Villette - Chapters 12-15

Beginning with a sickness of one of Madame Beck's children, a Dr. John (as they call him) frequently visits the school. Lucy's suspicions begin to arise when the doctor continues to call even when nobody seems to be sick. Madame Beck pays more attention to her own appearance, and seems to light up when the doctor is in the room. Could there be something amiss?

Meanwhile, Lucy and Genevra hang out with each other quite often. Genevra, who has by now shown herself to be a hopeless flirt, repeatedly mentions a certain "Isidore" - an unfortunate young man who has developed an ardent affection for her. It's the typical infatuated/duped-guy-willing-to-jump-off-cliff-for-flighty-girl situation. I always find those to be among the top 5 most annoying situations in a book. JUST GET OVER HER, FOOL. Ah, I feel better now.

At the back of the garden behind the school is a tree-lined alley, which has become a favorite haunt of Lucy's. While sitting there one day, a box mysteriously drops from the window of a house nearby. Inside is a bouquet of flowers and a sappy love note. Out of the blue, Dr. John appears on the scene, intent on recovering the box and its contents. Suddenly they spot Madame Beck characteristically approaching, presumably to investigate the commotion. Dr. John disappears. Madame Beck acts suspiciously.

I found what happens next to be rather funny - Madame Beck (after searching Lucy's things again) leaves the house in an obvious fashion, and Dr. John comes for a visit. He and Lucy end up alone in a room and talk about the box, and he reveals that, although he didn't write the note, he knows who did and for whom it was intended. He's about to tell when the door suddenly makes a noise which is followed by a sneeze, and Madame Beck cooly walks through the room. The poor woman is found out in spite of her tricks.

The end of the school year comes and the school puts on a ball. During the festivities, the questions of what was going on with Madame Beck & the young Dr. John, and the identities of the two apparent lovers are resolved -

• Madame Beck had a crush on Dr. John.
  
• Dr. John turns out to be Isidore.
  
• The box/love note were from a rival - an empty-headed pretty boy. Lucy tries to show him that Genevra isn't exactly a fine catch, but he tells her she's being too severe. I like how she sets him straight -

“I love Miss Fanshawe far more than De Hamal [the rival] loves any human being, and would care for and guard her better than he. Respecting De Hamal, I fear she is under an illusion. The man’s character is known to me, all his antecedents, all his scrapes. He is not worthy of your beautiful young friend.”

“My ‘beautiful young friend’ ought to know that, and to know or feel who is worthy of her,” said I. “If her beauty or her brains will not serve her so far, she merits the sharp lesson of experience.”

“Are you not a little severe?”

“I am excessively severe—more severe than I choose to show you. You should hear the strictures with which I favour my ‘beautiful young friend,’ only that you would be unutterably shocked at my want of tender considerateness for her delicate nature.”

“She is so lovely, one cannot but be loving towards her. You—every woman older than herself must feel for such a simple, innocent, girlish fairy a sort of motherly or elder-sisterly fondness. Graceful angel! Does not your heart yearn towards her when she pours into your ear her pure, childlike confidences? How you are privileged!” And he sighed.

“I cut short these confidences somewhat abruptly now and then,” said I. “But excuse me, Dr. John; may I change the theme for one instant? What a godlike person is that De Hamal! What a nose on his face—perfect! Model one in putty or clay, you could not make a better or straighter or neater; and then, such classic lips and chin; and his bearing—sublime.”

“De Hamal is an unutterable puppy, besides being a very white-livered hero.”

“You, Dr. John, and every man of a less refined mould than he, must feel for him a sort of admiring affection, such as Mars and the coarser deities may be supposed to have borne the young, graceful Apollo.”

“An unprincipled, gambling little jackanapes!” said Dr. John curtly, “whom, with one hand, I could lift up by the waistband any day, and lay low in the kennel if I liked.”

“The sweet seraph!” said I. “What a cruel idea! Are you not a little severe, Dr. John?”

HAHA.

Anyways, school ends and as Lucy has nowhere to go, she stays in Villette. The utter loneliness of the situation depresses her, and she develops a fever. She wanders around town and ends up in a confessional, spilling everything out to a priest, who asks her to see him the next day. I was so scared while reading that she'd do it, but to my relief, Lucy stands him up and does not become a papist. Ah.

I really like Lucy. She's sensible, philosophical, analytical, curious, and has a travel bug. She slightly reminds me of Jane Eyre. Interesting how Charlotte Bronte uses a similar type of heroine in her novels. I wonder if it's the same in Shirley and The Professor? I heard that Jane Eyre was slightly auto-biographical. I heard the same of Villette. And The Professor. Perhaps she wrote the books with herself in mind as the heroine, sort of getting to imagine what her life could have been like in different situations? That'd be an interesting thing to keep in mind as I keep reading.

Wow, this got long.

Villette - Chapters 3-11

Last week I was busy and never got around to writing a Junto post, so I'm combining the two-weeks' worth of reading here.

So far, I love this book. The characters are absolutely fascinating, the plot is unpredictable, and there's a lot of food for thought.

Despite what I first believed, Paulina and Graham became good friends. After a while, Polly's father sent for her to go to the continent with him, and shortly afterwards Lucy Snowe returned to her own family. Eight years go by - Lucy and the Brettons fall out of contact, a family member dies, and Lucy finds herself left to make her way in the world. After a brief time taking care of a dying elderly lady, Lucy travels to London and decides to go to Europe. She boards a ship and meets a rather superficial young lady named Genevra Fanshaw, who happens to mention that she goes to a boarding school in a town called Villette.

Upon landing in France, Lucy and Genevra part ways and Lucy is undecided about what to do next. She spontaneously decides to go to Villette and see what the town has to offer. After arriving in the town, she was directed to an inn and upon reaching the destination realizes that she made a wrong turn - she had reached the aforementioned boarding school instead. Figuring this was too providential a circumstance to ignore, she calls on the head mistress - Madame Beck - and despite not speaking a word of French, she lands a job.

Madame Beck is a curious character. The personification of stoicism, tact, and reserve, she rarely lets on to what she's really thinking. She's easy to work for - her rules are moderate and never gets angry. But she has her flaws. She is obsessed with the approval of others. If her students dislike a teacher, the teacher's fired; she avoids confrontations by placing others in stressful situations in her stead. Also, her only motivation is self interest. Reason, emotion, coercion are nothing. If, however, you show her that a particular move would considerably benefit herself, you've won her over. Her method of governing her school is disturbingly unconventional but rather amusing - espionage. It sort of reminded me of The Lion, Witch and the Wardrobe - she and her spies are everywhere. During Lucy's first night there, Madame Beck snuck into her room, went through her trunks, and duplicated her keys in an attempt to understand her character. This woman both creeps me out and cracks me up.

I found it funny in chapter 8 that Lucy commanded the respect of a classroom of rowdy girls by ripping one girl's English paper in two and locking another delinquent in a book closet. Ha. Just think about the "abuse" lawsuits that probably would have resulted nowadays.

I love how Lucy describes herself as living two lives - that of the outside world, and that of her mind. I never realized that other people saw their lives like that too.

This is a good book.

The Character of Rebekah...

...is the title of one of the chapters in one of my favorite books, Female Piety. I thought I'd post some particularly good excerpts from the chapter - the graces demonstrated by Rebekah in Genesis are still lovely in the sight of God today. You can read the rest of the chapter here, if you're so inclined.

Observe the COURTEOUS affability of this interesting young woman [Rebekah]. Here was a stranger, a servant, though evidently a servant of a wealthy master; and yet how respectful, how gentle, how affable was her address. Josephus, fond of adding in his paraphrastic manner to the terseness and simplicity of the Scripture narrative, relates that there were other young women with Rebekah, who were asked for water, but refused; and that she reproved them for their churlishness. COURTESY is a befitting grace in both sexes, but most so in the female. While rudeness, which is a 'blemish' upon masculine character, is a 'blot' upon feminine character. A female churl is a monstrosity, from which we turn away with insufferable disgust. Courtesy is one of the cheapest exercises of virtue; it costs even less than rudeness—for the latter, except in hearts that are petrified into stone, must put the subject of it to some expense of feeling. Even a rough voice issuing from female lips is disagreeable, much more rough manners exhibited by a female form.

There are various things which prevent the exercise of courtesy. In some cases, it is to be traced to pride, a vice which befits a demon, but not a woman. In others it is the result of an absolute bad disposition—a morose, sour, and ill-conditioned mind, which knows no congenial seasons, and experiences no soft emotions. Some are petulant and peevish, and when putting on a mood of civility, are easily driven from it by the slightest touch of their irritability. Be courteous then; it is, if not of the solid substance of holiness, at least its polish. It is a Christian grace; for an apostle has said, "Be compassionate and courteous."

Akin to this was Rebekah's KINDNESS. There was not only an external affability of manner—but a real benevolence of disposition. Here was a stranger, tired and faint with a day's journey in a hot country, asking her kind offices to procure a supply of water for himself and his weary animals. To grant his request for himself, would have cost her no great labor; but it must have been a considerable effort to draw water enough for a number of thirsty camels! And this is more apparent when you know the construction of eastern wells, which are not like ours, but are a kind of sunken cistern, to which you descend by a flight of steps. How many tiresome descents must this young creature have made, before she satisfied the thirst of Eleazar's camels...

Insensibility in a man is bad enough, but worse in a woman. An unfeeling woman is a contradiction in terms, for the female heart has ever been found the dwelling-place of kindness, where the misery of others, when all other hopes have failed, is sure to find an asylum. In what age, or in what country in the world, has woman forfeited her character as the ministering angel of humanity? When and where has the female bosom disowned the claims of misery and repudiated the virtue of benevolence? Arctic snows have not frozen up the springs of mercy in the female heart, nor tropical suns dried them up. Tyranny has not crushed it out, nor barbarism extinguished it. Look at Mr. Park, when alone in the midst of Africa, and lying down to die in poverty and despair, found by the black women of that wild land, carried to their tent, fed, clad, and cherished amid the tender strains of the impromptu song, with which they cheered the feelings of his heart and expressed the benevolence of their own. Young women, cherish in your bosoms the purest philanthropy. Abhor selfishness—you are made for kindness. Oppose not the design of your Creator. Do no violence to your own nature. A stony heart does not behoove you. A tearless woman is a revolting scene in our sorrowful world. She may be pure and beautiful as the marble statue—but if withal she is as hard and cold, who can admire her?

MODESTY is the most attractive of all female graces. What is intelligence without it, but bolder impudence; or beauty but a more seductive snare? There is, I know, a reserve that degenerates into repulsive pride; as on the other hand, there is a frankness that corrupts into forwardness. Woman is intended neither to avoid man by a bashful timidity, nor to court him by an obtrusive advance. A genuine modesty guards against each extreme. It is that semi-transparent veil, which by revealing half her excellence, makes more lovely that which it reveals, and excites desire to know the rest. It is her shield as well as her veil, repelling all the darts with which, either by acts, by words, or by looks, any one would dare to assail her purity. It is also her ornament, investing all her other excellences with additional charms, the blush of purity upon the cheek of beauty. It is her power, by which she subdues every heart that is worth the conquest. Yes, what is not modesty to woman? Lay not aside your veil. Cast not away your shield. Divest not yourselves of your brightest ornament. Enfeeble not your power to influence others. Avoid everything in which the absence of this virtue can show itself.

Villette - Chapters 1 & 2

In every book I read, it's the characters that usually make or break the story for me. I'm fascinated by simply studying people - how they think, express themselves, behave, interact, etc., etc. When I read a story in which the author has done a great job of developing the characters, it makes the book come alive for me. While I didn't particularly enjoy the plot of Jane Eyre, it was the personalities and relationship of Jane and Mr. Rochester that made me really like reading it. So I have high hopes for the characters in Villette. So far, there's:

• Lucy Snowe, the heroine. As she's the narrator(-ess?), I haven't really gotten to see what she's like quite yet. At this point the setting and background info is still being presented. But I want to like her. :-)
  
• Paulina Home. I'm sorry, but this kid bugs me. I'm guessing she's 4 or 5-ish, but she acts very much like an adult. It's hyper-maturity that is border-line insolence. She acts very affectedly and puts on airs with people older than her. It's incredibly annoying. Ugh.
• Mrs. Bretton, Lucy's godmother. Lucy has come to live with her for a while.
  
• Graham Bretton, Mrs. Bretton's 16 year old son. As the narator puts it, he's "a spoiled, whimsical child;" he immediately picks up on Paulina's weirdness, and begins a series of attempts at mortifying her. Normally his type of character would slightly disgust me, but as he's annoying someone I find annoying, I like him. Muahahaha.

I leave off with this passage that I found highly amusing/gratifying:

She [Paulina] wished Mrs. Bretton and myself good-night; she seemed hesitating whether Graham’s deserts entitled him to the same attention, when he caught her up with one hand, and with that one hand held her poised aloft above his head. She saw herself thus lifted up on high in the glass over the fireplace. The suddenness, the freedom, the disrespect of the action were too much.

‘For shame, Mr. Graham!” was her indignant cry; “put me down!” And when again on her feet—“I wonder what you I would think of me if I were to treat you in that way, lifting you with my hand” (raising that mighty member), “as Warren lifts the little cat.”

So saying, she departed.