Paris was more than Jane could have ever imagined. More colors, more people, more life! There was an energy to this city that was at once contagious and invigorating. It shimmered on the crystalline face of the Seine at sunset and danced in the bell song of Notre-Dame’s serenade. Just walking the streets of this beautiful place left Jane feeling revitalized, awoken and new.
When Jane Eyre stood atop the ramparts of Thornfield Hall, gazing toward that distant horizon with wonder and longing, the little governess could have grown wings and taken to the sky had she known what was waiting for her here. But in the end, it wasn’t fairy magic that granted her wish, despite her husband’s insistence that she was capable of such charms, but something far more mysterious and significantly more powerful. Love was the catalyst for her change, and with her marriage to Edward, Jane Rochester took flight, ready and eager to see the world and every aspect of its beauty. To her great delight, Edward was happy to be her guide.
The last seven days had been a whirlwind. A private cabin as they crossed the Strait of Dover, fine carriages driven through the French countryside, grand hotels au Coeur de Paris. All the while Edward was beside her, leading her on memory alone. It broke Jane’s heart at first that her husband could not share in her wonderment. The sights that dazzled her so were mere shapes and shadows to her cherished companion. But when Jane expressed this concern, Edward did not lament.
Instead, he took her hand in his and spoke gently, saying, “I have already seen it, Jane. I remember the landscape clearly. The streets and architecture are preserved in my mind as they were then; Painted in the glow of youth. And that’s how they’ll remain, untainted…” he paused reflectively, then said with a grin, “Now, I get to see the city anew, through your eyes. Describe the view for me, Janet.” And she did so with pleasure.
Still ensconced in the thralls of newlywedded bliss, it’s a wonder they experienced the city at all. The Rochesters would have been content to hole up in their suite for the duration of the stay, venturing out solely in search of sustenance and culture which could be enjoyed in the comfort of their solitude. But Paris society was not unlike English society: nosey and demanding, and it refused to leave them alone.
Edward was recognized on their second day by an old Parisian acquaintance who, intrigued by rumors of his friend’s misfortunes and fascinated by the extent of his injuries, insisted that he take Rochester and his new little wife under his wing. After that their days were filled with luncheons and outings, dinners and dancing.
Jane and Edward slipped away as often as they could, neither one overly eager to be paraded about. Jane, for one, couldn’t help but feel awkward socializing with such extravagant people. She had little practice with the intricacies of their social etiquette and never knew when it was appropriate to break custom, as this party so often did. They were loud and boisterous and seemed to know so much about the world, jumping from one exciting story to the next with nary a pause in conversation for her to chime in.
During one of these gatherings Jane stood silently amongst the group, studying her husband, as she so often did. She recognized something then, a certain practiced charm she had observed in him once before. Despite the scar across his left eye and his missing hand, which he kept concealed, tucked in the lining of his jacket, Edward appeared very confident as the center of attention. His broad stature stood tall, his chin raised, a charming smile painted on his lips. Had she not seen it before during the party with the Ingrams, Jane might have believed he was comfortable here, amused by their incessant questions. However, when their host was distracted with selecting the next bottle of wine, Janes’ suspicions were confirmed. Edward leaned near her ear, speaking quietly so only Jane could hear him.
“For the love of God, please get me out of here.” He whispered.
Jane held back her laughter and taking him by the arm, quickly guided her husband to safety.
After so many excursions and social gatherings, Jane was exhausted and felt determined to spend a quiet day at the hotel, just the two of them. She was sitting near their balcony, reading a book and enjoying the gentle breeze that blew in from the open doorway. Edward had retreated to take a bath some time ago and it had been just long enough that Jane was starting to worry. She knew if she disturbed him too soon she’d risk wounding his pride, so she did her best to restrain her doting tendencies and tried to focus on reading.
Despite his injuries, her husband was still stubborn and headstrong, and he insisted on doing as many things himself as he could. Jane admired this in him, and while she secretly enjoyed the amount of attention she was afforded to give him as his aid, so too was she daily reminded of Edward’s strength. Seeing him overcome so many challenges made her love him all the more.
Hearing the washroom door open instantly chased away Jane’s lingering concern, and she happily returned to her book.
“Jane?” His searching voice called out.
“Here I am, by the balcony.” Jane put her book down and rose to receive her husband. She paused, however, when she noticed his clothing. Edward looked more like he was ready to go out than spend a comfortable evening in as they’d discussed and Jane said as much, her puzzlement clear in her voice.
“However did you manage your cravat?” She asked with an amazed chuckle.
“Very, very carefully.” Edward said, finding her waist and pulling her closer. “Why do you think it took me so long to get ready?”
“Ready for what?” Jane couldn’t help her amused smile as she quickly fixed his lopsided mess-of-a-scarf.
“I know you were looking forward to a calm night in, but there’s been something I’ve wanted to show you, and this may be our only opportunity. Would it bother you terribly if we altered our plans?”
“This isn’t another cabaret, is it? Because if so, I’m certain I’ve had enough champaign and dancing to last me a lifetime.”
Edward grinned, revealing his dimples that she loved so dearly. “Nothing of that sort. But it is a surprise, one I’m certain you’ll enjoy. Will you put your faith in me, my little elf?”
With that smile and that charm, how could she refuse?
By the time Jane was dressed and they left their hotel, the golden hour had taken over the city. Paris was dipped in honey as the sun set over the horizon. Long shadows gave new faces to the intricate architecture and the white stone that surrounded them now adopted an amber complexion, as if they were walking through a sandcastle tableau.
To get where they were going, Jane would read the street signs, just loud enough for Edward to hear so he could visualize their location. Occasionally she’d need to describe the surrounding landmarks, but he typically had a sense for what they might be.
“Is there a flower shop on the corner, Jane? With a green and white striped awning?”
“There is.” She said, her voice humming with admiration.
“Then we go left.”
Edward would tell her which way to turn and Jane would guide him. Walking arm in arm, one might not realize that Edward was blind, especially given the confidence with which he moved throughout his environment. To any unsuspecting passersby the Rochesters appeared to be any other couple, out for a stroll in the waning hours of day.
Their time was fast approaching, those magical moments of dusk and dawn. It was Jane’s favorite time of day. The twilight came with a visual and spiritual clarity that sparked her imagination and ignited her soul. It was no coincidence, Jane thought, that she first met Edward during this magic hour. Edward’s first proposal also occurred in the same mystical mire of encroaching night and soon, she felt, another great moment was about to overtake them.
They reached a quiet street within the art district, and at the seventh gate, a man was waiting.
“Monsieur et madame Rochester?” He asked.
“Oui. Monsieur Baudin nous attend.” Edward replied.
“Juste par ici, monsieur.” And opening the large doors, he led them inside. Together the small party passed through an interior courtyard, up a series of narrow stairs and through several dark hallways. They passed many interesting looking people along their way, causing Jane to wonder what sort of a place her husband had taken her too. When they arrived at their destination, however, her question was immediately and beautifully answered.
On the top floor of the building, in a room made almost entirely of glass, Jane stepped into a space that had long called to her from subconscious dreaming. It was an artist’s workshop, crowded with canvases, easels, sculptures and every imaginable tool and pigment you could think of. Her little hands tightened around Edward’s arm, causing him to smile as he placed a loving kiss upon her forehead.
“Welcome to the workshop of Monsier Baudin, a master painter and someone I was privileged to know in youth.” His voice was quiet as his words brushed passed her ear, adding to her thrill.
“How dare you speak of your youth as if it were eons ago!” Came a joyful shout that drew both of their attention. “If you are old, my old friend, that would make me ancient, and I’d rather maintain my happy delusion, thank you very much.”
The man who was speaking could only be Baudin, with his long white beard, sparkling eyes, and floor length tunic that, in its current state, appeared to be more paint than cloth.
“Baudin, you cheeky bastard. Still have the ears of a bat, I see.”
“Can you, now? So that scar is purely esthetic then?” The old man challenged back, his wrinkly face alight with amusement.
Normally, Jane would expect Edward to darken at such a remark, but to her delight, her husband laughed heartily and reached a hand toward his friend. Once he found his shoulder, he clapped it warmly in familiar greeting.
“Watch yourself. I may be blind, but I still have pride. Especially with this ravishing creature on my arm worth impressing. Monsier Baudin, may I present my wife, Jane Rochester.”
“It’s lovely to meet you, Sir.” Jane said, her cheeks already hurting from how much she’d been smiling.
“Loveliness is what you are, mon cher. The pleasure is mine.” Baudin said, and placed a kiss upon her hand. “Rochester tells me you are an accomplished artist. Tell me, how are you enjoying our ville d'art?”
“It’s breathtaking, monsier. I wish I had brought my supplies with me.”
“You did not bring them?!” He asked, astonished. Jane shook her head, a warm blush spreading across her smiling face. “Then you must borrow some of mine. If you are not too busy tomorrow, we will paint together along the Seine.”
“I can think of nothing I’d enjoy more.” Jane said, turning her gaze to Edward to seek his approval, only to remember that he couldn’t perceive the visual que.
Before Jane could speak, Edward chimed in, saying, “Baudin, I can tell the light is waning. Did you bring it?”
The master gave Jane an amused smirk. “What a slave driver.” He said to her quietly. “Of course I brought it, you blind wretch! It is by the west window, perfectly lit and ready for viewing.”
“Thank you, my friend. Jane, there should be a large canvas in the corner. Hopefully, l'artiste followed my instructions and kept it covered. Will you guide us there?”
Jane looked to where he described and spotted it instantly. “Of course. It is still covered, Edward. Follow me.”
The shrouded canvas was massive, taking up most of the wall that it leaned against. As Jane and Edward came to stand before it, Monsier Baudin took a corner of the wrapping and waited.
“When I first beheld this painting, it was on display at an exhibition in Marseille. It captivated me, and I was intent to purchase it. The artist, however,” he said with mock annoyance, “refused to sell. I sought him out in Paris, and after weeks of bribery and coercion…he still said no.”
Jane gave a quiet laugh, feeding off the fond energy of the moment. Edward was smiling as he told his story, a sight that warmed her heart and made her cling to his every word.
“Though I didn’t get a painting, I did gain a friend. How many nights did we spend discussing its meaning?”
“Too many to count,” Baudin said with a chuckle. “And each time we found something new.”
“That’s what I love about it. There’s something transformative about this piece. Depending on your current mood or the stage of your life, different elements are revealed when you perceive it. It’s remarkable…and now, I’d like to share that experience with you, Jane.”
With a nod from Edward, Baudin pulled the shroud away, revealing a tapestry of color unlike anything Jane had ever seen. Instantly, her heart swelled with excitement as her eyes ran across the canvas, drinking in the ocean of texture, movement, expression and light. Bathed in the golden hue of sunset, the painting blazed as if on fire and Jane squeezed her husband’s arm, a flood of emotion rising inside her.
“Oh, Monsier Baudin,” she breathed, “I see why you wouldn’t sell it.”
“How could I? It would be like selling my child. I gave birth to this painting, and every day she gives life back to me. We are a part of one another.”
“It’s stunning. You must be very proud.”
“I am. Merci beaucoup, mon cher.”
Edward moved to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around Jane’s waist and hugging her close. With his cheek pressed softly to hers he said, “What do you see, Jane? Describe it for me.”
Without hesitation, she began. Descriptions flowed from her lips like water from a spring, sparkling, clean and boundless. Observation rushed along the shores of emotion, flowed through interpretation and joined with an ocean of meaning. Together they sailed on waves of excited conversation, discussing the changeable shades and rising hues as they navigated this sea of inspiration. The three of them talked long into the night, sharing laughter, ponderings and glasses of wine. Jane had never been happier. Never had she felt so fulfilled. Like Edward, she would carry the image of the painting with her wherever she went, preserved in the gallery of her memory by the joy of such a wonderful day.
When Jane Eyre stood atop the ramparts of Thornfield Hall, gazing toward that distant horizon with wonder and longing, the little governess could have grown wings and taken to the sky had she known what was waiting for her here. But in the end, it wasn’t fairy magic that granted her wish, despite her husband’s insistence that she was capable of such charms, but something far more mysterious and significantly more powerful. Love was the catalyst for her change, and with her marriage to Edward, Jane Rochester took flight, ready and eager to see the world and every aspect of its beauty. To her great delight, Edward was happy to be her guide.
The last seven days had been a whirlwind. A private cabin as they crossed the Strait of Dover, fine carriages driven through the French countryside, grand hotels au Coeur de Paris. All the while Edward was beside her, leading her on memory alone. It broke Jane’s heart at first that her husband could not share in her wonderment. The sights that dazzled her so were mere shapes and shadows to her cherished companion. But when Jane expressed this concern, Edward did not lament.
Instead, he took her hand in his and spoke gently, saying, “I have already seen it, Jane. I remember the landscape clearly. The streets and architecture are preserved in my mind as they were then; Painted in the glow of youth. And that’s how they’ll remain, untainted…” he paused reflectively, then said with a grin, “Now, I get to see the city anew, through your eyes. Describe the view for me, Janet.” And she did so with pleasure.
Still ensconced in the thralls of newlywedded bliss, it’s a wonder they experienced the city at all. The Rochesters would have been content to hole up in their suite for the duration of the stay, venturing out solely in search of sustenance and culture which could be enjoyed in the comfort of their solitude. But Paris society was not unlike English society: nosey and demanding, and it refused to leave them alone.
Edward was recognized on their second day by an old Parisian acquaintance who, intrigued by rumors of his friend’s misfortunes and fascinated by the extent of his injuries, insisted that he take Rochester and his new little wife under his wing. After that their days were filled with luncheons and outings, dinners and dancing.
Jane and Edward slipped away as often as they could, neither one overly eager to be paraded about. Jane, for one, couldn’t help but feel awkward socializing with such extravagant people. She had little practice with the intricacies of their social etiquette and never knew when it was appropriate to break custom, as this party so often did. They were loud and boisterous and seemed to know so much about the world, jumping from one exciting story to the next with nary a pause in conversation for her to chime in.
During one of these gatherings Jane stood silently amongst the group, studying her husband, as she so often did. She recognized something then, a certain practiced charm she had observed in him once before. Despite the scar across his left eye and his missing hand, which he kept concealed, tucked in the lining of his jacket, Edward appeared very confident as the center of attention. His broad stature stood tall, his chin raised, a charming smile painted on his lips. Had she not seen it before during the party with the Ingrams, Jane might have believed he was comfortable here, amused by their incessant questions. However, when their host was distracted with selecting the next bottle of wine, Janes’ suspicions were confirmed. Edward leaned near her ear, speaking quietly so only Jane could hear him.
“For the love of God, please get me out of here.” He whispered.
Jane held back her laughter and taking him by the arm, quickly guided her husband to safety.
After so many excursions and social gatherings, Jane was exhausted and felt determined to spend a quiet day at the hotel, just the two of them. She was sitting near their balcony, reading a book and enjoying the gentle breeze that blew in from the open doorway. Edward had retreated to take a bath some time ago and it had been just long enough that Jane was starting to worry. She knew if she disturbed him too soon she’d risk wounding his pride, so she did her best to restrain her doting tendencies and tried to focus on reading.
Despite his injuries, her husband was still stubborn and headstrong, and he insisted on doing as many things himself as he could. Jane admired this in him, and while she secretly enjoyed the amount of attention she was afforded to give him as his aid, so too was she daily reminded of Edward’s strength. Seeing him overcome so many challenges made her love him all the more.
Hearing the washroom door open instantly chased away Jane’s lingering concern, and she happily returned to her book.
“Jane?” His searching voice called out.
“Here I am, by the balcony.” Jane put her book down and rose to receive her husband. She paused, however, when she noticed his clothing. Edward looked more like he was ready to go out than spend a comfortable evening in as they’d discussed and Jane said as much, her puzzlement clear in her voice.
“However did you manage your cravat?” She asked with an amazed chuckle.
“Very, very carefully.” Edward said, finding her waist and pulling her closer. “Why do you think it took me so long to get ready?”
“Ready for what?” Jane couldn’t help her amused smile as she quickly fixed his lopsided mess-of-a-scarf.
“I know you were looking forward to a calm night in, but there’s been something I’ve wanted to show you, and this may be our only opportunity. Would it bother you terribly if we altered our plans?”
“This isn’t another cabaret, is it? Because if so, I’m certain I’ve had enough champaign and dancing to last me a lifetime.”
Edward grinned, revealing his dimples that she loved so dearly. “Nothing of that sort. But it is a surprise, one I’m certain you’ll enjoy. Will you put your faith in me, my little elf?”
With that smile and that charm, how could she refuse?
By the time Jane was dressed and they left their hotel, the golden hour had taken over the city. Paris was dipped in honey as the sun set over the horizon. Long shadows gave new faces to the intricate architecture and the white stone that surrounded them now adopted an amber complexion, as if they were walking through a sandcastle tableau.
To get where they were going, Jane would read the street signs, just loud enough for Edward to hear so he could visualize their location. Occasionally she’d need to describe the surrounding landmarks, but he typically had a sense for what they might be.
“Is there a flower shop on the corner, Jane? With a green and white striped awning?”
“There is.” She said, her voice humming with admiration.
“Then we go left.”
Edward would tell her which way to turn and Jane would guide him. Walking arm in arm, one might not realize that Edward was blind, especially given the confidence with which he moved throughout his environment. To any unsuspecting passersby the Rochesters appeared to be any other couple, out for a stroll in the waning hours of day.
Their time was fast approaching, those magical moments of dusk and dawn. It was Jane’s favorite time of day. The twilight came with a visual and spiritual clarity that sparked her imagination and ignited her soul. It was no coincidence, Jane thought, that she first met Edward during this magic hour. Edward’s first proposal also occurred in the same mystical mire of encroaching night and soon, she felt, another great moment was about to overtake them.
They reached a quiet street within the art district, and at the seventh gate, a man was waiting.
“Monsieur et madame Rochester?” He asked.
“Oui. Monsieur Baudin nous attend.” Edward replied.
“Juste par ici, monsieur.” And opening the large doors, he led them inside. Together the small party passed through an interior courtyard, up a series of narrow stairs and through several dark hallways. They passed many interesting looking people along their way, causing Jane to wonder what sort of a place her husband had taken her too. When they arrived at their destination, however, her question was immediately and beautifully answered.
On the top floor of the building, in a room made almost entirely of glass, Jane stepped into a space that had long called to her from subconscious dreaming. It was an artist’s workshop, crowded with canvases, easels, sculptures and every imaginable tool and pigment you could think of. Her little hands tightened around Edward’s arm, causing him to smile as he placed a loving kiss upon her forehead.
“Welcome to the workshop of Monsier Baudin, a master painter and someone I was privileged to know in youth.” His voice was quiet as his words brushed passed her ear, adding to her thrill.
“How dare you speak of your youth as if it were eons ago!” Came a joyful shout that drew both of their attention. “If you are old, my old friend, that would make me ancient, and I’d rather maintain my happy delusion, thank you very much.”
The man who was speaking could only be Baudin, with his long white beard, sparkling eyes, and floor length tunic that, in its current state, appeared to be more paint than cloth.
“Baudin, you cheeky bastard. Still have the ears of a bat, I see.”
“Can you, now? So that scar is purely esthetic then?” The old man challenged back, his wrinkly face alight with amusement.
Normally, Jane would expect Edward to darken at such a remark, but to her delight, her husband laughed heartily and reached a hand toward his friend. Once he found his shoulder, he clapped it warmly in familiar greeting.
“Watch yourself. I may be blind, but I still have pride. Especially with this ravishing creature on my arm worth impressing. Monsier Baudin, may I present my wife, Jane Rochester.”
“It’s lovely to meet you, Sir.” Jane said, her cheeks already hurting from how much she’d been smiling.
“Loveliness is what you are, mon cher. The pleasure is mine.” Baudin said, and placed a kiss upon her hand. “Rochester tells me you are an accomplished artist. Tell me, how are you enjoying our ville d'art?”
“It’s breathtaking, monsier. I wish I had brought my supplies with me.”
“You did not bring them?!” He asked, astonished. Jane shook her head, a warm blush spreading across her smiling face. “Then you must borrow some of mine. If you are not too busy tomorrow, we will paint together along the Seine.”
“I can think of nothing I’d enjoy more.” Jane said, turning her gaze to Edward to seek his approval, only to remember that he couldn’t perceive the visual que.
Before Jane could speak, Edward chimed in, saying, “Baudin, I can tell the light is waning. Did you bring it?”
The master gave Jane an amused smirk. “What a slave driver.” He said to her quietly. “Of course I brought it, you blind wretch! It is by the west window, perfectly lit and ready for viewing.”
“Thank you, my friend. Jane, there should be a large canvas in the corner. Hopefully, l'artiste followed my instructions and kept it covered. Will you guide us there?”
Jane looked to where he described and spotted it instantly. “Of course. It is still covered, Edward. Follow me.”
The shrouded canvas was massive, taking up most of the wall that it leaned against. As Jane and Edward came to stand before it, Monsier Baudin took a corner of the wrapping and waited.
“When I first beheld this painting, it was on display at an exhibition in Marseille. It captivated me, and I was intent to purchase it. The artist, however,” he said with mock annoyance, “refused to sell. I sought him out in Paris, and after weeks of bribery and coercion…he still said no.”
Jane gave a quiet laugh, feeding off the fond energy of the moment. Edward was smiling as he told his story, a sight that warmed her heart and made her cling to his every word.
“Though I didn’t get a painting, I did gain a friend. How many nights did we spend discussing its meaning?”
“Too many to count,” Baudin said with a chuckle. “And each time we found something new.”
“That’s what I love about it. There’s something transformative about this piece. Depending on your current mood or the stage of your life, different elements are revealed when you perceive it. It’s remarkable…and now, I’d like to share that experience with you, Jane.”
With a nod from Edward, Baudin pulled the shroud away, revealing a tapestry of color unlike anything Jane had ever seen. Instantly, her heart swelled with excitement as her eyes ran across the canvas, drinking in the ocean of texture, movement, expression and light. Bathed in the golden hue of sunset, the painting blazed as if on fire and Jane squeezed her husband’s arm, a flood of emotion rising inside her.
“Oh, Monsier Baudin,” she breathed, “I see why you wouldn’t sell it.”
“How could I? It would be like selling my child. I gave birth to this painting, and every day she gives life back to me. We are a part of one another.”
“It’s stunning. You must be very proud.”
“I am. Merci beaucoup, mon cher.”
Edward moved to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around Jane’s waist and hugging her close. With his cheek pressed softly to hers he said, “What do you see, Jane? Describe it for me.”
Without hesitation, she began. Descriptions flowed from her lips like water from a spring, sparkling, clean and boundless. Observation rushed along the shores of emotion, flowed through interpretation and joined with an ocean of meaning. Together they sailed on waves of excited conversation, discussing the changeable shades and rising hues as they navigated this sea of inspiration. The three of them talked long into the night, sharing laughter, ponderings and glasses of wine. Jane had never been happier. Never had she felt so fulfilled. Like Edward, she would carry the image of the painting with her wherever she went, preserved in the gallery of her memory by the joy of such a wonderful day.