_Habits of Composition resumed after a long interval--First
publication--The interest taken by the Author in the success of her
Works_.
It may seem extraordinary that Jane Austen should have written so little
during the years that elapsed between leaving Steventon and settling at
Chawton; especially when this cessation from work is contrasted with her
literary activity both before and after that period. It might rather
have been expected that fresh scenes and new acquaintance would have
called forth her powers; while the quiet life which the family led both
at Bath and Southampton must have afforded abundant leisure for
composition; but so it was that nothing which I know of, certainly
nothing which the public have seen, was completed in either of those
places. I can only state the fact, without assigning any cause for it;
but as soon as she was fixed in her second home, she resumed the habits
of composition which had been formed in her first, and continued them to
the end of her life. The first year of her residence at Chawton seems to
have been devoted to revising and preparing for the press 'Sense and
Sensibility,' and 'Pride and Prejudice'; but between February 1811 and
August 1816, she began and completed 'Mansfield Park,' 'Emma,' and
'Persuasion,' so that the last five years of her life produced the same
number of novels with those which had been written in her early youth.
How she was able to effect all this is surprising, for she had no
separate study to retire to, and most of the work must have been done in
the general sitting-room, subject to all kinds of casual interruptions.
She was careful that her occupation should not be suspected by servants,
or visitors, or any persons beyond her own family party. She wrote upon
small sheets of paper which could easily be put away, or covered with a
piece of blotting paper. There was, between the front door and the
offices, a swing door which creaked when it was opened; but she objected
to having this little inconvenience remedied, because it gave her notice
when anyone was coming. She was not, however, troubled with companions
like her own Mrs. Allen in 'Northanger Abbey,' whose 'vacancy of mind and
incapacity for thinking were such that, as she never talked a great deal,
so she could never be entirely silent; and therefore, while she sat at
work, if she lost her needle, or broke her thread, or saw a speck of dirt
on her gown, she must observe it, whether there were any one at leisure
to answer her or not.' In that well occupied female party there must
have been many precious hours of silence during which the pen was busy at
the little mahogany writing-desk, {102} while Fanny Price, or Emma
Woodhouse, or Anne Elliott was growing into beauty and interest. I have
no doubt that I, and my sisters and cousins, in our visits to Chawton,
frequently disturbed this mystic process, without having any idea of the
mischief that we were doing; certainly we never should have guessed it by
any signs of impatience or irritability in the writer.
As so much had been previously prepared, when once she began to publish,
her works came out in quick succession. 'Sense and Sensibility' was
published in 1811, 'Pride and Prejudice' at the beginning of 1813,
'Mansfield Park' in 1814, 'Emma' early in 1816; 'Northanger Abbey' and
'Persuasion' did not appear till after her death, in 1818. It will be
shown farther on why 'Northanger Abbey,' though amongst the first
written, was one of the last published. Her first three novels were
published by Egerton, her last three by Murray. The profits of the four
which had been printed before her death had not at that time amounted to
seven hundred pounds.
I have no record of the publication of 'Sense and Sensibility,' nor of
the author's feelings at this her first appearance before the public; but
the following extracts from three letters to her sister give a lively
picture of the interest with which she watched the reception of 'Pride
and Prejudice,' and show the carefulness with which she corrected her
compositions, and rejected much that had been written:--
Chawton, Friday, January 29 (1813).
'I hope you received my little parcel by J. Bond on Wednesday evening,
my dear Cassandra, and that you will be ready to hear from me again on
Sunday, for I feel that I must write to you to-day. I want to tell
you that I have got my own darling child from London. On Wednesday I
received one copy sent down by Falkener, with three lines from Henry
to say that he had given another to Charles and sent a third by the
coach to Godmersham . . . . The advertisement is in our paper to-day
for the first time: 18_s_. He shall ask 1_l_. 1_s_. for my two next,
and 1_l_. 8_s_. for my stupidest of all. Miss B. dined with us on the
very day of the book's coming, and in the evening we fairly set at it,
and read half the first vol. to her, prefacing that, having
intelligence from Henry that such a work would soon appear, we had
desired him to send it whenever it came out, and I believe it passed
with her unsuspected. She was amused, poor soul! _That_ she could
not help, you know, with two such people to lead the way, but she
really does seem to admire Elizabeth. I must confess that I think her
as delightful a creature as ever appeared in print, and how I shall be
able to tolerate those who do not like _her_ at least I do not know.
There are a few typical errors; and a "said he," or a "said she,"
would sometimes make the dialogue more immediately clear; but "I do
not write for such dull elves" as have not a great deal of ingenuity
themselves. The second volume is shorter than I could wish, but the
difference is not so much in reality as in look, there being a larger
proportion of narrative in that part. I have lop't and crop't so
successfully, however, that I imagine it must be rather shorter than
"Sense and Sensibility" altogether. Now I will try and write of
something else.'
Chawton, Thursday, February 4 (1813).
'MY DEAR CASSANDRA,--Your letter was truly welcome, and I am much
obliged to you for all your praise; it came at a right time, for I had
had some fits of disgust. Our second evening's reading to Miss B. had
not pleased me so well, but I believe something must be attributed to
my mother's too rapid way of getting on: though she perfectly
understands the characters herself, she cannot speak as they ought.
Upon the whole, however, I am quite vain enough and well satisfied
enough. The work is rather too light, and bright, and sparkling; it
wants shade; it wants to be stretched out here and there with a long
chapter of sense, if it could be had; if not, of solemn specious
nonsense, about something unconnected with the story; an essay on
writing, a critique on Walter Scott, or the history of Buonaparte, or
something that would form a contrast, and bring the reader with
increased delight to the playfulness and epigrammatism of the general
style . . . . The greatest blunder in the printing that I have met
with is in page 220, v. 3, where two speeches are made into one. There
might as well be no suppers at Longbourn; but I suppose it was the
remains of Mrs. Bennett's old Meryton habits.'
The following letter seems to have been written soon after the last two:
in February 1813:--
'This will be a quick return for yours, my dear Cassandra; I doubt its
having much else to recommend it; but there is no saying; it may turn
out to be a very long and delightful letter. I am exceedingly pleased
that you can say what you do, after having gone through the whole
work, and Fanny's praise is very gratifying. My hopes were tolerably
strong of _her_, but nothing like a certainty. Her liking Darcy and
Elizabeth is enough. She might hate all the others, if she would. I
have her opinion under her own hand this morning, but your transcript
of it, which I read first, was not, and is not, the less acceptable.
To _me_ it is of course all praise, but the more exact truth which she
sends you is good enough . . . . Our party on Wednesday was not
unagreeable, though we wanted a master of the house less anxious and
fidgety, and more conversable. Upon Mrs. ---'s mentioning that she
had sent the rejected addresses to Mrs. H., I began talking to her a
little about them, and expressed my hope of their having amused her.
Her answer was, "Oh dear yes, very much, very droll indeed, the
opening of the house, and the striking up of the fiddles!" What she
meant, poor woman, who shall say? I sought no farther. As soon as a
whist party was formed, and a round table threatened, I made my mother
an excuse and came away, leaving just as many for _their_ round table
as there were at Mrs. Grant's. {107} I wish they might be as
agreeable a set. My mother is very well, and finds great amusement in
glove-knitting, and at present wants no other work. We quite run over
with books. She has got Sir John Carr's "Travels in Spain," and I am
reading a Society octavo, an "Essay on the Military Police and
Institutions of the British Empire," by Capt. Pasley of the Engineers,
a book which I protested against at first, but which upon trial I find
delightfully written and highly entertaining. I am as much in love
with the author as I ever was with Clarkson or Buchanan, or even the
two Mr. Smiths of the city. The first soldier I ever sighed for; but
he does write with extraordinary force and spirit. Yesterday,
moreover, brought us "Mrs. Grant's Letters," with Mr. White's
compliments; but I have disposed of them, compliments and all, to Miss
P., and amongst so many readers or retainers of books as we have in
Chawton, I dare say there will be no difficulty in getting rid of them
for another fortnight, if necessary. I have disposed of Mrs. Grant
for the second fortnight to Mrs. ---. It can make no difference to
_her_ which of the twenty-six fortnights in the year the 3 vols. lie
on her table. I have been applied to for information as to the oath
taken in former times of Bell, Book, and Candle, but have none to
give. Perhaps you may be able to learn something of its origin where
you now are. Ladies who read those enormous great stupid thick quarto
volumes which one always sees in the breakfast parlour there must be
acquainted with everything in the world. I detest a quarto. Capt.
Pasley's book is too good for their society. They will not understand
a man who condenses his thoughts into an octavo. I have learned from
Sir J. Carr that there is no Government House at Gibraltar. I must
alter it to the Commissioner's.'
The following letter belongs to the same year, but treats of a different
subject. It describes a journey from Chawton to London, in her brother's
curricle, and shows how much could be seen and enjoyed in course of a
long summer's day by leisurely travelling amongst scenery which the
traveller in an express train now rushes through in little more than an
hour, but scarcely sees at all:--
'Sloane Street, Thursday, May 20 (1813).
'MY DEAR CASSANDRA,
'Before I say anything else, I claim a paper full of halfpence on the
drawing-room mantel-piece; I put them there myself, and forgot to
bring them with me. I cannot say that I have yet been in any distress
for money, but I chuse to have my due, as well as the Devil. How
lucky we were in our weather yesterday! This wet morning makes one
more sensible of it. We had no rain of any consequence. The head of
the curricle was put half up three or four times, but our share of the
showers was very trifling, though they seemed to be heavy all round
us, when we were on the Hog's-back, and I fancied it might then be
raining so hard at Chawton as to make you feel for us much more than
we deserved. Three hours and a quarter took us to Guildford, where we
staid barely two hours, and had only just time enough for all we had
to do there; that is, eating a long and comfortable breakfast,
watching the carriages, paying Mr. Harrington, and taking a little
stroll afterwards. From some views which that stroll gave us, I think
most highly of the situation of Guildford. We wanted all our brothers
and sisters to be standing with us in the bowling-green, and looking
towards Horsham. I was very lucky in my gloves--got them at the first
shop I went to, though I went into it rather because it was near than
because it looked at all like a glove shop, and gave only four
shillings for them; after which everybody at Chawton will be hoping
and predicting that they cannot be good for anything, and their worth
certainly remains to be proved; but I think they look very well. We
left Guildford at twenty minutes before twelve (I hope somebody cares
for these minutiae), and were at Esher in about two hours more. I was
very much pleased with the country in general. Between Guildford and
Ripley I thought it particularly pretty, also about Painshill; and
from a Mr. Spicer's grounds at Esher, which we walked into before
dinner, the views were beautiful. I cannot say what we did not see,
but I should think there could not be a wood, or a meadow, or palace,
or remarkable spot in England that was not spread out before us on one
side or other. Claremont is going to be sold: a Mr. Ellis has it now.
It is a house that seems never to have prospered. After dinner we
walked forward to be overtaken at the coachman's time, and before he
did overtake us we were very near Kingston. I fancy it was about half-
past six when we reached this house--a twelve hours' business, and the
horses did not appear more than reasonably tired. I was very tired
too, and glad to get to bed early, but am quite well to-day. I am
very snug in the front drawing-room all to myself, and would not say
"thank you" for any company but you. The quietness of it does me
good. I have contrived to pay my two visits, though the weather made
me a great while about it, and left me only a few minutes to sit with
Charlotte Craven. {110} She looks very well, and her hair is done up
with an elegance to do credit to any education. Her manners are as
unaffected and pleasing as ever. She had heard from her mother to-
day. Mrs. Craven spends another fortnight at Chilton. I saw nobody
but Charlotte, which pleased me best. I was shewn upstairs into a
drawing-room, where she came to me, and the appearance of the room, so
totally unschool-like, amused me very much; it was full of modern
elegancies.
'Yours very affectly.,
'J. A.'
The next letter, written in the following year, contains an account of
another journey to London, with her brother Henry, and reading with him
the manuscript of 'Mansfield Park':--
'Henrietta Street, Wednesday, March 2 (1814).
'MY DEAR CASSANDRA,
'You were wrong in thinking of us at Guildford last night: we were at
Cobham. On reaching G. we found that John and the horses were gone
on. We therefore did no more than we had done at Farnham--sit in the
carriage while fresh horses were put in, and proceeded directly to
Cobham, which we reached by seven, and about eight were sitting down
to a very nice roast fowl, &c. We had altogether a very good journey,
and everything at Cobham was comfortable. I could not pay Mr.
Harrington! That was the only alas! of the business. I shall
therefore return his bill, and my mother's 2_l_., that you may try
your luck. We did not begin reading till Bentley Green. Henry's
approbation is hitherto even equal to my wishes. He says it is
different from the other two, but does not appear to think it at all
inferior. He has only married Mrs. R. I am afraid he has gone
through the most entertaining part. He took to Lady B. and Mrs. N.
most kindly, and gives great praise to the drawing of the characters.
He understands them all, likes Fanny, and, I think, foresees how it
will all be. I finished the "Heroine" last night, and was very much
amused by it. I wonder James did not like it better. It diverted me
exceedingly. We went to bed at ten. I was very tired, but slept to a
miracle, and am lovely to-day, and at present Henry seems to have no
complaint. We left Cobham at half-past eight, stopped to bait and
breakfast at Kingston, and were in this house considerably before two.
Nice smiling Mr. Barlowe met us at the door and, in reply to enquiries
after news, said that peace was generally expected. I have taken
possession of my bedroom, unpacked my bandbox, sent Miss P.'s two
letters to the twopenny post, been visited by Md. B., and am now
writing by myself at the new table in the front room. It is snowing.
We had some snowstorms yesterday, and a smart frost at night, which
gave us a hard road from Cobham to Kingston; but as it was then
getting dirty and heavy, Henry had a pair of leaders put on to the
bottom of Sloane St. His own horses, therefore, cannot have had hard
work. I watched for _veils_ as we drove through the streets, and had
the pleasure of seeing several upon vulgar heads. And now, how do you
all do?--you in particular, after the worry of yesterday and the day
before. I hope Martha had a pleasant visit again, and that you and my
mother could eat your beef-pudding. Depend upon my thinking of the
chimney-sweeper as soon as I wake to-morrow. Places are secured at
Drury Lane for Saturday, but so great is the rage for seeing Kean that
only a third and fourth row could be got; as it is in a front box,
however, I hope we shall do pretty well--Shylock, a good play for
Fanny--she cannot be much affected, I think. Mrs. Perigord has just
been here. She tells me that we owe her master for the silk-dyeing.
My poor old muslin has never been dyed yet. It has been promised to
be done several times. What wicked people dyers are. They begin with
dipping their own souls in scarlet sin. It is evening. We have drank
tea, and I have torn through the third vol. of the "Heroine." I do
not think it falls off. It is a delightful burlesque, particularly on
the Radcliffe style. Henry is going on with "Mansfield Park." He
admires H. Crawford: I mean properly, as a clever, pleasant man. I
tell you all the good I can, as I know how much you will enjoy it. We
hear that Mr. Kean is more admired than ever. There are no good
places to be got in Drury Lane for the next fortnight, but Henry means
to secure some for Saturday fortnight, when you are reckoned upon.
Give my love to little Cass. I hope she found my bed comfortable last
night. I have seen nobody in London yet with such a long chin as Dr.
Syntax, nor anybody quite so large as Gogmagolicus.
'Yours affly.,
'J. AUSTEN.'