A White Heron: Sylvia's Choice Between Nature and Approval

A Defining Work of American Realism. "A White Heron" (1886) stands as the most famous of all Sarah Orne Jewett's stories, focusing closely on the experience of a nine-year-old girl named Sylvia who decides that the communion she enjoys with the natural world means more to her than monetary gain and social approval. Jewett sets the story in rural New England, where Sylvia and her grandmother, Mrs. Tilley, inhabit a poor but clean dwelling situated on a small country farm far removed from city life. We learn that Sylvia spent the first eight years of her life in "a crowded manufacturing town," where her mother, Mrs. Tilley's daughter, fell upon unspecified hard times and was no longer capable of caring for all of her children (Country 228). This background sets up the contrast between town and country that is an understated but important element of this story.

The Central Tension: Nature Versus Human Approval. The main tension in the story grows from the unexpected arrival of a handsome young ornithologist who spends two nights with Sylvia and her grandmother while searching for an elusive white heron. Sylvia is attracted to the tall stranger and is tempted to show him where the heron lives in order to please him and to earn the much-needed $10 he has offered to anyone who can show him the heron's nest. Sylvia struggles with opposing impulses, wanting to win the young man's approval at the same time that she wishes to preserve the trust and sense of kinship she has felt for the wild creatures that populate the region. By means of these competing natural forces, Jewett explores the way individual character emerges out of contesting internal and external influences over which people have limited control. This core dynamic, plus the fact that the story is based on the lives of ordinary people, contributes to the work's standing as an example of realist literature.

Chance, Environment, and Sylvia's Blossoming. We learn early on that external circumstances play a major role in Sylvia's life. Chance enters the story through Mrs. Tilley's "unlikely choice of Sylvia from among her daughter's household of children," but it turns out that her decision gave the young girl precisely the environment that her undeveloped inner nature craved. Immediately upon their arrival at the old farm, the cat began to purr and Sylvia whispered to Mrs. Tilley "that this was a beautiful place to live in, and she should never wish to go home" (229). Sylvia blossoms in her humble surroundings, and her grandmother notes with delight that "there never was such a child for straying out-of-doors since the world was made!" (228).

Sylvia also acknowledges the vitalizing influence of country life: "As for Sylvia herself, it seemed as if she never had been alive at all before she came to live on the farm." Jewett opens the story with a glimpse of Sylvia after she has been with Mrs. Tilley for a year, and it is clear that she has found contentment in her pastoral surroundings. She lingers in the balmy June evening, companionably strolling home with the family cow. Mrs. Tilley tells us shortly after the ornithologist has arrived that Sylvia takes after her uncle Dan: "Sylvia takes after him," she says. "There ain't a foot o' ground she don't know her way over, and the wild creatur's counts her one o' themselves" (231). Such language points to the way Sylvia's genetic inheritance has predisposed her to flourish in the setting that she has landed in as the result of an unforeseen family crisis.

The Ornithologist as Disturbing Presence. The sudden appearance of the handsome young man instantly disrupts the peace Sylvia has discovered, and it is no surprise that his presence is associated with disturbing memories from Sylvia's early life in town. We see this just before her solitude is invaded by the ornithologist's whistle, when Sylvia's thoughts are troubled by the recollection of "a great red-faced boy who used to chase and frighten her" (229). The flushed face of this male antagonist suggests heightened emotions and the possibility of passionate male pursuit that threatens Sylvia's serenity.

As a consequence, when she did hear the ornithologist's "whistle, determined, and somewhat aggressive," she understandably "stepped discreetly aside into the bushes." Jewett then refers to the young man as the "enemy," setting the stage for the contest ahead in which Sylvia will have to decide between her continued independence and her wish for male approval. The gardenlike setting, Sylvia's effort to conceal herself, and Jewett's identification of the young man as the enemy define the scene as an allusion to the Garden of Eden and let us know that Sylvia has come face to face with temptation. The young man's disarming admission that he is lost and in need of "a friend" increases Sylvia's alarm because she feels her instinctive defenses relax and recognizes how hard it will be to keep her distance from him.

The Farmhouse and the Ornithologist's Indifference. The danger posed by the young man becomes increasingly clear when Sylvia leads him to the farmhouse and the next day accompanies him in his search for the white heron. On his first night at the farmhouse, Mrs. Tilley quickly overcomes her initial reserve and welcomes him into her home, assuming the traditional role of hostess. After their supper, the old woman recounts her family history, giving emphasis to the hardships she has encountered. However, despite hearing that "she had buried four children" and that her only surviving son left home after an altercation with her now-departed husband, the visitor is notably unsympathetic (231).

Jewett presents him as preoccupied with his own concerns: "The guest did not notice this hint of family sorrows in his eager interest in something else" (232). This indifference is immediately connected to his obsession with completing his collection of stuffed and preserved birds. "I have been at it ever since I was a boy," he says, placing particular importance on the fact that there are but "two or three very rare ones" that have eluded him. The rarity of these birds heightens his interest in acquiring them, while also making it clear that he is part of the process of human predation that will eventually lead to extinction if unchecked.

Sylvia's Attraction and Inner Conflict. When Sylvia accompanies him into the woods the next day, she has "lost her first fear of the friendly lad" and accepts his gift of a jackknife. Even though the text states that she "would have liked him vastly better without his gun" and "could not understand why he killed the birds he seemed to like so much," Sylvia is delighted with the gift and seems irresistibly drawn to him (233). She watches him with "loving admiration" that arises from a deep, instinctive attraction informed by an undeniable sexual undercurrent: "The woman's heart, asleep in the child, was vaguely thrilled by a dream of love" (233). With these words, Jewett prepares us for the dramatic climax of the story when Sylvia must decide whether she will use her knowledge of the white heron to win male approval or resist her instinctual attraction, preserve her independence, and stand on the side of environmental conservation.

Part 2: The Climb and the Heron. Part 2 of "A White Heron" is developed against the backdrop of Sylvia's mixed emotions and demonstrates that for her the communion she feels with the nonhuman world finally outweighs her wish to please the ornithologist. During the second night of the ornithologist's stay, Sylvia can hardly sleep because she is so excited by the prospect of climbing an ancient pine "at break of day," from which vantage she will "easily discover where the white heron flew, and mark the place" (234). She imagines the "glory" that will be hers when "she could make known the secret" later in the morning (235). At this point, Jewett interrupts the narrative to clarify what is at stake for Sylvia if she acts on her newly discovered attraction and does all within her power to please the stranger: "Alas, if the great wave of human interest which flooded for the first time this dull little life should sweep away the satisfaction of an existence heart to heart with nature and the dumb life of the forest" (235). As we soon see, however, Sylvia's fascination with the young man is countered by her discovery of the vastness of the natural world and her intimate participation in it.

With "tingling, eager blood coursing the channels of her whole frame," Sylvia begins the climb that will show her where the heron's nest is located. At first, the "sharp dry twigs" of the pine "held her and scratched her like angry talons," but as she progresses up the tree, the tree itself seems to change its attitude and welcome her presence: "Who knows how steadily the least twigs held themselves to advantage this light, weak creature on her way! The old pine must have loved his new dependent" (236). At last she reaches the vantage she is seeking and for the first time sees "the sea with the dawning sun making a golden dazzle over it," and she feels at one with the hawks that glide beneath her, "as if she too could go flying away among the clouds" (236). As readers we also marvel at the majesty of what she beholds, concluding for ourselves, if not for her, that "truly it was a vast and awesome world" (236). We are, for a time, held in suspense as we observe Sylvia undoubtedly indulging in pursuing her conscious plan of telling the young man where the nest is.

Narrative Interruption and Sylvia's Silence. Jewett carefully composes this critical scene so that we witness Sylvia's struggle between conscious purpose and unconscious delight and find ourselves urging her to indulge her unconscious impulse. Once the sought-after bird appears and Sylvia possesses the knowledge she was seeking, the narrative is again disrupted. This time the intrusive voice instructs Sylvia to remain in the tree and behold what is to occur even though she has gathered all the information she needs: "And wait! wait! do not move a foot or a finger, little girl, do not send an arrow of light and consciousness from your two eager eyes, for the heron has perched on a pine bough not far beyond yours, and cries back to his mate on the nest, and plumes his feathers for the new day!" (238). Here is the bird at sunrise, preparing for the future that is the day ahead and the next generation signified by his mate on the nest. This is what Jewett wants us to watch Sylvia watching.

At first she appears undeterred in her original purpose; her immediate response is to wonder "what the stranger would say to her, and what he would think when she told him how to find his way straight to the heron's nest" (238). Once these words are uttered, however, the point of view shifts from third-person limited to third-person objective, and we no longer have access to Sylvia's inner thoughts. This is so that we can observe her behavior and see for ourselves whether her outward conduct expresses the change of heart the narrative intrusion encouraged. This is precisely what she does, but she achieves it through inaction.

When the moment arrives to tell the ornithologist where to find the nest, Sylvia remains silent. Her grandmother "frequently rebukes her," and she herself never loses sight of how helpful the money would be and how much she would like to make the young man happy (239). Once more, the narrative guides our thoughts, stating emphatically that the girl "must keep silence!" We are told this does because "she remembers how the white heron came flying through the golden air and how they watched the sea and the morning together" (239). The narrative intrudes in this manner for the simple reason that Sylvia could not herself explain why she has acted as she has, the force of nature that flows through her and channels her actions is not part of her conscious thought. She is a nine-year-old girl, unaware of the power that directs her conduct. Yet again, the narrative explains: Had she acted as she intended, she would have surrendered her independence and her dignity in exchange for the young man's gratitude. Yes, she "could have served and followed him and loved him as a dog loves," but she refuses to submit to this fate, acting instead on an opposing impulse emerging from what we might imagine to be her instinct for self-preservation (239).

Ambiguous Ending and Realist Principles. What becomes of Sylvia after this momentous event is left ambiguous. A story written in the romantic tradition might have shown Sylvia enjoying an enhanced measure of delight when she resumes the simple life that she nearly abandoned in order to become a more conventional female who seeks to accede to male authority. But this is a realist story, and Jewett makes no claims about new joys and a deeper intimacy with nature. She raises this as a possibility but insists on leaving it open-ended: "Were the birds better friends than their hunter might have been,—who can tell?" (239). Ending the story in this way enables Jewett to return to the principles of realism that she herself may have strayed from when her narrator described the ancient pine as seeking to assist Sylvia and even having grown in that instant to "have loved his new dependent" (236). The existence of such a tree would have implied that the natural world is capable of sympathizing with human experience, and this is not the realist's aim. We are left hoping that the woodlands will offer Sylvia their "gifts and graces" even while we know that in the meantime she remains a "lonely country child" (239).

For Discussion or Writing. The following prompts invite deeper analysis of Jewett's narrative techniques and thematic concerns.
1. Pay close attention to the function of point of view and the use of narrative interruption in part 2 of "A White Heron." Explain how the commentary and commands that enter the narrative contribute to the reader's understanding of what Sylvia is experiencing. Do you think that this way of managing the closing scenes adds to or detracts from the power of the story?

2. Contrast Jewett's presentation of Sylvia's relationship to the white heron that pauses for a minute on a branch not far from her with the way Thoreau presents his narrator's relationship to the loons that he describes near the end of the "Brute Neighbors" chapter in Walden. Explain how each author manages tone in these scenes and how tone contributes to our interpretation of the events described.

3. Explain how Stephen Crane's presentation of nature in "The Open Boat" differs from Jewett's presentation of nature in "A White Heron." Select specific scenes that support your observations. Is it possible to make the argument that Crane's view of nature as indifferent to human experience is not as different from Jewett's as might at first appear?

4. How do you interpret Jewett's ending to "A White Heron"? Why is it important that Sylvia's future be left uncertain?
5. Why do you think Jewett chose to write about Sylvia at age nine rather than, say, 12 or 14? Explain how her age influences the way you interpret the story.