everything that Jane Austen wrote. Her habit of making pithy little
notes on the doings of her acquaintances was, in writing to her sister,
irrepressible. The pith was not bitter. It was just the comment of a
highly intelligent woman to whom the gods had given the gift of humour,
and who, at an age when most girls of her day were as ingenuous as
Evelina or as Catherine Morland, had learnt how much insincerity and
affectation coloured the conduct even of kind and well-meaning people.
In her references to the foibles of real men and women we gain many
glimpses of the origins--if not the originals--of some of her character
studies. {100} At an Ashford ball in 1798 one of the Royal Dukes was
present, and among those who supped in his company were Cassandra and a
Mrs. Cage, with whom the Austens were well acquainted. This lady was
uneasy in the presence of Royalty, and her mistakes were described in a
letter from Cassandra. Jane's mention of the incident in her reply is
a fair sample of the way in which, in her more serious mood, this young
woman of twenty-three regarded the weakness of her less cool and
reasonable friends: "I can perfectly comprehend Mrs. Cage's distress
and perplexity. She has all those kind of foolish and incomprehensible
feelings which would make her fancy herself uncomfortable in such a
party. I love her, however, in spite of all her nonsense."
One can see a hint of Mrs. Allen and Mrs. Bennet in the silly woman who
flustered herself and fidgeted her companions in her attempts to assume
what she supposed to be the right behaviour on such an occasion. Jane,
who had never seen a prince, so far as we know, would have had no
"distress and perplexity." She would have curtsied in the prettiest
way, the Duke would have been charmed by her graceful figure, her {101}
clear complexion, and her soft brown eyes, and she would next day have
written to her sister "all the minute particulars, which only woman's
language can make interesting."
Her reflections on the gossip of the hour are not always quite so
kindly. When Charles Powlett (of whose rejected offer of a kiss we
have already heard) brings home a wife, Jane tells her sister that this
bride "is discovered to be everything that the neighbourhood could wish
her, silly and cross as well as extravagant." Once, when a story has
reached her in the way that "Russian Scandal" is played, by the
muddling up of half-understood particulars in the process of
transmission from mouth to ear, she has to correct a previous statement
about some of the Austen circle--
"On inquiring of Mrs. Clerk, I find that Mrs. Heathcote made a great
blunder in her news of the Crooks and Morleys. It is young Mr. Crook
who is to marry the second Miss Morley, and it is the Miss Morleys
instead of the second Miss Crook who were the beauties at the music
meeting. This seems a more likely tale, a better devised imposture."
{102}
The sting is where stings usually are.
Scandal was as distasteful to her as it can have been to Madame du
Châtelet, of whom Voltaire said that "_tout ce qui occupe la société
était de son ressort, hors la médisance._" Jane gave Cassandra many
little bits of news about their friends which the principals might have
resented, but between sister and sister such things are not scandalous,
and as for those who read them now, they may talk about the incidents
referred to as freely as they like without harm to any one. Many of
the "scandals" Jane mentions are "serious" only in her innocent fun.
We hear, for instance, that in 1809, "Martha and Dr. Mant are as bad as
ever, he runs after her in the street to apologize for having spoken to
a gentleman while she was near him the day before. Poor Mrs. Mant can
stand it no longer; she is retired to one of her married daughters."
Jane amused herself and her sister and teased poor Martha by her jokes
on this affair. "As Dr. M. is a clergyman," she writes, "this
attachment, however immoral, has a decorous air." Mrs. Jennings, Sir
John Middleton's mother-in-law, would have told the story quite
seriously, and with immense gusto, at the Barton {103} breakfast-table,
but Dr. Mant and Martha were not transferred to a novel to the
discomfort of themselves and their families and the delight of the
_roman à clef_ hunters of Southampton.
The letters do seem occasionally to bring us into the company of people
whom we know quite well in the novels. Jane, replying to Cassandra at
Christmas 1798, says: "I am glad to hear such a good account of Harriet
Bridges; she goes on now as young ladies of seventeen ought to do,
admired and admiring.... I dare say she fancies Major Elkington as
agreeable as Warren, and if she can think so, it is very well." Alter
the surnames, and this passage might apply as well to Harriet Smith as
to Harriet Bridges. "I dare say she fancies Mr. Martin as agreeable as
Mr. Churchill, and if she can think so, it is very well," might have
been written by Emma to dear Anne Weston about the "little friend" from
the boarding-school. Jane, as in this case of Harriet Bridges, took so
much interest in the love affairs of her friends that we often think of
Emma Woodhouse and her match-making propensities, about which Mr.
Knightley spoke so harshly. By Emma's advice Harriet Smith, having
refused {104} Robert Martin, the young farmer, had regarded Mr. Elton
as a prospective husband, and when he went elsewhere Emma had selected
Frank Churchill for the vacant post. Then, through a serious mistake,
Mr. Knightley was the man, until at last the "inconsiderate,
irrational, unfeeling" nature of her conduct became clear to her mind,
and Harriet was allowed to marry the constant Martin.
Mrs. Mitford declared that Jane Austen was husband-hunting at twelve
years of age, but the old lady's memory was evidently quite
untrustworthy about people and dates when she talked such nonsense.
Jane was, however, on her own showing, fond of looking out for possible
husbands for her pretty little nieces. Here is an instance, from a
letter of 1814--"Young Wyndham accepts the invitation. He is such a
nice, gentlemanlike, unaffected sort of young man, that I think he may
do for Fanny." Next day she is less pleased with him--"This young
Wyndham does not come after all; a very long and very civil note of
excuse is arrived. It makes one moralize upon the ups and downs of
this life."
That the habit was hereditary--it was a custom {105} of Jane's time,
even more than it is of our own--we may see from a report she sent to
Cassandra of the pleasure with which Mr. and Mrs. Austen, with one
accord, lighted upon a suitable "match" for their elder daughter. He
was "a beauty of my mother's." Having no _affaire_ of her own to
trouble her rest, Jane took an active part as adviser for those in
whose fate she was affectionately interested. Especially was this the
case with this favourite niece, Fanny Knight, who, having fancied she
was "in love" with one man, discovered that she preferred, or thought
she preferred, another.
"Do not be in a hurry," wrote Aunt Jane, "the right man will come at
last; you will in the course of the next two or three years meet with
somebody more generally unexceptionable than anyone you have yet known,
who will love you as warmly as possible, and who will so completely
attract you that you will feel you never really loved before."
Fanny, who was "inimitable, irresistible," whose "queer little heart"
and its flutterings were "the delight of my life," might have been
fickle, but she did not, said her aunt, deserve such a punishment {106}
as to fall in love after marriage, and with the wrong man.
Jane's views on second marriages are expressed in the case of Lady
Sondes, whose haste to find consolation after the death of Lord Sondes
was the subject of much chatter among the Mrs. Jenningses and Mrs.
Bennets of her neighbourhood. "Had her first marriage been of
affection, or had there been a grown-up single daughter, I should not
have forgiven her; but I consider everybody as having a right to marry
once in their lives for love, if they can, and provided she will now
leave off having bad headaches, and being pathetic, I can allow her, I
can _will_ her, to be happy."
In the novels no woman of consequence--excepting the callous and
selfish Lady Susan Vernon--is allowed a second mate, nor is the
courtship before any of the marriages much in accord with the general
practice of English fiction. There is not even a description of some
splendid wedding. Jane, by the way, did not regard a marriage as the
proper occasion for public advertisement of the bride's qualities.
"Such a parade," she writes of the conduct of a certain {107} "alarming
bride," is "one of the most immodest pieces of modesty that one can
imagine. To attract notice could have been her only wish."
It might seem, indeed, that the most original characteristic of her
works is the absence of almost all the qualities of plot and treatment
on which fiction usually depends for success with the public. If we
were asked of some modern lady writer, "What are her books like?" and
we replied, "In one respect they are conventional, for they all end in
the choosing of wedding-rings. But scarcely anybody in these novels
feels the 'grand passion,' they have no relation to current events,
nobody ever has a strange adventure, only one married woman is
faithless to her vows, no adventuress appears, there are no foreigners,
no one is in revolt against anything, nobody is seriously troubled
about the trend of society or the decadence of morals and taste, nobody
starves, or commits a murder, or engineers a swindle, there are no
cruel husbands, no triple _ménages_ and no mysterious occurrences or
detectives, and as nobody dies, nobody makes death-bed revelations,"
the retort would probably imply, "What stupid stuff they must be."
These novels {108} do, indeed, depend for their effect on less of "plot
and passion" than almost any others of consequence yet written. There
are many novels of small plot. Balzac, in _Eugénie Grandet_, George
Sand, in _Tamaris_, show what even "stormy" novelists can do with a
modicum of events. But the lack of both plot and passion is rare in
the work that lives. It is thus that the genius of Jane Austen is
strongly displayed. Only genius could give a vital, an enduring
fascination to a record chiefly concerned with the ordinary experiences
of a few respectable country people, almost all of one class.
She had the power, because, with the gifts of expression and of humour,
she combined an almost perfect knowledge of a typical section of
society, all the more clearly exhibited because of her comparative
ignorance of any other section. She did not care to study the very
poor, the very rich were outside her circle of common experience, and
she would rarely write about people or phases of life that were not as
familiar to her as the squire's daughter and the manners of the hunt
ball. She had none of Disraeli's audacity. "My son," said Isaac
Disraeli, when some one {109} expressed surprise at the knowledge of
"exalted circles" shown in _The Young Duke_, "my son, sir, when he
wrote that book, had never even _seen_ a duke." Jane Austen, "never
having seen a duke," or a ducal palace, never attempted to describe
either. She shrank from any kind of "lionizing," whether in village
society or in the "great world," and to this healthy pride is no doubt
partly due the obscurity in which she lived and died. One instance of
her reserve may be adduced. Soon after the appearance of _Mansfield
Park_ she was invited, "in the politest manner," to a party at the
house of a nobleman who suspected her of the authorship of that book,
and who, as an inducement, intimated that she would be able to converse
with Madame de Staël. "Miss Austen," says her brother, "immediately
declined the invitation. To her truly delicate mind such a display
would have given pain instead of pleasure." The story, which has
sometimes been regarded as evidence of improper pride on the part of
the English novelist, is in keeping with all that is known of Jane
Austen's nature.
Had the meeting of the authors of _Emma_ and {110} _Corinne_ come
about, one would like to have heard their conversation. The talking
would have been largely on one side. Madame, who knew the "world," and
enjoyed the distinction of having been called a "wicked schemer" and a
"fright" by the greatest man of her time, would have tried in vain to
impress the unaffected Englishwoman who cared so little for politics
and Napoleon that, in those novels which Madame regarded as
"_vulgaire_," she scarcely alluded to either. Jane would have listened
attentively, and now and again, when Madame paused for breath, would
have made a polite remark, the covert humour of which would have been
lost on her famous companion. There is no suggestion that any hint as
to Madame de Staël's reputation had reached Chawton Cottage, otherwise
some might suppose that it was not only the diffident modesty Jane's
brother alleges which prevented her from going to the party. It is
quite likely that she who described the loves of Lydia Bennet and Maria
Rushworth with such an entire absence of sermonizing would yet have
felt that, though she might like to converse on a more private occasion
with the author of _Corinne_ and _Delphine_, she would {111} prefer not
to be matched with a lady who had put to so practical a test her
theories "_de l'influence des passions sur le bonheur_."
Could there be a stronger contrast, physical or moral, than between the
country parson's slight and good-looking daughter, whose knowledge of
men and affairs was gained in the parlours of manor-houses and the
assembly-rooms of watering-places, and the financier's stout and ugly
daughter, whose political activities were so persistent that she had
been expelled from Paris, who had travelled, mingling in the society of
the governing classes, the artists, the men of letters in Italy,
Germany, and other lands, and whose literary performances, historical,
political, and imaginative, were read wherever educated readers existed?
If Jane had no strong desire to be brought into contact with the great,
wise, and eminent of her time, neither were her tastes at all in the
direction of social equality or the advocacy of the "rights of man,"
and while she was indifferent to the famous and influential, she was
scarcely more concerned for the obscure and lowly. Admire her work as
we may, and love her as many of us {112} must, we cannot recognize that
she was much in sympathy with any class but her own. It is certainly
to no undue regard for social position, to no want of charitable
intention, that we can attribute her general neglect of the drama,
comedy and tragedy alike, of humble life. It might be said that she
could, and if she would, have drawn the poor as well as she drew the
"gentry." She knew her limitations, and thus such rare sketches of the
"lower orders" as she gives stop short of any errors of understanding.
Mrs. Reynolds, Darcy's housekeeper, whose admiration for her master and
his sister is so strongly expressed, and Thomas, the servant at Barton
Cottage, who comes in to describe how he has seen "Mr. and Mrs.
Ferrars" in Exeter, are in no way out of drawing, though the phrase
with which the author finishes off the man-servant--"Thomas and the
table-cloth, now alike needless, were soon dismissed"--so aptly
suggests the position accorded to the working classes in her own works
that it almost seems to have a double meaning. Let any one familiar
with the novels try to recall occasions when a servant is introduced
even in such common cases as the answering of a bell or waiting {113}
at table, and he will find it hard to add to the examples already given
any with a better part than the overworked Nanny at the Watsons', who,
when Lord Osborne is paying his untimely visit, puts her head in at the
door and says, "Please, ma'am, master wants to know why he be'nt to
have his dinner." As for the class from which most of these servants
came, it has no place at all. Emma takes Harriet to a cottage where
there is a convalescent child who requires jellies or beef tea, but the
incident is of no account except as leading up to the visit to Mr.
Elton; and she goes to see an old servant while Harriet pays her formal
call at the Abbey Mill Farm. Robert Martin is a farmer, and a letter
from him is introduced, but he has no share of any consequence in the
dialogue. When we remember Jane Austen's avowed partiality for Emma,
and Emma's disgust at the idea of Harriet marrying a mere farmer, no
matter how much her admirer Knightley might support the man's claims,
we may not unreasonably suppose that Jane to some extent shared Emma's
prejudice. There was, however, a notable exception to Jane's
remoteness from the farming class. The joint tenant of the Manor {114}
farm at Steventon, the happily named James Digweed--who seems to have
been ordained later on--was admitted to so much favour that she could
not only dance and dine, and gossip with him, but could chaff her
sister about his evident desire to gain Cassandra's affection.
Two or three apothecaries are admitted into the novels. One attends
Jane Bennet at Netherfield, and another attends Marianne Dashwood at
Cleveland. Apothecary was almost a term of contempt in those days, and
one of Jane's hits at the neighbourhood of Hans Place was that there
seemed to be only one person there who was "not an apothecary." She
even, as we have seen, corrects her niece for supposing that a country
doctor--not a mere "apothecary"--would ever be "introduced" to a peer!
The only country tradesman who figures at all prominently is Sir
William Lucas, who had "risen to the honour of Knighthood by an address
to the King during his mayoralty. The distinction had perhaps been
felt too strongly. It had given him a disgust to his business.... By
nature inoffensive, friendly, and obliging, his presentation at St.
James's had made him courteous." He is {115} not so diverting a
creature as Martin Tinman of Crikswich in Mr. Meredith's delightful
comedy _The House on the Beach_, who, when rescued from that
storm-beaten home on a terrible night, was found to be wearing the
Court suit in which, long before, he had presented an address to the
throne! But Sir William Lucas's constant recollection of the fact that
_he_ had been received by the sovereign, while his neighbours, the
"small" country-gentlemen, had not, is illustrated with admirable art.
In his "emporium," with his stock-in-trade around him, his portrait
would never have been drawn. Mr. Weston also made money in trade,
apparently "in the wholesale line," after he had retired from the
militia, and of the proud and conceited Bingley sisters we are told
that "they were of a respectable family in the north of England; a
circumstance more deeply impressed on their memories than that their
brother's fortune and their own had been acquired by trade."
Jane has many kindly things to tell her sister about, her mother's
maids, especially of a faithful and industrious "Nannie." Of the
maids' relations, the agricultural class, amid whose homes {116} she
passed nearly all her life, she has, as I have said, left no account in
her novels. Her letters do indeed contain many bits of news concerning
the ploughmen and washerwomen of the parish, and they are significant
as to the manner, proper to the age, in which she regarded her humble
neighbours. Her references to the cottagers are commonly devoid of any
indication of deeper feeling than the consciousness of a need to give
them clothes. Of the people employed on her father's farm, she says--
"John Bond begins to find himself grow old, which John Bond ought not
to do, and unequal to much hard work; a man is therefore hired to
supply his place as to labour, and John himself is to have the care of
the sheep. There are not more people engaged than before, I believe;
only men instead of boys. I fancy so at least, but you know my
stupidity as to such matters. Lizzie Bond is just apprenticed to Miss
Small, so we may hope to see her able to spoil gowns in a few years."
About Christmas (1798) she writes--
"Of my charities to the poor since I came home you shall have a
faithful account. I have given a pair of worsted stockings to Mary
Hutchins, Dame Kew, Mary Steevens, and Dame Staples; {117} a shift to
Hannah Staples, and a shawl to Betty Dawkins, amounting in all to about
half-a-guinea. But I have no reason to suppose that the _Battys_ would
accept of anything, because I have not made them the offer."
Of personal service we hear but little. There is just the old "Lady
Bountiful" idea, adapted to the purse of the parson's younger daughter.
Alms were what the poor chiefly wanted, and alms they received--if not
in money, in warm garments. She gave them worsted stockings, and
flannel to wear in the cold weather. She did not often, so far as we
hear, sit and chat with Dame Staples and Dame Kew over the things that
made up their life-interests, or listen to the confidences of Lizzie
Bond and Hannah Staples concerning their rustic lovers.
Sometimes we do hear of talks with poor women, as when Jane writes, "I
called yesterday upon Betty Londe, who inquired particularly after you,
and said she seemed to miss you very much, because you used to call in
upon her very often. This was an oblique reproach at me, which I am
sorry to have merited, and from which I will profit." We may well
believe that Jane was no {118} pioneer in "district visiting." Her
services to humanity were of another kind. Almost alone among the
greater novelists who have written the fiction of drawing-rooms, she
was hardly less indifferent as a writer to the concerns of the
governing class of her day than of the voteless class, unless, indeed,
she was a hostile witness so far as her knowledge went. Among the
worst-bred persons in the novels, with John Thorpe, Mr. Collins, and
the ever-delightful Mrs. Bennet, are Sir Walter Elliot and Lady
Catherine de Bourgh, and the hero whose manners are most open to
reproach is Lady Catherine's nephew, Darcy--before he has been refused
by Elizabeth.
Jane Austen's views on the claims of social position, as distinct from
individual character, were much the same as Anne Elliot's. Mr. Elliot
and Anne, we learn--
"Did not always think alike. His value for rank and connection she
perceived to be greater than hers. It was not merely complaisance, it
must be a liking to the cause, which made him enter warmly into her
father's and sister's solicitudes on a subject which she thought
unworthy to excite them.... She was reduced to form a wish which she
had never foreseen--a wish that they {119} had more pride.... Had Lady
Dalrymple and her daughter even been very agreeable, she would still
have been ashamed of the agitation they created; but they were nothing.
There was no superiority of manner, accomplishment, or understanding."
The Dalrymples and Lady Catherine de Bourgh do not lead one to suppose
that Jane's acquaintance with their class was a fortunate one. Had it
been, she would probably have given some happier examples of the
titular aristocracy. Lord Osborne, in _The Watsons_, is in some ways a
more amiable type, but too "sketchy" to be of much account as an
antidote to such unpleasing people as the aunt of Darcy and the cousins
of Anne Elliot.