monologue from Antoinete - Jane Eyre / Wide sargasso sea

Hush. Listen to its beauty Sir. Do you hear it? It’s going to take everything, thieve it all in the dead of night. Treasures, love and hate. Death, madness, the secrets that your heart hides, all twisted away into nothingness. Crackling into the dark, it will erase your sins and mine.


I think that as it flickers and charms its way down these corridors everything’s being forgotten. Except the lies, remember, the lies are never forgotten. They are the walls which remain, the reminder of what was, the ruins of a once most brilliant man. The books try to hide in the shelves but my friend will find everything, it will burn through the stories. There were stories about my mother. The servants whispered them, told of how the madness burned through her mind, just think of the shame Edward, poor white cockroach widow, alone and poor, with an idiot for a son and a strange quiet one for a daughter. Oh the shame of it, of us, of me. As we stood and watched our home burn, oh how they laughed. The fire brought them a satisfaction which cannot be understood by anyone but those of us who can see the magnificence in destruction. Those of us who are dead already. Then the parrot died and we left Coulibri forever.


The beds are being destroyed now, the flames licking the carvings from the wood, the sheets soiled with ash and fire. Our bed, always the cover for the lies, love and hate lay side by side but in the end the hate was too strong wasn’t it, couldn’t hide behind that pretty white dress that you liked anymore. The beds are trapped in the inferno, no Miss. Eyre to save them now, she’s gone, couldn’t hide the real you forever now could you. She said  no to you Sir due to your corrupt past and most sinful intentions. There was love yes, but love does not conquer. You showed us that. Europe and Paris and Céline Varens. Oh and of course, mad Bertha, mad and locked away she is but who is she? Bertha? I am Antoinette; you know that, or all this time in England Sir, has it made you forget? Years of deceit sent you mad my love, but don’t worry. The fire holds hands with time and they both rage on relentlessly, destroying each other as they go. No more time soon Edward. No more deceit.


All those pretty rooms you have for entertaining your most superior yet ultimately unimportant guests are dying Mr. Rochester, why can’t you hear it? The portraits are being destroyed, their subjects crying as their faces melt away, you can hear them screaming cant you? They’re sorry for me; they pity me Edward but not you. Why can’t you hear us? Maybe not over the hysterical laughter of the fire, it cackles, unstoppable now sir, yes it is, not like before, she’s not here to pour silly weak water over the monster now.


The rage is climbing, up and up, past the pettiness of drawing rooms and beds and guests and love, it found your secret Mr. Rochester and it’s angry. It engulfs that attic, the attic of pain. You said it was England but I don’t believe you, not you or silly old Grace Poole. Silly and stupid she fell asleep, blame her like normal Rochester, not me, she let me do this. Up and up goes the fire but still you don’t hear me?  Thornfield Hall will be no more and neither will you.

The roof now. I raced the fire and I won, I won’t let it get me Rochester, the fire burns through this glorious Hall, teasing it as it devours every part of it. Bursting the windows, shattering glass like confetti, ripping at blackened floorboards tearing this home to shreds, but not me. Never me, you should know that. Years of trying to tame me, maybe you were right. You, and Daniel and Amélie and my mother, madness in the blood you said. What about now when I have beaten the fire? Do you still believe it? I’m not crazy Rochester. The air is heavy as the fire becomes exhausted, blackness rushes down my lungs as the fires has one last attempt at ensnaring me but it forgets that I am its master today. I think this is nearing an end. You can hear us now, you can hear us escaping. You can say goodbye to mad Antoinette now Edward, forget Jamaica and all the mistakes. The fire has eaten all that time away. Distance the memory of Bertha and put our past to bed.


Ezy_scorpio   Ezy_scorpio wrote
on 10/5/2011 11:21:40 PM
Enjoyed. Very nice. And you are very pretty...

StarPoet   StarPoet wrote
on 8/15/2010 12:24:25 AM
I remember this movie for it's scenery and it's racial divides. That you were able to write that scene here for us is a treat for us. Thanks!

Elton4562   Elton4562 wrote
on 6/8/2010 11:07:42 AM
Contratulations! This is very well written. Elton

writing Pocahontas
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This is just some of my coursework but I wanted t get something up asap and this was something I enjoyed doing. It's basically a monologue from Antoinettes point of view (main character in wide sargasso sea aka mad Bertha - Jane Eyre) as she burns down Thornfield Hall...So yeahh, enjoy, hopefully :)