THE WATSONS
_THE RESCUE SERIES_
_Crown 8vo, Cloth extra, 7s. 6d. net each_
1. THE BACHELOR _of_ THE ALBANY
_By MARMION SAVAGE_
With an introduction by BONAMY DOBRÉE
2. THE HEROINE
_By EATON STANNARD BARRETT_
With an introduction by MICHAEL SADLEIR
3. THE SEMI-ATTACHED COUPLE
_By The Hon. EMILY EDEN_
With an introduction by JOHN GORE
_Second printing._
4. THE SEMI-DETACHED HOUSE
_By The Hon. EMILY EDEN_
With an introduction by ANTHONY EDEN, M.P.
5. GUY LIVINGSTONE
_By GEORGE LAWRENCE_
With an introduction by SHEILA KAYE-SMITH
OTHER VOLUMES IN PREPARATION
THE WATSONS
By
JANE AUSTEN
[Illustration]
COMPLETED
IN ACCORDANCE
WITH HER INTENTIONS
BY EDITH
(HER GREAT GRAND-NIECE)
AND FRANCIS BROWN
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
ELKIN MATHEWS & MARROT LTD.
54 BLOOMSBURY STREET
LONDON, W.C. 1
MDCCCCXXVIII
TO
MY FATHER
JOHN HUBBACK
TO REMIND HIM
OF THE TIME
WHEN WE WROTE
“JANE AUSTEN’S SAILOR BROTHERS”
TOGETHER
E.B.
PREFACE
I will not apologise. I like my great-aunt Jane, and she would have
liked me. She would have said, “I am pleased with your notion, and
expect much entertainment.” Solemn people can say, if they like, that
we should not do this, but I decline to be solemn about Aunt Jane. She
was fun, much more than she was anything else, and this has been fun to
do.
She meant to do it herself some day and told Cassandra all about it.
After her death, Cassandra used to read _The Watsons_ aloud to her
nieces, and my grandmother, Mrs Hubback, was one of them. She was
Catherine Austen then, the daughter of Frank, one of Jane’s sailor
brothers. She was born too late to know Jane, but was a favourite with
Cassandra.
Years afterwards in 1850, my grandmother wrote down from memory the
story of the Watsons, and continued it, probably as she had been told
Jane meant to continue it, but I think she got tired of those lines,
and the story did not suit the Victorian atmosphere. This novel she
called _The Younger Sister_.
Some years ago I took charge of a number of old family books. One day,
as I was dusting them, the first volume of _The Younger Sister_ fell
out of the bookcase on to the floor, and lay there open, and as I
knelt I read, and it was of Elizabeth Watson that I read. I carried
the three volumes down to read them in peace by the fire. The first
was Jane Austen through a haze of memory. Jane Austen incidents in the
second. No connection with Jane Austen in the third. First to please
ourselves, and secondly to please those who will be pleased, we have
tried to disentangle Jane’s story from that of her niece.
Some people say Jane never meant to finish _The Watsons_ and that the
situation was beyond her scope. I entirely disagree. I think she had
all the material to her hand. The story was there, and could only be
continued in one way, and that way was barred for family reasons.
_The Watsons_ begins with the assembly at D---- on “Tuesday the 13th
of October.” I believe that to have been the date on which she began
to write it. She might have made it begin on an indefinite Tuesday, or
on a certain date in October, if she had been writing at another time
of year, but so fixed a date as Tuesday the 13th of October is almost
certainly a real one. It was in 1807 that the 13th of October was a
Tuesday. What was Jane doing and feeling then?
Two years earlier her father had died. Her mother, Cassandra and
herself were living at Southampton with Frank Austen and his wife.
Not so long ago she had passed through Dorking, in which the scene of
_The Watsons_ is laid. The year before she and her mother had paid an
unexpected visit to Stoneleigh, a very great house indeed, with a fine
picture-gallery and a young heir. Here was material for Osborne Castle
and its surroundings.
Why then was the novel left unfinished? I believe the reason was this.
Jane was deeply devoted to her family, and quite aware that family life
is a fine art. Her heroine, Emma Watson, was to lose her father and
go to live with her brother and sister-in-law. But Jane had lost her
father and gone to live with her brother and sister-in-law. Was it wise
to write on that subject at that time? Think of the feelings involved!
Again, was it possible? Those of us who have tried to write know the
extraordinary difficulty of telling of anything deeply felt in the
present.
“‘_With this same key
Shakespeare unlocked his heart_,’ once more!
Did Shakespeare? If so, the less Shakespeare he!”
I think Jane put _The Watsons_ away because it was too near her own
life, but she did not abandon it, for there it was in her desk after
her death.
Of the characters, Elizabeth Watson is my special joy. Her sister Emma
is not so brilliant or endearing as some of Jane’s heroines, but she
is a very agreeable sensible young woman, and it is pleasant to follow
her fortunes. Mr Watson is just enough like Mr Woodhouse to invite
comparison, but Tom Musgrave has no parallel, and no rival. He began
life in the “Letters of a young lady to her freind,” published in the
volume _Love and Freindship_, and was brought thence unchanged to
fulfil his destiny in _The Watsons_. Perhaps one reason for Cassandra’s
love of the story was that it recalled the days when Jane was
seventeen, “One of the best of ages.”
Jane Austen’s manuscript ends with Chapter X.
E. B.
THE WATSONS
CHAPTER I
The first winter assembly in the town of D. in Surrey was to be held on
Tuesday, October 13th, and it was generally expected to be a very good
one. A long list of county families was confidently run over as sure
of attending, and sanguine hopes were entertained that the Osbornes
themselves would be there. The Edwards’ invitation to the Watsons
followed of course. The Edwards were people of fortune who lived in
the town and kept their coach. The Watsons inhabited a village about
three miles distant, were poor and had no close-carriage; and ever
since there had been balls in the place, the former were accustomed to
invite the latter to dress, dine, and sleep at their house on every
monthly return throughout the winter. On the present occasion, as only
two of Mr Watson’s children were at home, and one was always necessary
as companion to himself, for he was sickly and had lost his wife, one
only could profit by the kindness of their friends. Miss Emma Watson,
who was very recently returned to her family from the care of an aunt
who had brought her up, was to make her first public appearance in the
neighbourhood; and her eldest sister, whose delight in a ball was
not lessened by a ten years’ enjoyment, had some merit in cheerfully
undertaking to drive her and all her finery in the old chair to D. on
the important morning.
As they splashed along the dirty lane Miss Watson thus instructed and
cautioned her inexperienced sister:
“I dare say it will be a very good ball, and among so many officers you
will hardly want partners. You will find Mrs Edwards’ maid very willing
to help you, and I would advise you to ask Mary Edwards’ opinion if you
are at all at a loss, for she has a very good taste. If Mr Edwards does
not lose his money at cards, you will stay as late as you can wish for;
if he does, he will hurry you home perhaps--but you are sure of some
comfortable soup. I hope you will be in good looks. I should not be
surprised if you were to be thought one of the prettiest girls in the
room, there is a great deal in novelty. Perhaps Tom Musgrave may take
notice of you; but I would advise you by all means not to give him any
encouragement. He generally pays attention to every new girl, but he is
a great flirt and never means anything serious.”
“I think I have heard you speak of him before,” said Emma; “who is he?”
“A young man of very good fortune, quite independent, and remarkably
agreeable, an universal favourite wherever he goes. Most of the girls
hereabouts are in love with him, or have been. I believe I am the only
one among them that have escaped with a whole heart; and yet I was the
first he paid attention to when he came into this country six years
ago; and very great attention indeed did he pay me. Some people say
that he has never seemed to like any girl so well since, though he is
always behaving in a particular way to one or another.”
“And how came _your_ heart to be the only cold one?” said Emma, smiling.
“There was a reason for that,” replied Miss Watson, changing colour. “I
have not been very well-used, Emma, among them; I hope you will have
better luck.”
“Dear sister, I beg your pardon, if I have unthinkingly given you pain.”
“When first we knew Tom Musgrave,” continued Miss Watson without
seeming to hear her, “I was very much attached to a young man of the
name of Purvis, a particular friend of Robert’s, who used to be with us
a great deal. Everybody thought it would have been a match.”
A sigh accompanied these words, which Emma respected in silence; but
her sister after a short pause went on:
“You will naturally ask why it did not take place, and why he is
married to another woman, while I am still single. But you must ask
him--not me--you must ask Penelope. Yes, Emma, Penelope was at the
bottom of it all. She thinks everything fair for a husband. I trusted
her; she set him against me, with a view of gaining him herself, and
it ended in his discontinuing his visits, and soon after marrying
somebody else. Penelope makes light of her conduct, but _I_ think such
treachery very bad. It has been the ruin of my happiness. I shall never
love any man as I loved Purvis. I do not think Tom Musgrave should be
named with him in the same day.”
“You quite shock me by what you say of Penelope,” said Emma. “Could a
sister do such a thing? Rivalry, treachery between sisters! I shall
be afraid of being acquainted with her. But I hope it was not so;
appearances were against her.”
“You do not know Penelope. There is nothing she would not do to get
married. She would as good as tell you so herself. Do not trust her
with any secrets of your own, take warning by me, do not trust her; she
has her good qualities, but she has no faith, no honour, no scruples,
if she can promote her own advantage. I wish with all my heart she
was well-married. I declare I would rather have her well-married than
myself.”
“Than yourself! yes I can suppose so. A heart wounded like yours can
have little inclination for matrimony.”
“Not much indeed--but you know we must marry. I could do very well
single for my own part; a little company, and a pleasant ball now and
then, would be enough for me, if one could be young for ever; but my
father cannot provide for us, and it is very bad to grow old and be
poor and laughed at. I have lost Purvis, it is true; but very few
people marry their first loves. I should not refuse a man because he
was not Purvis. Not that I can ever quite forgive Penelope.”
Emma shook her head in acquiescence.
“Penelope, however, has had her troubles,” continued Miss Watson. “She
was sadly disappointed in Tom Musgrave, who afterwards transferred
his attentions from me to her, and whom she was very fond of; but he
never means anything serious, and when he had trifled with her long
enough, he began to slight her for Margaret, and poor Penelope was very
wretched. And since then, she has been trying to make some match at
Chichester--she won’t tell us with whom; but I believe it is a rich old
Dr Harding, uncle to the friend she goes to see; and she has taken a
vast deal of trouble about him and given up a great deal of time to no
purpose as yet. When she went away the other day she said it should be
the last time. I suppose you did not know what her particular business
was at Chichester, nor guess at the object which could take her away
from Stanton just as you were coming home after so many years’ absence.”
“No indeed, I had not the smallest suspicion of it. I considered her
engagement to Mrs Shaw just at that time as very unfortunate for me.
I had hoped to find all my sisters at home, to be able to make an
immediate friend of each.”
“I suspect the Doctor to have had an attack of the asthma, and that she
was hurried away on that account. The Shaws are quite on her side--at
least, I believe so; but she tells me nothing. She professes to keep
her own counsel; she says, and truly enough, that ‘Too many cooks spoil
the broth.’”
“I am sorry for her anxieties,” said Emma; “but I do not like her plans
or her opinions. I shall be afraid of her. She must have too masculine
and bold a temper. To be so bent on marriage--to pursue a man merely
for the sake of situation--is a sort of thing that shocks me; I cannot
understand it. Poverty is a great evil; but to a woman of education
and feeling it ought not, it cannot be the greatest. I would rather be
teacher at a school (and I can think of nothing worse) than marry a man
I did not like.”
“I would rather do anything than be teacher at a school,” said her
sister. “_I_ have been at school, Emma, and know what a life they
lead; _you_ never have. I should not like marrying a disagreeable
man any more than yourself; but I do not think there _are_ many very
disagreeable men; I think I could like any good-humoured man with a
comfortable income. I suppose my aunt brought you up to be rather
refined.”
“Indeed I do not know. My conduct must tell you how I have been brought
up. I am no judge of it myself. I cannot compare my aunt’s method with
any other person’s, because I know no other.”
“But I can see in a great many things that you are very refined. I have
observed it ever since you came home, and I am afraid it will not be
for your happiness. Penelope will laugh at you very much.”
“_That_ will not be for my happiness, I am sure. If my opinions are
wrong, I must correct them; if they are above my situation, I must
endeavour to conceal them. But I doubt whether ridicule--has Penelope
much wit?”
“Yes; she has great spirits, and never cares what she says.”
“Margaret is more gentle, I imagine?”
“Yes; especially in company; she is all gentleness and mildness
when anybody is by. But she is a little fretful and perverse among
ourselves. Poor creature! She is possessed with the notion of Tom
Musgrave’s being more seriously in love with her than he ever was with
anybody else, and is always expecting him to come to the point. This
is the second time within this twelvemonth that she has gone to spend
a month with Robert and Jane on purpose to egg him on by her absence;
but I am sure she is mistaken, and that he will no more follow her to
Croydon now than he did last March. He will never marry unless he can
marry somebody very great; Miss Osborne, perhaps, or somebody in that
style.”
“Your account of this Tom Musgrave, Elizabeth, gives me very little
inclination for his acquaintance.”
“You are afraid of him; I do not wonder at you.”
“No, indeed; I dislike and despise him.”
“Dislike and despise Tom Musgrave! No, _that_ you never can. I defy you
not to be delighted with him if he takes notice of you. I hope he will
dance with you; and I dare say he will, unless the Osbornes come with
a large party, and then he will not speak to anybody else.”
“He seems to have most engaging manners!” said Emma. “Well, we shall
see how irresistible Mr Tom Musgrave and I find each other. I suppose I
shall know him as soon as I enter the ball-room; he _must_ carry some
of his charm in his face.”
“You will not find him in the ball-room, I can tell you; you will
go early, that Mrs Edwards may get a good place by the fire, and he
never comes till late; if the Osbornes are coming, he will wait in the
passage and come in with them. I should like to look in upon you, Emma.
If it was but a good day with my father, I would wrap myself up, and
James should drive me over, as soon as I had made tea for him; and I
should be with you by the time the dancing began.”
“What! Would you come late at night in this chair?”
“To be sure I would. There, I said you were very refined; and _that’s_
an instance of it.”
Emma for a moment made no answer. At last she said--
“I wish, Elizabeth, you had not made a point of my going to this ball;
I wish you were going instead of me. Your pleasure would be greater
than mine. I am a stranger here, and know nobody but the Edwards; my
enjoyment, therefore, must be very doubtful. Yours, among all your
acquaintance, would be certain. It is not too late to change. Very
little apology could be requisite to the Edwards, who must be more
glad of your company than of mine, and I should most readily return
to my father; and should not be at all afraid to drive this quiet old
creature home. Your clothes I would undertake to find means of sending
to you.”
“My dearest Emma,” cried Elizabeth warmly, “do you think I would do
such a thing? Not for the universe! But I shall never forget your
good-nature in proposing it. You must have a sweet temper indeed! I
never met with anything like it! And would you really give up the ball
that I might be able to go to it? Believe me, Emma, I am not so selfish
as that comes to. No, though I am nine years older than you are, I
would not be the means of keeping you from being seen. You are very
pretty, and it would be very hard that you should not have as fair a
chance as we have all had to make your fortune. No, Emma, whoever stays
at home this winter, it shan’t be you. I am sure I should never have
forgiven the person who kept me from a ball at nineteen.”
Emma expressed her gratitude, and for a few minutes they jogged on in
silence. Elizabeth first spoke:
“You will take notice who Mary Edwards dances with?”
“I will remember her partners if I can; but you know they will be all
strangers to me.”
“Only observe whether she dances with Captain Hunter more than once--I
have my fears in that quarter. Not that her father or mother like
officers; but if she does, you know, it is all over with poor Sam. And
I have promised to write him word who she dances with.”
“Is Sam attached to Miss Edwards?”
“Did you not know _that_?”
“How should I know it? How should I know in Shropshire what is passing
of that nature in Surrey? It is not likely that circumstances of such
delicacy should have made any part of the scanty communication which
passed between you and me for the last fourteen years.”
“I wonder I never mentioned it when I wrote. Since you have been at
home, I have been so busy with my poor father and our great wash that I
have had no leisure to tell you anything; but, indeed, I concluded you
knew it all. He has been very much in love with her these two years,
and it is a great disappointment to him that he cannot always get away
to our balls; but Mr Curtis won’t often spare him, and just now it is a
sickly time at Guildford.”
“Do you suppose Miss Edwards inclined to like him?”
“I am afraid not: you know she is an only child, and will have at least
ten thousand pounds.”
“But still she may like our brother.”
“Oh, no! The Edwards look much higher. Her father and mother would
never consent to it. Sam is only a surgeon, you know. Sometimes I think
she does like him. But Mary Edwards is rather prim and reserved; I do
not always know what she would be at.”
“Unless Sam feels on sure grounds with the lady herself, it seems a
pity to me that he should be encouraged to think of her at all.”
“A young man must think of somebody,” said Elizabeth, “and why should
he not be as lucky as Robert, who has got a good wife and six thousand
pounds?”
“We must not all expect to be individually lucky,” replied Emma. “The
luck of one member of a family is luck to all.”
“Mine is all to come, I am sure,” said Elizabeth, giving another sigh
to the remembrance of Purvis. “I have been unlucky enough; and I cannot
say much for you, as my aunt married again so foolishly. Well, you
will have a good ball, I daresay. The next turning will bring us to
the turnpike: you may see the church-tower over the hedge, and the
White Hart is close by it. I shall long to know what you think of Tom
Musgrave.”
Such were the last audible sounds of Miss Watson’s voice, before they
passed through the turnpike-gate and entered on the pitching of the
town, the jumbling and noise of which made further conversation most
thoroughly undesirable. The old mare trotted heavily on, wanting no
direction of the reins to take the right turning, and making only one
blunder, in proposing to stop at the milliner’s, before she drew up
towards Mr Edwards’ door. Mr Edwards lived in the best house in the
street, and the best in the place, if Mr Tomlinson, the banker, might
be indulged in calling his newly-erected house at the end of the town,
with a shrubbery and sweep, in the country.
Mr Edwards’ house was higher than most of its neighbours with four
windows on each side of the door; the windows guarded by posts and
chain, and the door approached by a flight of stone steps.
“Here we are,” said Elizabeth, as the carriage ceased moving, “safely
arrived, and by the market clock we have been only five-and-thirty
minutes coming; which I think is doing pretty well, though it would be
nothing for Penelope. Is not it a nice town? The Edwards have a noble
house, you see, and they live quite in style. The door will be opened
by a man in livery with a powdered head, I can tell you.”