Carrie Sessarego - Pride, Prejudice and Popcorn

Jane tackles her cousin, the ass, and is promptly shut up in a room by Aunt Reed. It happens to be the same room in which Jane’s uncle had died, and Jane has a fit brought on by either her imagination or a visit from a ghost. Aunt Reed sends Jane away to Lowood Institution, a charitable school run by the vain and corrupt Mr. Brocklehurst. Some readers find this part of the story to be tiresome, but you can’t skip it, because here Jane finds two important mentors—Helen, a friend who teaches Jane about forgiveness and patience, and Miss Temple, who clears Jane of Mr. Brocklehurst’s accusations (he tells the other girls to shun her because she is a liar). Jane learns many valuable lessons at Lowood:

1. Hypocrisy is a bad thing. It is also a bad thing to either live your life in total self-indulgence or in total self-sacrifice (shown by the needless suffering of the Lowood students and the disgust with which Jane regards Mr. Brocklehurst’s spoiled, overdressed daughters).

2. If you simply rage bitterly all the time, you will destroy yourself. If you practice restraint and forgiveness, you will be more likely to find justice and you will certainly be happier.

3. It is very important to wash your hands frequently and to cover your mouth when you cough.

Alas, it is only my own wishful thinking at work with regard to number three. A typhus epidemic strikes Lowood, and Helen, who has been suffering from consumption all of this time, dies in Jane’s arms. With her final words, Helen reminds Jane of the glories of heaven. In almost every film adaptation, she does this while coughing directly into Jane’s face, as if to bring Jane along as quickly as possible. But Jane is made of tough stuff, and she does not contract typhus or consumption. She graduates from Lowood and works as a teacher there until she grows restless and applies for a position of governess at the remote Thornfield Hall.

Chapters XI–XV: In which Rochester appears.

Jane likes Thornfield well enough, although it is a confusing place, as gothic estates so often are. The first mystery is who everyone is—Mrs. Fairfax, who Jane assumes to be the owner, is in fact the housekeeper, and Adele is not Mrs. Fairfax’s daughter but is rather the ward of Rochester, who is absent. There’s also the mystery of the strange laughter Jane hears at night. Mrs. Fairfax blames this laughter on Grace Poole, a servant who doesn’t seem to do much except drink port.

Eventually Rochester shows up. In true gothic fashion, Jane is walking through the woods in the mist when Rochester almost runs over her (with his horse) and calls her a witch. The next day, Rochester tells Jane to have an after-dinner chat with him, as he is, evidentially, bored. Over the course of the next few weeks, Rochester and Jane have many talks, in which she forces him to use some semblance of decent manners toward her, and he tells her all about his past life of scandal, including the fact that his last mistress claimed that Adele was his daughter, an accusation he does not believe.

Jane and Rochester are drawn even closer when she saves his life. She is awakened by strange laughter, smells smoke, and follows it to Rochester’s room, where his bedclothes have caught on fire. Jane awakens Rochester by throwing water in his face, which leads to the hilarious line, “Is there a flood?” (Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre [New York: Random House, 1943], 110). They put out the fire and he tells her to stay in his room. He leaves, comes back, and concludes the fire was probably caused by Grace Poole. Jane, ever the voice of reason, points out that maybe the homicidal, cackling, drunken maniac should be ordered to leave, but Rochester says not to worry, everything’s fine. He proceeds to gaze at Jane with such evident adoration that she freaks out, goes back to her room and stays awake all night in a state that will be painfully relatable to any of us who spent junior high school wondering if That Boy liked us, and if so, did he really like us, and if so, did he like us as more than a friend, or what? Alas for Jane, when she wakes up in the morning Rochester has gone to visit friends, at least one of which is gorgeous, single and female. Drat.

Chapters XVI–XXIII: In which Rochester is a total jerk, with happy results…or are they?

Rochester shows up at Thornfield with a group of rich, snobby people, including Blanche Ingram, the book’s Mean Girl. In a particularly cruel twist, Rochester order Jane to attend all the guests’ venomous little get-togethers, so that she can witness every second of flirtation between Blanche and Rochester himself. She’s also treated to rants about how useless and despicable governesses are.

Rochester leaves for a day, and while he’s gone, two strangers arrive. One is Mr. Mason, who claims to be a friend of Rochester’s. The other is a gypsy woman, who insists on telling everyone’s fortune. She tries to get Jane to admit that she (Jane) likes Rochester, but Jane won’t admit a thing. Kudos to Jane—because the gypsy woman turns out to be Rochester in disguise. Rochester is quite smug about his game until Jane mentions that a Mr. Mason has arrived. Rochester is horrified but with a great deal of moral support from Jane, he sallies back to the party looking cheerful as ever.

An aside: Readers, I love this book. I have a copy of it wrapped in plastic in my earthquake/flood/zombie-apocalypse emergency kit in case I have to restart civilization from scratch (I also have The Lord of the Rings and many, many ballpoint pens). But please do not date a guy who stages an elaborate plan to publicly humiliate you and make you jealous. Just don’t.

Later that night, everyone wakes up to the sound of screaming. Rochester sends everyone back to bed but has Jane come with him to a secret room where Mr. Mason is bleeding copiously. Jane has to sit alone with Mason, “sponging” the wound (apparently no one in the Victorian age knew about applying direct pressure) while Rochester fetches a doctor. With the dawn, Mason is smuggled off to the doctor’s place.

Not long afterward, Jane goes to visit Aunt Reed. She’s dying and has asked for Jane. Here we get another lesson about the problem with living life at one extreme or the other: of Aunt Reed’s three children, Eliza is about to become a nun, a path Jane views as something of a waste of Eliza’s formidable intellect; Georgiana is looking for a rich husband and is regarded by Jane as hopelessly frivolous; and John, the cousin who was an ass, is now a dead ass, having wasted his life and his money with gambling and drink. Jane forgives her aunt, and her aunt reveals that Jane has an uncle who had asked about Jane long ago and wanted to adopt her, but Aunt Reed, who hated Jane, told him Jane had died at Lowood. The aunt dies, and Jane goes back to Thornfield. This is such a tangent that many adaptations leave it out, but in addition to being thematically important, it sets up a later plot twist.

Jane tells Rochester that when he marries Blanche, she (Jane, not Blanche) will have to leave. More parties ensue until finally, there is great joy, for Rochester proposes to Jane! He was never going to marry Blanche! He was just trying to make Jane jealous! He adores her! Everyone is happy, except Blanche, who is still looking for a rich husband, and Mrs. Fairfax, who finds the entire situation to be appalling. Of course, before proposing, Rochester has to test Jane by making her jealous one last time and telling her she should stay at Thornfield even after he marries Blanche. It is here that Jane has her greatest, though not happiest, hour:

Do you think I can stay to become nothing to you? Do you think I am an automaton? A machine without feelings? And can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips, and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong! I have as much soul as you, and full as much heart! And if God had gifted me with some beauty, and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it is now for me to leave you. I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh; it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God’s feet, equal—as we are (190)!