It is weak and silly to say you cannot bear what it is your fate to be required to bear.

Jane begins her education in earnest. She finally officially joins the lowest class, but being unused to rote memorization (the standard practice of education in that day), she struggles a bit; however, she’s also an eager learner, which tends to make up for her deficiencies in that department. After a while, she settles down to the task of sewing a hem.

At that hour most of the others were sewing likewise; but one class still stood round Miss Scatcherd’s chair reading, and as all was still and quiet, the subject of their lessons could be heard, together with the manner in which each girl acquitted herself, and the animadversions or commendations of Miss Scratcherd on the performance.

Jane recognizes her friend from the other day (which she comes to know is named Helen Burns) in this class. The teacher frequently criticizes Helen for everything from bad pronunciation to bad posture, and sets her at the bottom of the class.

The lesson had comprised part of the reign of Charles I., and there were sundry questions about tonnage and poundage and ship-money, which most of them appeared unable to answer; still every little difficulty was solved instantly when it reached Burns: her memory seemed to have retained the substance of the whole lesson, and she was ready with answers on every point. I kept expecting that Miss Scratcherd would praise her attention; but, instead of that, she suddenly cried out:-
“You dirty, disagreeable girl! you have never cleaned your nails this morning!”
Burns made no answer: I wondered at her silence.
“Why,” thought I, “does she not explain that she could neither clean her nails nor wash her face this morning, as the water was frozen?“

Yeah, that’s what happens in a room that has no heating: Water for washing freezes at night in the winter!

[…] Burns immediately left the class, and, going into the small inner room where the books were kept, returned in half a minute, carrying in her hand a bundle of twigs tied together at one end. This ominous tool she presented to Miss Scratcherd with a respectful curtsey; then she quietly, and without being told, unloosed her pinafore, and the teacher instantly and sharply inflicted on her neck a dozen strokes with the bunch of twigs. Not a tear rose to Burns’ eye; and, while I paused from my sewing, because my fingers quivered at this spectacle with a sentiment of unavailing and impotent anger, not a feature of her pensive face altered its ordinary expression.
“Hardened girl!” exclaimed Miss Scratcherd; “nothing can correct you of your slatternly habits: carry the rod away.”
Burns obeyed: I looked at her narrowly as she emerged from the book-closet; she was just putting back her handkerchief into her pocket, and the trace of a tear glistened on her thin cheek.

Jane is confused (and even a little upset) that Helen didn’t stand up for herself, but it’s not until much later in the day, during a free hour, that they can speak to each other again.

“Do you come a long way from here?”
“I come from a place further north; quite on the borders of Scotland.”
“Will you ever go back?”
“I hope so; but nobody can be sure of the future.”
“You must wish to leave Lowood?”
“No: why should I? I was sent to Lowood to get an education; and it would be of no use going away until I have attained that object.”
“But that teacher, Miss Scratcherd, is so cruel to you?”
“Cruel? Not at all! She is severe: she dislikes my faults.”
“And if I were in your place I should dislike her; I should resist her; if she struck me with that rod, I should get it from her hand; I should break it under her nose.”
“Probably you would do nothing of the sort: but if you did, Mr. Brocklehurst would expel you from the school; that would be a great grief to your relations. It is far better to endure patiently a smart which nobody feels but yourself than to commit a hasty action whose evil consequences will extend to all connected with you; and besides, the Bible bids us return good for evil.”
“But it seems disgraceful to be flogged and to be sent to stand in the middle of a room full of people; and you are such a great girl: I am far younger than you, and I could not bear it.”
“Yet it would be your duty to bear it, if you could not avoid it: it is weak and silly to say you cannot bear what it is your fate to be required to bear.”

Jane is in a very different position from Helen, and at the same time, their situations aren’t that different at all. Helen was sent to Lowood (presumably by her father) because that’s the only school they could afford, so getting expelled would just mean a waste of money (and, you know, the shame of being kicked out of school), with no other plans to fall back on. And while the Reeds could definitely afford to send Jane to another school, they certainly wouldn’t WANT to, so it would be even odds whether they’d just lock her up for good or make good on their threats and send her to a poor-house. Basically, if Jane starts acting up like she did in her last few days at Gateshead, she’d end up in a worse place than ever.

“You say you have faults, Helen: what are they? To me you seem very good.”
“Then learn from me, not to judge by appearances: I am, as Miss Scratcherd said, slatternly; I seldom put, and never keep, things in order; I am careless; I forget rules; I read when I should learn my lessons; I have no method; and sometimes I say, like you, I cannot bear to be subjected to systematic arrangements. This is all very provoking to Miss Scratcherd, who is naturally neat, punctual, and particular.”
“And cross and cruel,” I added; but Helen Burns would not admit my addition: she kept silence.
“Is Miss Temple as severe to you as Miss Scratcherd?”
At the utterance of Miss Temple’s name, a soft smile flitted over her grave face.
“Miss Temple is full of goodness: it pains her to be severe to any one, even the worst in the school; she sees my errors, and tells me of them gently; and, if I do anything worthy of praise, she gives me my meed liberally. One strong proof of my wretchedly defective nature is, that even her expostulations, so mild, so rational, have not influence to cure me of my faults; and even her praise, though I value it most highly, cannot stimulate me to continued care and foresight.”
“That is curious,” said I: “it is so easy to be careful.”
“For you I have no doubt it is. I observed you in your class this morning, and saw you were closely attentive: your thoughts never seemed to wander while Miss Miller explained the lesson and questioned you. Now, mine continually rove away: when I should be listening to Miss Scratcherd, and collecting all that she says with assiduity, often I lose the very sound of her voice; I fall into a sort of dream. Sometimes I think I am in Northumberland, and that the noises I hear round me are the bubbling of a little brook which runs through Deepden near our house; – then, when it comes to my turn to reply, I have to be wakened; and, having learned nothing of what was read for listening to the visionary brook, I have no answer ready.”

It sounds to me like Helen might be autistic (and possibly have ADD) – she explains that she only paid attention to this day’s lesson because she was interested in the subject of Charles I, which sounds an awful lot like a special interest at play. Her “slatternly habits” also align with many autistic people who don’t care as much about personal appearance as the people around them (particularly for women and girls). Even her “bad posture” might be the way she’s discovered to mask stimming behaviors (like standing on the side of her foot). All this to say, that would be a terrible time to be neurodivergent in school.

“And when Miss Temple teaches you, do your thoughts wander then?”
“No, certainly, not often; because Miss Temple has generally something to say which is newer than my own reflections: her language is singularly agreeable to me, and the information she communicates is often just what I wished to gain.”
“Well, then, with Miss Temple you are good?”
“Yes, in a passive way: I make no effort; I follow as inclination guides me. There is no merit in such goodness.”

It sounds like Miss Temple is just a better teacher than Miss Scratcherd – where Miss Temple focuses on teaching engaging lessons, Miss Scratcherd seems to be often distracted by little errors the students might make, even by accident. Miss Scratcherd seems like a very by-the-book teacher, annoyed when students don’t take the “right” message from a given lesson, and never adjusting her teaching style to accommodate students. To be fair, that seems to have been standard practice in that day and age, but it’s still hard on poor Helen.

I definitely relate to Helen on this point: I always found school easy, and I rarely acknowledged that anything I found easy could be in any way praiseworthy, even when it could be difficult for others.

“[…] [You] are good to those who are good to you. It is all I ever desire to be. If people were always kind and obedient to those who are cruel and unjust, the wicked people would have it all their own way; they would never feel afraid, and so they would never alter, but would grow worse and worse. When we are struck at without a reason, we should strike back again very hard; I am sure we should – so hard as to teach the person who struck us never to do it again.”
“You will change your mind, I hope, when you grow older: as yet you are but a little untaught girl.”
“But I feel this, Helen: I must dislike those who, whatever I do to please them, persist in disliking me; I must resist those who punish me unjustly. It is as natural as that I should love those who show me affection, or submit to punishment when I feel it is deserved.”
“Heathens and savage tribes hold that doctrine; but Christians and civilised nations disown it.”
“How? I don’t understand.”
“It is not violence that best overcomes hate – nor vengeance that most certainly heals injury.”
“What then?”
“Read the New Testament, and observe what Christ says, and how he acts; make his word your rule, and his conduct your example.”
“What does he say?”
“Love your enemies; bless them that curse you; do good to them that hate you and despitefully use you.”
“Then I should love Mrs. Reed, which I cannot do; I should bless her son John, which is impossible.”

I feel like they both have fair points here, in different ways. Those who use their authority unjustly should be punished – it’s just a question of when and how, and I don’t claim to know when it’s better to resist or bide your time. But this idea is certainly new to Jane.

This prompts her to explain her backstory to Helen.

Helen heard me patiently to the end: I expected she would then make a remark, but she said nothing.
“Well,” I asked impatiently, “is not Mrs. Reed a hard-hearted, bad woman?”
“She has been unkind to you, no doubt; because, you see, she dislikes your cast of character, as Miss Scratcherd does mine: but how minutely you remember all she has done and said to you! What a singularly deep impression her injustice seems to have made on your heart! No ill-usage so brands its record on my feelings. Would you not be happier if you tried to forget her severity, together with the passionate emotions it excited? Life appears to me too short to be spent in nursing animosity, or registering wrongs. We are, and must be, one and all, burdened with faults in this world: but the time will soon come when, I trust, we shall put off our corruptible bodies; when debasement and sin will fall from us with this cumbrous frame of flesh, and only the spark of the spirit will remain, – the impalpable principle of life and thought, pure as when it left the Creator to inspire the creature: whence it came it will return; perhaps again to be communicated to some being higher than man – perhaps to pass through gradations of glory, from the pale human soul to brighten the seraph! Surely it will never, on the contrary, be suffered to degenerate from man to fiend? No; I cannot believe that: I hold another creed; which no one ever taught me, and which I seldom mention; but in which I delight, and to which I cling: for it extends hope to all: it makes Eternity a rest – a mighty home, not a terror and an abyss. Besides, with this creed, I can so clearly distinguish the criminal and the crime; I can so sincerely forgive the first while I abhor the last: with this creed revenge never worries my heart, degradation never too deeply disgusts me, injustice never crushes me too low: I live in calm, looking to the end.”

Helen here presents a sort of universalism, to which I don’t personally subscribe to myself, but it’s certainly a new thought for Jane, who seems to have been raised in a sort of Calvinist tradition, focusing on the depravity of Man and the punishments of Hell, rather than on the potential for human kindness. And again, to be fair, Jane’s life thus far hasn’t abounded in human kindness, but it can’t help to always be dwelling on bitterness and resentment about things you have no power to change.

Until next time…