While Maria Edgeworth was at work in her Irish home, successfully
producing her admirable delineations, another woman, born some eight
years later, and living in the quiet Hampshire village where the elm
trees spread so greenly, was also at work, also writing books that
were destined to influence many a generation, but which were meanwhile
waiting unknown, unnoticed. Do we not all know the story of the brown
paper parcel lying unopened for years on the publisher's shelf and
containing Henry Tilney and all his capes, Catherine Morland and all
her romance, and the great John Thorpe himself, uttering those valuable
literary criticisms which Lord Macaulay, writing to his little sisters
at home, used to quote to them? 'Oh, Lord!' says John Thorpe, 'I never
read novels; I have other things to do.'
A friend reminds us of Miss Austen's own indignant outburst. 'Only a
novel! only "Cecilia," or "Camilla," or "Belinda;" or, in short, only
some work in which the greatest powers of the mind are displayed, the
most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its
varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour, are conveyed to
the world in the best-chosen language.' If the great historian, who
loved novels himself, had not assured us that we owe Miss Austen and
Miss Edgeworth to the early influence of the author of 'Evelina,' one
might grudge 'Belinda' to such company as that of 'Cecilia' and
'Camilla.'
'Pride and Prejudice' and 'Northanger Abbey' were published about the
same time as 'Patronage' and 'Tales of Fashionable Life.' Their two
authors illustrate, curiously enough, the difference between the national
characteristics of English and Irish--the breadth, the versatility, the
innate wit and gaiety of an Irish mind; the comparative narrowness of
range of an English nature; where, however, we are more likely to get
humour and its never-failing charm. Long afterwards Jane Austen sent one
of her novels to Miss Edgeworth, who appreciated it indeed, as such a
mind as hers could not fail to do, but it was with no such enthusiasm
as that which she felt for other more ambitious works, with more of
incident, power, knowledge of the world, in the place of that one subtle
quality of humour which for some persons outweighs almost every other.
Something, some indefinite sentiment, tells people where they amalgamate
and with whom they are intellectually akin; and by some such process of
criticism the writer feels that in this little memoir of Miss Edgeworth
she has but sketched the outer likeness of this remarkable woman's life
and genius; and that she has scarcely done justice to very much in Miss
Edgeworth, which so many of the foremost men of her day could
appreciate--a power, a versatility, an interest in subjects for their
own sakes, not for the sakes of those who are interested in them, which
was essentially hers.
It is always characteristic to watch a writer's progress in the
estimation of critics and reviewers. In 1809 Miss Edgeworth is
moderately and respectfully noticed. 'As a writer of novels and tales
she has a marked peculiarity, that of venturing to dispense common sense
to her readers and to bring them within the precincts of real life.
Without excluding love from her pages she knows how to assign to it its
true limits.' In 1812 the reviewer, more used to hear the author's
praises on all sides, now starts from a higher key, and, as far as truth
to nature and delineation of character are concerned, does not allow a
rival except 'Don Quixote' and 'Gil Blas.' The following criticism is
just and more to the point:--
To this power of masterly and minute delineation of character Miss
Edgeworth adds another which has rarely been combined with the
former, that of interweaving the peculiarities of her persons with
the conduct of her piece, and making them, without forgetting
for a moment their personal consistency, conduce to the general
lesson.... Her virtue and vice, though copied exactly from nature,
lead with perfect ease to a moral conclusion, and are finally
punished or rewarded by means which (rare as a retribution in this
world is) appear for the most part neither inconsistent nor
unnatural.
Then follows a review of 'Vivian' and of the 'Absentee,' which is
perhaps the most admirable of her works. We may all remember how
Macaulay once pronounced that the scene in the 'Absentee' where Lord
Colambre discovers himself to his tenantry was the best thing of the
sort since the opening of the twenty-second book of the 'Odyssey.'
An article by Lord Dudley, which is still to be quoted, appeared in the
'Quarterly Review' in 1814. What he says of her works applies no less to
Miss Edgeworth's own life than to the principles which she inculcates.
The old rule was for heroes and heroines to fall suddenly and
irretrievably in love. If they fell in love with the right person
so much the better; if not, it could not be helped, and the novel
ended unhappily. And, above all, it was held quite irregular for
the most reasonable people to make any use whatever of their
reason on the most important occasion of their lives. Miss
Edgeworth has presumed to treat this mighty power with far less
reverence. She has analysed it and found it does not consist of
one simple element, but that several common ingredients enter into
its composition--habit, esteem, a belief of some corresponding
sentiment and of suitableness in the character and circumstances
of the party. She has pronounced that reason, timely and vigorously
applied, is almost a specific, and, following up this bold empirical
line of practice, she has actually produced cases of the entire
cure of persons who had laboured under its operation. Her favourite
qualities are prudence, firmness, temper, and that active, vigilant
good sense which, without checking the course of our kind
affections, exercises its influence at every moment and surveys
deliberately the motives and consequences of every action. Utility
is her object, reason and experience her means.