82 pages • 2 hours read
Henry JamesA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more. For select classroom titles, we also provide Teaching Guides with discussion and quiz questions to prompt student engagement.
The governess accepts that her only course of action is to watch the children for any tell-tale signs and to wait for the next incident. She worries the children may notice a change in her, even as their own charming behavior shifts noticeably into overdrive. More eager than ever to please and entertain her, they are continually “telling her stories, acting her charades, pouncing out at her in disguises, […] and above all astonishing her” (46) with their cleverness. The governess allows their sweetness to lull her fears, knowing full well that her reprieve from dread won’t last.
Throughout the story the governess foregrounds her role as narrator, as she does now when she admits, “I find that I really hang back; but I must take my horrid plunge” and continue “the record of what was hideous at Bly” (47). She accordingly revisits the night when, while reading by candlelight as the rest of Bly sleeps, she succumbs to an irresistible impulse to leave her chamber. With her candle in hand, she passes Flora’s bed, positioned near her own, exits the room, and approaches the large window by the staircase. Just as her candle goes out, she becomes aware of a figure ascending the stairs. She knows it is Quint but feels no terror and faces him with unexpected boldness. For long moments they stare at one another in silence, and then, as if the silence itself were “an attestation of [… the governess’s] strength” (49), Quint’s specter retreats down the staircase and vanishes.
When the governess finally returns to her room, she stops short at the sight of Flora’s empty bed. Her alarm quickly subsides, however, as Flora steps from behind the window-blind and reproaches the governess for leaving her alone at night. Unable to explain herself, the governess asks if Flora saw anyone while looking out the window. The girl denies it, but the governess is certain she is lying.
This night is the first of many during which the governess remains awake, watchful, and occasionally creeps from her room to scrutinize the staircase. Although she never again sees Quint in the house, she does spy a woman seated on the bottom stair one night. The governess knows it is Miss Jessel, but the figure disappears in the dark without revealing her face.
After more than a week of nightly vigils, the governess gives in to sleep, but awakens at one o’clock in the morning. Flora is again at the window, and, convinced the girl is communicating with someone on the lawn, the governess slips from the room unnoticed. A quick calculation assures her that a window in the tower will provide the same view as her own bedroom window. She makes her way to the chamber and pulls open the shutters. In the light of the moon, she discerns a small figure and is sickened to realize it is Miles. He is gazing intently toward the governess, but above her, leaving no doubt that “there was a person on the tower” (53).
The next afternoon the governess coaxes the housekeeper to join her on the terrace. While she unburdens herself once again to Mrs. Grose, the children stroll harmoniously together on the lawn, within the women’s view. Mrs. Grose, as always, receives the governess’s account without skepticism. Yet she continues to see in the children “nothing but their beauty and amiability” (53), even as she lets the governess make “her a receptacle of lurid things” (54) about them.
The governess leads Mrs. Grose through the harrowing events of the previous night, describing how Miles came to her as soon as she arrived on the lawn, and how they returned to his room without exchanging a word. Her head spinning with numerous questions, she finally asked Miles why he went outside at night. He smiled and said he wanted to show her he could be bad, “for a change” (55). When she wondered how he could depend on her seeing him, Miles said he had directed Flora to go to the window, thus disturbing the governess’s sleep and baiting her to look out and see him.
Because Mrs. Grose responds to her narrative with less consternation than it would seem to merit, the governess adds one more detail that she believes “really settle[s] the matter” (56). Just before she left his room, Miles said to her, “Think, you know, what I might do!” (56). These six words resounded with allusions to the boy’s transgressions at school and before that, with Peter Quint. Looking at Miles and Flora out on the lawn, the governess declares that although they appear to be reading a book together, they’re really talking about Quint and Miss Jessel. The children seem unnaturally beautiful and good, but it’s a fantastic charade that veils their true allegiance to the depraved pair who schooled them in wickedness. When the governess concludes that Quint and Miss Jessel “want to get them” (57), the bewildered housekeeper asks, “But what for?” (57). The governess has a ready answer: “For the love of all the evil that, in those dreadful days, the pair put into them. And to ply them with that evil still, to keep up the work of demons” (57).
Seeing that she has finally struck a nerve with Mrs. Grose, the governess presses on, declaring that Quint and Jessel’s ultimate aim is to destroy the children. The apparitions have, to this point, presented themselves always at a distance—“on top of towers [… at] the further edge of pools” (58). They are determined to close that gap, however, to tempt the children to them and have them “perish in the attempt” (58). This prospect is too dreadful for Mrs. Grose, who decides they must alert the children’s uncle to the situation. The governess disagrees. She has pledged not to disturb their uncle and is loath to jeopardize his good opinion of her.
Weeks pass, and the governess feels she and her charges have arrived at a tacit agreement that certain subjects are taboo. Should they, in the course of their lessons or playful chatting together, find themselves approaching one of these subjects, they abruptly turn their discussion in another direction. The children have never uttered a word about their former governess, but they engage their current governess with endless questions about herself, her past, and the village where she grew up.
Summer gives way to autumn without the specters of Quint or Miss Jessel appearing before the governess again. Deliverance from these visions produces more anxiety than relief, however, as she prefers to confront evil with open eyes. She knows that Quint and Miss Jessel still lurk within their midst, and that the children can see and communicate with them. If she is blind to the demons, the governess nevertheless detects their arrival by “the strange dizzy lift or swim […] into a stillness, a pause of life” (62) that becomes apparent even when she and her charges are busy with activities. The spirits’ departure is also clearly marked. At this point, the children suddenly shower their governess with kisses and begin talking wistfully about their uncle.
The governess’s narrative is retrospective, looking back on herself and her experiences at Bly years earlier. Because the governess is both outside and inside the spacetime frame of her story, a double vision emerges, in which the narrator conveys the perspective of her younger self along with the more “objective” viewpoint of a distant observer. The governess who writes the manuscript thus positions herself as an omniscient author, and her younger self as the heroine of a gothic novel. In keeping with the tone of generalized dread that pervades gothic works, the governess-as-author occasionally foreshadows doom just as the younger governess expresses delight. Accordingly, during her first days at Bly, the young governess marvels, “Wasn’t it just a story-book over which I had fallen a-doze and a-dream?”, after which the governess-as-author concludes, “No; it was a big ugly […] house, […] in which I had the fancy of our being almost as lost as a handful of passengers in a great drifting ship” (13). In Chapter 9 the governess performs her authorial role even more conspicuously, declaring, “I find that I really hang back; but I must take my horrid plunge” (47). With these discursive self-representations, the governess—who, ironically, lacks a name—simultaneously constructs her identity as a gothic heroine and as an author in control of her own fate.
If these chapters begin with the children outdoing themselves to please the governess, by Chapter 10, Miles feels inclined to stage a minor insurrection. He is a 10-year-old boy, so his rebellion against authority might well be explained by natural causes. But the governess construes his misbehavior as confirmation that supernatural forces are corrupting him. Moreover, she tells Mrs. Grose that the children’s “more than earthly beauty, their absolutely unnatural goodness [… is] a policy and a fraud” (57). The very beauty that the governess once commended as proof of the children’s purity is now, she believes, evidence of their profound corruption. Although the governess never explicitly states the nature of this corruption, she insinuates that Quint and Miss Jessel have introduced the children to sexuality. Notably, at the age of 10, Miles is on the threshold of puberty. Whether or not the apparitions are real, the governess invests them with the horror she feels toward sexual relations, and her campaign to save Miles from Quint is, arguably, her repudiation of the boy’s developing sexuality.
Ambiguity continues to abound in the story. The conversations between the governess and Mrs. Grose are exercises in discretion, hesitation, inference, and innuendo. Together, the women circle the delicate subject of Quint’s “freedoms” with Miss Jessel and the children, but they refrain from articulating the transgressions to which they allude. As for the apparitions of Quint and Miss Jessel, they hover between presence and absence—between reality and delusion—particularly after the governess seemingly loses her clairvoyant power to see them. Although she says “the strange dizzy lift” of her surroundings “into a stillness” (62) now warns her when the demons are present, this claim is too tenuous not to raise doubts.
By Henry James