_To Miss Frances Austen._
CHAWTON, Friday (Nov. 18, 1814).
I FEEL quite as doubtful as you could be, my dearest Fanny, as to when
my letter may be finished, for I can command very little quiet time at
present; but yet I must begin, for I know you will be glad to hear as
soon as possible, and I really am impatient myself to be writing
something on so very interesting a subject, though I have no hope of
writing anything to the purpose. I shall do very little more, I dare
say, than say over again what you have said before.
I was certainly a good deal surprised at first, as I had no suspicion of
any change in your feelings, and I have no scruple in saying that you
cannot be in love. My dear Fanny, I am ready to laugh at the idea, and
yet it is no laughing matter to have had you so mistaken as to your own
feelings. And with all my heart I wish I had cautioned you on that point
when first you spoke to me; but though I did not think you then much in
love, I did consider you as being attached in a degree quite
sufficiently for happiness, as I had no doubt it would increase with
opportunity, and from the time of our being in London together I thought
you really very much in love. But you certainly are not at all--there is
no concealing it.
What strange creatures we are! It seems as if your being secure of him
had made you indifferent. There was a little disgust, I suspect, at the
races, and I do not wonder at it. His expressions then would not do for
one who had rather more acuteness, penetration, and taste, than love,
which was your case. And yet, after all, I am surprised that the change
in your feelings should be so great. He is just what he ever was, only
more evidently and uniformly devoted to you. This is all the difference.
How shall we account for it?
My dearest Fanny, I am writing what will not be of the smallest use to
you. I am feeling differently every moment, and shall not be able to
suggest a single thing that can assist your mind. I could lament in one
sentence and laugh in the next, but as to opinion or counsel I am sure
that none will be extracted worth having from this letter.
I read yours through the very evening I received it, getting away by
myself. I could not bear to leave off when I had once begun. I was full
of curiosity and concern. Luckily your At. C. dined at the other house;
therefore I had not to manoeuvre away from her, and as to anybody else,
I do not care.
Poor dear Mr. A.! Oh, dear Fanny! your mistake has been one that
thousands of women fall into. He was the first young man who attached
himself to you. That was the charm, and most powerful it is. Among the
multitudes, however, that make the same mistake with yourself, there can
be few indeed who have so little reason to regret it; his character and
his attachment leave you nothing to be ashamed of.
Upon the whole, what is to be done? You have no inclination for any
other person. His situation in life, family, friends, and, above all,
his character, his uncommonly amiable mind, strict principles, just
notions, good habits, all that you know so well how to value, all that
is really of the first importance,--everything of this nature pleads his
cause most strongly. You have no doubt of his having superior abilities,
he has proved it at the University; he is, I dare say, such a scholar as
your agreeable, idle brothers would ill bear a comparison with.
Oh, my dear Fanny! the more I write about him the warmer my feelings
become,--the more strongly I feel the sterling worth of such a young
man, and the desirableness of your growing in love with him again. I
recommend this most thoroughly. There are such beings in the world,
perhaps one in a thousand, as the creature you and I should think
perfection, where grace and spirit are united to worth, where the
manners are equal to the heart and understanding; but such a person may
not come in your way, or, if he does, he may not be the eldest son of a
man of fortune, the near relation of your particular friend, and
belonging to your own county.
Think of all this, Fanny. Mr. A. has advantages which we do not often
meet in one person. His only fault, indeed, seems modesty. If he were
less modest, he would be more agreeable, speak louder, and look
impudenter; and is not it a fine character of which modesty is the only
defect? I have no doubt he will get more lively and more like yourselves
as he is more with you; he will catch your ways if he belongs to you.
And as to there being any objection from his goodness, from the danger
of his becoming even evangelical, I cannot admit that. I am by no means
convinced that we ought not all to be evangelicals, and am at least
persuaded that they who are so from reason and feeling must be happiest
and safest. Do not be frightened from the connection by your brothers
having most wit,--wisdom is better than wit, and in the long run will
certainly have the laugh on her side; and don't be frightened by the
idea of his acting more strictly up to the precepts of the New Testament
than others.
And now, my dear Fanny, having written so much on one side of the
question, I shall turn round and entreat you not to commit yourself
farther, and not to think of accepting him unless you really do like
him. Anything is to be preferred or endured rather than marrying
without affection; and if his deficiencies of manner, etc., etc.,
strike you more than all his good qualities, if you continue to think
strongly of them, give him up at once. Things are now in such a state
that you must resolve upon one or the other,--either to allow him to go
on as he has done, or whenever you are together behave with a coldness
which may convince him that he has been deceiving himself. I have no
doubt of his suffering a good deal for a time,--a great deal when he
feels that he must give you up; but it is no creed of mine, as you must
be well aware, that such sort of disappointments kill anybody.
Your sending the music was an admirable device, it made everything easy,
and I do not know how I could have accounted for the parcel otherwise;
for though your dear papa most conscientiously hunted about till he
found me alone in the dining-parlor, your Aunt C. had seen that he had a
parcel to deliver. As it was, however, I do not think anything was
suspected.
We have heard nothing fresh from Anna. I trust she is very comfortable
in her new home. Her letters have been very sensible and satisfactory,
with no parade of happiness, which I liked them the better for. I have
often known young married women write in a way I did not like in that
respect.
You will be glad to hear that the first edition of M. P.[34] is all
sold. Your Uncle Henry is rather wanting me to come to town to settle
about a second edition; but as I could not very conveniently leave home
now, I have written him my will and pleasure and unless he still urges
it, shall not go. I am very greedy and want to make the most of it; but
as you are much above caring about money, I shall not plague you with
any particulars. The pleasures of vanity are more within your
comprehension, and you will enter into mine at receiving the praise
which every now and then comes to me through some channel or other.
_Saturday._--Mr. Palmer spent yesterday with us, and is gone off with
Cassy this morning. We have been expecting Miss Lloyd the last two days,
and feel sure of her to-day. Mr. Knight and Mr. Edwd. Knight are to dine
with us, and on Monday they are to dine with us again, accompanied by
their respectable host and hostess.
_Sunday._--Your papa had given me messages to you; but they are
unnecessary, as he writes by this post to Aunt Louisa. We had a pleasant
party yesterday; at least we found it so. It is delightful to see him so
cheerful and confident. Aunt Cass. and I dine at the Great House to-day.
We shall be a snug half-dozen. Miss Lloyd came, as we expected,
yesterday, and desires her love. She is very happy to hear of your
learning the harp. I do not mean to send you what I owe Miss Hare,
because I think you would rather not be paid beforehand.
Yours very affectionately,
JANE AUSTEN.
Miss KNIGHT,
Goodnestone Farm, Wingham, Kent.