原著的各种现代改编版本中，而且会出现在一些不那么传统的文学场合：Facebook网站上的订婚通告！可爱的信封！不计其数的婚礼博客！

在今年春天恰逢勃朗特200周年诞辰之际，甚至还有一本由特蕾西·雪佛兰编辑的新的短篇小说集出版，名字就叫《读者，我嫁给了他》。这些小说均出自著名女作家之手，她们都声称《简·爱》是其灵感之源。“读者，我嫁给了他”这句话并不会在每部作品中都出现，但是许多作品中出现了这句话的改编版。

去年还出现了其他几部基于《简·爱》二次创作的作品：凯瑟琳·洛厄尔的《楼上的疯女人》是一个充满现代气息的令人着迷的故事，讲述了一位据说是勃朗特最后一位健在的亲戚忙于破解有关书籍的秘密，并处理与自己冷漠的导师之间的浪漫情事的故事。帕特里夏·帕克的《雷·简》是对《简·爱》的重叙，背景改为当今的纽约，作品中的种族与性别政治都作了必要的更新。其中每本书都分别用自己的方式用到了那句话，或过度使用，或极其感伤：“读者，我嫁给了他”和“读者，我离开了他”。

夏洛蒂的作品中有那么多简洁的和充满巴洛克风格的句子，为什么唯有这句有这么持久的魅力呢？在为《读者，我嫁给了他》写的前言中，雪佛兰对此进行了剖析：

“读者，我嫁给了他”是简为自己跌宕起伏的故事设定的具有挑战意味的结局。这句话不是“读者，他娶了我”——如你所期待的那样，在维多利亚时代女性应该是被动的；甚至也不是“读者，我们结婚了”。相反，简勇敢地说出心声。她才是推动故事发展的力量。

但是自维多利亚时代以来，我们已取得了长足的进步。仅仅在宣布结婚时采用主动语态不再是显示女性力量的反抗行为。事实上，到了2016年，这句话对婚姻引以为傲的强调倒有点像一种倒退，又回到了妇女解放之前的那些日子。“读者，我嫁给了他”可能是现代女性宣布她一生最大的传统成就结婚时最常见甚至有点害羞的表达方式。

我的一位特别书呆子气的朋友曾满意地告诉我，她已决定用浪漫而又颇有尊严的Facebook发帖方式来公布自己和交往多年的男友最终订婚的消息：是的，“读者，我要嫁给他了”。难怪对于那些仍然渴望安全、确定、和谐的夫妻关系的现代女性来说，这句引言会有诱惑力，而且原因还不仅仅是它的缘起无可指摘。这句引言中没有奥斯汀式的那种败坏欢欢喜喜的结合的讽刺，但也未过于多愁善感。这句引言朴实而不夸大，但有一丝微妙的胜利口气。“读者，”简·爱和她的众多效仿者说道，为了确保别人注意，实际上说之前还清了清嗓子，“我嫁给了他。”

这句话一直以来倍受青睐，在女性用主动语态而非被动语态宣布婚讯的时代过去很久之后仍然如此。这种情况可以说是革命性的，也表明个中缘由不仅仅是要捣碎男权社会。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，可以拥有产权，可以身居要职，要是愿意的话甚至可以无需男性直接参与就能生儿育女。但对婚姻成就的暗中认可并未改变，这种认可还带着自鸣得意的意味。从这一点来看，这句话更像是宣称婚姻即便不是女性个人成就的最高形式，也可算是一种较高形式，也像是一种陈词滥调，相当于说：“哎，放下手中的活。看看吧，我嫁人了。我做到了。”

勃朗特决不会预料到会这样，但她的这句直接说给读者的话最合适在其问世150年后的今天作为名言来引用了。因为它不仅适合《简·爱》这类第一人称小说中的叙述者（该叙述者的自我记录如今拥有众多不加选择的受众），也适合我们所有人。Twitter和Facebook上的每一个帖子都表明我们生命中的这一时刻，无论是一则订婚通知，还是一张早午餐餐桌上放着煎饼的照片，都会有一群不知名的人参与其中，浏览查看，从而使之变成我们的微型自传。在这个社交媒体时代，没有哪句话比简·爱这句充满自我意识、略显自负但却又谦卑自持的话更适合作为名言：“读者，我嫁给了他。”

勃朗特最受欢迎的这句话经常被用来宣布婚讯，或是作为Pinterest网站上婚礼照片的标题，这会让她在墓中辗转反侧吗？也许不会。据我们所知，勃朗特在情事上遭遇诸多麻烦，这些在她的小说中有所反映，所以这句名言流露出个人化的申辩自己正确以及来之不易的胜利之感，绝非偶然。

1842年，勃朗特和她的妹妹艾米莉一起前往布鲁塞尔，在康斯坦丁·黑格尔夫妇的寄宿学校里学习、教课。在1844年她永久回到英格兰之前，她对黑格尔先生产生了强烈的感情，并给他写了一些充满激情的信，其中满是渴望和心痛。这位已婚的教授似乎认为在才智上她与自己并驾齐驱，但她那更浪漫的想法最终无疾而终。学者们认为，他干脆不再回复她那越来越绝望的信了。

如果这个故事听起来比较熟悉的话，也许你已经读过《维莱特》了——勃朗特于1853年出版的一部小说。小说描述了一位普通的英国女家庭教师在布鲁塞尔的一所寄宿学校里爱上了一位比利时教授的故事。当然，也可以是《简·爱》。在《简·爱》中，浪漫多情的男主角也是女主角的精神伴侣。在罗切斯特祈求简嫁给他时，他一再坚持说：“这就是我的新娘……因为我们是平等的，我们有共同之处。”不过，就像黑格尔一样，他也已婚。在这部小说中，勃朗特对故事进行了改写，让女主角拥有力量——拒绝当情妇，因为这配不上她的身份，然后等男主角成为鳏夫后，她又回到他身边，让其成为她的丈夫。而勃朗特本人甚至无法让那个据测是自己终生所爱之人给自己回封信。对她来说，没有哪句话比“读者，我嫁给了他”更能响亮地表达高亢的情绪。

《简·爱》是一部经典的文学作品，但相比其他发霉的古书，它往往更能引起青年读者的共鸣，因为书中流溢着勃朗特坚定的渴望。这是一部直接明了地讲述愿望实现的叙事小说，书中所有不利于女主角的因素都无法阻止她最终找到幸福。女主角才华出众但相貌平平，就像小说的作者本人一样。

虽然勃朗特毕生都渴望但并未找到情感上浪漫的圆满结局，但她那句来之不易的“读者，我嫁给了他”证明了她自己——也是我们自己——心底里那最基本的符合社会规则的渴望：被需要、足够好、有伴侣、为人妇。这不是简·爱最大胆的带有女性主义色彩的表白，但在某种程度上是我们坚守不放的一句表白。尽管200年以来，一切都发生了改变，但有些东西似乎仍在倔强地坚守。