BATH AGAIN
1801-1805
In the separation of Jane and Cassandra, the letters begin again.
Paragon: Tuesday [May 5, 1801].
MY DEAR CASSANDRA,-- . . . Our journey here was
perfectly free from accident or event; we changed
horses at the end of every stage, and paid at
almost every turnpike. We had charming weather,
hardly any dust, and were exceedingly agreeable,
as we did not speak above once in three miles.
* * * * *
We had a very neat chaise from Devizes; it looked
almost as well as a gentleman's, at least as a
very shabby gentleman's; in spite of this
advantage, however, we were above three hours
coming from thence to Paragon, and it was half
after seven by your clocks before we entered the
house.
Frank, whose black head was in waiting in the hall
window, received us very kindly; and his master
and mistress did not show less cordiality. They
both look very well, though my aunt has a violent
cough. We drank tea as soon as we arrived, and so
ends the account of our journey, which my mother
bore without any fatigue.
* * * * *
There is to be only one more ball--next Monday is
the day. The Chamberlaynes are still here. I begin
to think better of Mrs. C., and upon recollection
believe she has rather a long chin than otherwise,
as she remembers us in Gloucestershire,[124] when
we were very charming young women.
The first view of Bath in fine weather does not
answer my expectations; I think I see more
distinctly through rain. The sun was got behind
everything, and the appearance of the place from
the top of Kingsdown was all vapour, shadow,
smoke, and confusion.
I fancy we are to have a house in Seymour Street,
or thereabouts. My uncle and aunt both like the
situation. I was glad to hear the former talk of
all the houses in New King Street as too small; it
was my own idea of them. I had not been two
minutes in the dining-room before he questioned me
with all his accustomary eager interest about
Frank and Charles, their views and intentions. I
did my best to give information.
* * * * *
_Tuesday Night._--When my uncle went to take his
second glass of water I walked with him, and in
our morning's circuit we looked at two houses in
Green Park Buildings, one of which pleased me very
well. We walked all over it except into the
garret; the dining-room is of a comfortable size,
just as large as you like to fancy it; the second
room about 14ft. square. The apartment over the
drawing-room pleased me particularly, because it
is divided into two, the smaller one a very
nice-sized dressing-room, which upon occasion
might admit a bed. The aspect is south-east. The
only doubt is about the dampness of the offices,
of which there were symptoms.
Paragon: Tuesday [May 12, 1801].
Sixty-one guineas and a-half for the three cows
gives one some support under the blow of only
eleven guineas for the tables. Eight for my
pianoforte is about what I really expected to get;
I am more anxious to know the amount of my books,
especially as they are said to have sold well.
* * * * *
In the evening, I hope you honoured my toilette
and ball with a thought; I dressed myself as well
as I could, and had all my finery much admired at
home. By nine o'clock my uncle, aunt, and I
entered the rooms, and linked Miss Winstone on to
us. Before tea it was rather a dull affair; but
then the before tea did not last long, for there
was only one dance, danced by four couple. Think
of four couple, surrounded by about an hundred
people, dancing in the Upper Rooms at Bath.
After tea we _cheered up_; the breaking up of
private parties sent some scores more to the ball,
and though it was shockingly and inhumanly thin
for this place, there were people enough, I
suppose, to have made five or six very pretty
Basingstoke assemblies.
I then got Mr. Evelyn to talk to, and Miss T. to
look at; and I am proud to say that though
repeatedly assured that another in the same party
was the _She_, I fixed upon the right one from the
first. A resemblance to Mrs. L. was my guide. She
is not so pretty as I expected; her face has the
same defect of baldness as her sister's, and her
features not so handsome; she was highly rouged,
and looked rather quietly and contentedly silly
than anything else.
Mrs. B. and two young women were of the same
party, except when Mrs. B. thought herself obliged
to leave them to run round the room after her
drunken husband. His avoidance, and her pursuit,
with the probable intoxication of both, was an
amusing scene.
* * * * *
_Wednesday._--Another stupid party last night;
perhaps if larger they might be less intolerable,
but here there were only just enough to make one
card table, with six people to look on and talk
nonsense to each other. Lady Fust, Mrs. Busby, and
a Mrs. Owen sat down with my uncle to whist,
within five minutes after the three old _Toughs_
came in, and there they sat, with only the
exchange of Adm. Stanhope for my uncle, till their
chairs were announced.
I cannot anyhow continue to find people agreeable;
I respect Mrs. Chamberlayne for doing her hair
well, but cannot feel a more tender sentiment.
Miss Langley is like any other short girl, with a
broad nose and wide mouth, fashionable dress and
exposed bosom. Adm. Stanhope is a gentlemanlike
man, but then his legs are too short and his tail
too long.
Paragon: Thursday [May 21, 1801].
The friendship between Mrs. Chamberlayne and me
which you predicted has already taken place, for
we shake hands whenever we meet. Our grand walk to
Weston was again fixed for yesterday, and was
accomplished in a very striking manner. Every one
of the party declined it under some pretence or
other except our two selves and we had therefore a
_tete-a-tete_, but _that_ we should equally have
had, after the first two yards, had half the
inhabitants of Bath set off with us.
It would have amused you to see our progress. We
went up by Sion Hill, and returned across the
fields. In climbing a hill Mrs. Chamberlayne is
very capital; I could with difficulty keep pace
with her, yet would not flinch for the world. On
plain ground I was quite her equal. And so we
posted away under a fine hot sun, _she_ without
any parasol or any shade to her hat, stopping for
nothing and crossing the churchyard at Weston with
as much expedition as if we were afraid of being
buried alive. After seeing what she is equal to, I
cannot help feeling a regard for her. As to
agreeableness, she is much like other people.
* * * * *
I went with my mother to help look at some houses
in New King Street, towards which she felt some
kind of inclination, but their size has now
satisfied her. They were smaller than I expected
to find them; one in particular out of the two was
quite monstrously little; the best of the
sitting-rooms not so large as the little parlour
at Steventon, and the second room in every floor
about capacious enough to admit a very small
single bed.
* * * * *
You will be sorry to hear that Marianne Mapleton's
disorder has ended fatally. She was believed out
of danger on Sunday, but a sudden relapse carried
her off the next day. So affectionate a family
must suffer severely; and many a girl on early
death has been praised into an angel, I believe,
on slighter pretensions to beauty, sense, and
merit, than Marianne.
Paragon: Tuesday [May 26, 1801].[125]
. . . . . . . . .
The _Endymion_ came into Portsmouth on Sunday and
I have sent Charles a short letter by this day's
post. My adventures since I wrote you three days
ago have been such as the time would easily
contain. I walked yesterday morning with Mrs.
Chamberlayne to Lyncombe and Widcombe, and in the
evening I drank tea with the Holders. Mrs.
Chamberlayne's pace was not quite so magnificent
on this second trial as on the first: it was
nothing more than I could keep up with, without
effort, and for many many yards together on a
raised narrow footpath I led the way. The walk was
very beautiful, as my companion agreed whenever I
made the observation. And so ends our friendship,
for the Chamberlaynes leave Bath in a day or two.
Prepare likewise for the loss of Lady Fust, as you
will lose before you find her. My evening visit
was by no means disagreeable. Mrs. Lillingston
came to engage Mrs. Holder's conversation, and
Miss Holder and I adjourned after tea to the inner
drawing-room to look over prints and talk
pathetically. She is very unreserved and very fond
of talking of her deceased brother and sister,
whose memories she cherishes with an enthusiasm
which, though perhaps a little affected, is not
unpleasing. She has an idea of your being
remarkably lively, therefore get ready the proper
selection of adverbs and due scraps of Italian and
French. I must now pause to make some observation
on Mrs. Heathcote's having got a little boy.[126]
I wish her well to wear it out--and shall proceed.
Frank writes me word that he is to be in London
to-morrow: some money negotiation, from which he
hopes to derive advantage, hastens him from Kent
and will detain him a few days behind my father in
town. I have seen the Miss Mapletons this morning.
Marianne was buried yesterday, and I called
without expecting to be let in to enquire after
them all. On the servant's invitation, however, I
sent in my name, and Jane and Christiana, who were
walking in the garden, came to me immediately, and
I sat with them about ten minutes. They looked
pale and dejected but were more composed than I
had thought probable. When I mentioned your coming
here on Monday they said they should be very glad
to see you.
We drink tea to-night with Mrs. Lysons: now this,
says my Master, will be mighty dull. . . .
I assure you in spite of what I might choose to
insinuate in a former letter, that I have seen
very little of Mr. Evelyn since my coming here; I
met him this morning for only the fourth time, and
as to my anecdote about Sydney Gardens, I made the
most of the story because it came into advantage,
but in fact he only asked me whether I were to be
in Sydney Gardens in the evening or not. There is
now something like an engagement between us and
the Phaeton, which to confess my frailty I have a
great desire to go out in; but whether it will
come to anything must remain with him. I really
believe he is very harmless; people do not seem
afraid of him here, and he gets groundsel for his
birds and all that. . . .
Yours affectionately,
J. A.
_Wednesday._--I am just returned from my airing in
the very bewitching Phaeton and four for which I
was prepared by a note from Mr. E., soon after
breakfast. We went to the top of Kingsdown, and
had a very pleasant drive. One pleasure succeeds
another rapidly. On my return I found your letter,
and a letter from Charles, on the table. The
contents of yours I suppose I need not repeat to
you; to thank you for it will be enough. I give
Charles great credit for remembering my uncle's
direction, and he seems rather surprised at it
himself. He has received L30 for his share of the
privateer, and expects L10 more, but of what avail
is it to take prizes if he lays out the produce in
presents to his sisters? He has been buying gold
chains and topaze crosses[127] for us--he must be
well scolded. The _Endymion_ has already received
orders for taking troops to Egypt--which I should
not like at all if I did not trust to Charles
being removed from her somehow or other before she
sails. He knows nothing of his own destination he
says--but desires me to write directly--as the
_Endymion_ will probably sail in three or four
days. He will receive my yesterday's letter
to-day, and I shall write again by this post to
thank and reproach him. We shall be unbearably
fine.
So began the five years' residence at Bath.
Cassandra and her father (the latter having been paying visits in Kent
and London) joined the others at the beginning of June; and from that
date till September 1804 there is little that can be said definitely
about Jane's life.
We know, however, that it was the intention of the Austens to spend the
summer of 1801 by the sea--perhaps at Sidmouth; and a letter of Eliza
Austen informs us that this plan was duly carried out. She writes to
Phila Walter on October 29:--
I conclude that you know of our uncle and aunt
Austen and their daughters having spent the summer
in Devonshire. They are now returned to Bath,
where they are superintending the fitting up of
their new house.
So the house had at last been fixed on; and we learn in the _Memoir_
that it was No. 4 Sydney Terrace,[128] in the parish of Bathwick. The
houses here face the Sydney Gardens, and it is a part of Bath that Jane
seems to have fancied. Her residence there is now commemorated by a
marble tablet. How long the Austens resided in this house cannot
definitely be stated; perhaps they took it for three years--at any rate,
by the beginning of 1805 they had moved to 27 Green Park Buildings.
Possibly Mr. Austen, as he grew older, had found the distance to the
centre of the town too great for his powers of walking.
One of the few facts we know concerning their stay in Sydney Place is
that at one time Mrs. Austen was extremely ill, but the skill of her
medical adviser, a certain Mr. Bowen,[129] and the affectionate care of
her daughters pulled her through and enabled her to live for another
twenty-five years. Mrs. Austen has recorded the fact of her illness in
some humorous verses, entitled 'Dialogue between Death and Mrs. A.'
Says Death, 'I've been trying these three weeks and more
To seize on old Madam here at Number Four,
Yet I still try in vain, tho' she's turned of three score;
To what is my ill-success owing?'
'I'll tell you, old Fellow, if you cannot guess,
To what you're indebted for your ill success--
To the prayers of my husband, whose love I possess,
To the care of my daughters, whom Heaven will bless,
To the skill and attention of Bowen.'
In 1802, in addition to the visit to Steventon with its distressing
incidents,[130] Jane was at Dawlish; for, in a letter written in 1814,
she says of the library at Dawlish that it 'was pitiful and wretched
twelve years ago and not likely to have anybody's publications.' A
writer, too, in _Temple Bar_[131] for February 1879, states that about
this time the Austens went to Teignmouth (which would be very easily
combined with a stay at Dawlish), and that they resided there some
weeks.
This was the year of the short cessation of hostilities brought about by
the Peace of Amiens. During its continuance, we are told that the Henry
Austens went to France in the vain hope of recovering some of her first
husband's property, and narrowly escaped being included amongst the
_detenus_. 'Orders had been given by Bonaparte's Government to detain
all English travellers; but at the post-houses Mrs. Henry Austen gave
the necessary orders herself, and her French was so perfect that she
passed everywhere for a native, and her husband escaped under this
protection.'[132]
Our only evidence of Jane's having been absent from Bath in 1803 is that
Sir Egerton Brydges,[133] in speaking of her, says: 'The last time I
think that I saw her was at Ramsgate in 1803.'
On Francis Austen's promotion (already mentioned), Admiral Gambier seems
rather to have gone out of his way to choose him as his flag-captain on
the _Neptune_; but on the Peace of Amiens, he, like many others, went on
half-pay. His first employment when war broke out again, in 1803, was
the raising from among the Kent fishermen of a corps of 'sea fencibles,'
to protect the coast from invasion. His head-quarters were at Ramsgate,
and it was quite likely that Jane would visit him there, especially if
she could combine this visit with one to Godmersham. We shall see later
that the 'sea fencibles' did not take up the whole of Frank's time.
She must now have begun to turn her mind again to her neglected MSS.,
and especially to _Northanger Abbey_. This, no doubt, underwent a
thorough revision (_Belinda_, mentioned in the famous dissertation
on novels, was not published till 1801); and there is evidence[134]
that she sold the MS., under the title of _Susan_, in the spring of
1803: not, indeed, to a Bath publisher--as has been often stated--but
to Messrs. Crosby & Son of London, for ten pounds, stipulating for
an early publication. Distrustful of appearing under her own name
in the transaction, Jane seems to have employed a certain Mr.
Seymour--probably her brother Henry's man of business--a fact which
suggests that the sale was effected while Jane was staying in London
with Henry. For reasons best known to himself, Mr. Crosby did not
proceed with the publication.
Besides _Northanger Abbey_, Jane seems to have written at this time the
beginning of a tale which was published in the second edition of the
Memoir as _The Watsons_,[135] although the author had not given that, or
any other name, to it. The setting of the story was very like that of
the novels with which we are so familiar, and the characters were
sketched in with a firm hand. One of these creations in particular might
have been expected to re-appear in another book (if this work was to be
laid aside); but such a procedure was contrary to Jane Austen's
invariable practice. It is the character of a young man--Tom Musgrave by
name--a clever and good-natured toady, with rather more attractive
qualities than usually fall to the lot of the members of that
fraternity. But why was it laid aside? The writer of the _Memoir_
suggests[136] that the author may have become aware 'of the evil of
having placed her heroine too low, in a position of poverty and
obscurity, which, though not necessarily connected with vulgarity, has a
sad tendency to degenerate into it; and therefore, like a singer who has
begun on too low a note, she discontinued the strain.'
To this we may add that circumstances soon occurred to divert her mind
from original composition for a considerable period; and when at last
she returned to it, she was much more likely to think of the two
completed stories that were lying in her desk than of one that was only
begun. She did, however, retain in her recollection the outline of the
intended story. The MS. of _The Watsons_, still existing, is written on
the small sheets of paper described in the _Memoir_: sheets which could
be easily covered with a piece of blotting-paper in case of the arrival
of unexpected visitors, and which would thus fit in with her desire for
secrecy. All the pages are written in her beautifully neat handwriting;
but some seem to flow on without doubt or difficulty, while others are
subject to copious corrections. As all the MSS. of her six published
novels have perished, it is worth our while to notice her methods where
we can.
The first interruption that occurred to her writing in 1804 was of a
pleasant nature, and none of her admirers need regret it: she went to
Lyme with her family. They had been joined in their summer rambles by
the Henry Austens, who afterwards proceeded with Cassandra to Weymouth,
leaving Jane with her parents at Lyme. We have it on record that Jane
loved the sight of the beauties of nature so much that she would
sometimes say she thought it must form one of the joys of heaven; but
she had few opportunities of visiting any scenes of especial beauty. We
need not therefore be surprised that the impression produced by Lyme was
so great that she retained a vivid and accurate memory of the details
eleven years afterwards. In _Persuasion_, she allowed herself to dwell
on them with greater fullness and greater enthusiasm than she had ever
displayed on similar occasions before. Readers of that book who visit
Lyme--especially if they have the valuable help of the Miss Hills'
descriptions and sketches--will feel no difficulty in recognising the
exact spot on the Cobb which was pointed out to Tennyson as the scene of
the fall of Louisa Musgrove, or the well-placed but minute house at the
corner of the pier, past which Captain Benwick was seen rushing for the
doctor, and in which the Harvilles managed to entertain a large party;
they may note the point on the steps leading down to the sea where Mr.
Elliot first saw Anne; and if they go to the 'Royal Lion' Hotel and
engage a private sitting-room, they can look from the window, as Mary
Musgrove looked at her cousin's carriage, when she recognised the Elliot
countenance, but failed to see the Elliot arms, because the great-coat
was folded over the panels.[137]
The letter which follows was written when Cassandra was just leaving
Weymouth to go to Ibthorp where old Mrs. Lloyd lay very ill.
Lyme: Friday [September 14, 1804].[138]
MY DEAR CASSANDRA,--I take the first sheet of fine
striped paper to thank you for your letter from
Weymouth, and express my hopes of your being at
Ibthorp before this time. I expect to hear that
you reached it yesterday evening, being able to
get as far as Blandford on Wednesday. Your account
of Weymouth contains nothing which strikes me so
forcibly as there being no ice in the town. For
every other vexation I was in some measure
prepared, and particularly for your disappointment
in not seeing the Royal Family go on board on
Tuesday, having already heard from Mr. Crawford
that he had seen you in the very act of being too
late. But for there being no ice, what could
prepare me? . . . You found my letter at Andover,
I hope, yesterday, and have now for many hours been
satisfied that your kind anxiety on my behalf was
as much thrown away as kind anxiety usually is.
I continue quite well; in proof of which I have
bathed again this morning. It was absolutely
necessary that I should have the little fever and
indisposition which I had: it has been all the
fashion this week in Lyme. . . . We are quite settled
in our lodgings by this time, as you may suppose,
and everything goes on in the usual order. The
servants behave very well, and make no difficulties,
though nothing certainly can exceed the inconvenience
of the offices, except the general dirtiness of the
house and furniture, and all its inhabitants. I
endeavour, as far as I can, to supply your place,
and be useful, and keep things in order. I detect
dirt in the water decanters, as fast as I can, and
keep everything as it was under your
administration. . . . James is the delight of our
lives, he is quite an Uncle Toby's annuity to us.
My Mother's shoes were never so well blacked
before, and our plate never looked so clean. He
waits extremely well, is attentive, handy, quick
and quiet, and in short has a great many more than
all the cardinal virtues (for the cardinal virtues
in themselves have been so often possessed that
they are no longer worth having), and amongst the
rest, that of wishing to go to Bath, as I
understand from Jenny. He has the laudable thirst I
fancy for travelling, which in poor James Selby was
so much reprobated; and part of his disappointment
in not going with his master arose from his wish of
seeing London.
* * * * *
The ball last night was pleasant, but not full for
Thursday. My father staid very contentedly till
half-past nine (we went a little after eight), and
then walked home with James and a lanthorn, though
I believe the lanthorn was not lit, as the moon
was up; but this lanthorn may sometimes be a great
convenience to him. My mother and I staid about
an hour later. Nobody asked me the two first
dances; the two next I danced with Mr. Crawford,
and had I chosen to stay longer might have danced
with Mr. Granville, Mrs. Granville's son, whom my
dear friend Miss A. offered to introduce to me, or
with a new odd-looking man who had been eyeing me
for some time, and at last, without any
introduction, asked me if I meant to dance again.
I think he must be Irish by his ease, and because
I imagine him to belong to the hon^{ble} B.'s, who
are the son, and son's wife of an Irish viscount,
bold queer-looking people, just fit to be quality
at Lyme.
* * * * *
I called yesterday morning (ought it not in strict
propriety to be termed yester-morning?) on Miss A.
and was introduced to her father and mother. Like
other young ladies she is considerably genteeler
than her parents. Mrs. A. sat darning a pair of
stockings the whole of my visit. But do not
mention this at home, lest a warning should act as
an example. We afterwards walked together for an
hour on the Cobb; she is very converseable in a
common way; I do not perceive wit or genius, but
she has sense and some degree of taste, and her
manners are very engaging. She seems to like
people rather too easily. She thought the D.'s
pleasant, &c., &c.
* * * * *
_Friday Evening._--The bathing was so delightful
this morning and Molly so pressing with me to
enjoy myself that I believe I staid in rather too
long, as since the middle of the day I have felt
unreasonably tired. I shall be more careful
another time, and shall not bathe to-morrow as I
had before intended. Jenny and James are walked to
Charmouth this afternoon. I am glad to have such
an amusement for him, as I am very anxious for his
being at once quiet and happy. He can read, and I
must get him some books. Unfortunately he has read
the first Vol. of _Robinson Crusoe_. We have the
Pinckards' newspaper however which I shall take
care to lend him.
As the autumn of 1804 was succeeded by winter, Jane's thoughts were to
be taken up by more serious considerations. On her birthday, December
16, occurred the death (by a fall from her horse) of her great friend,
Mrs. Lefroy, on which we have already dwelt.[139]
But she was shortly to suffer an even greater loss, for on January 21,
1805, her father died, after an illness of only forty-eight hours.
Jane's letter, or rather two letters--for, the first being wrongly
directed, she had to write a second--to her brother Frank on this
occasion have fortunately been kept.
Green Park Buildings:
Tuesday evening, January 22, 1805.[140]
MY DEAREST FRANK,--I wrote to you yesterday, but
your letter to Cassandra this morning, by which we
learn the probability of your being by this time
at Portsmouth, obliges me to write to you again,
having unfortunately a communication as necessary
as painful to make to you. Your affectionate heart
will be greatly wounded, and I wish the shock
could have been lessened by a better preparation;
but the event has been sudden and so must be the
information of it. We have lost an excellent
father. An illness of only eight and forty hours
carried him off yesterday morning between ten and
eleven. He was seized on Saturday with a return of
the feverish complaint which he had been subject
to for the last three years. . . . A physician was
called in yesterday morning, but he was at that
time past all possibility of cure; and Dr. Gibbs
and Mr. Bowen had scarcely left his room before he
sunk into a sleep from which he never woke.
It has been very sudden. Within twenty-four hours
of his death he was walking about with only the
help of a stick--was even reading.
We had, however, some hours of preparation, and
when we understood his recovery to be hopeless,
most fervently did we pray for the speedy release
which ensued. To have seen him languishing long,
struggling for hours, would have been dreadful,
and, thank God, we were all spared from it.
* * * * *
Except the restlessness and confusion of high
fever, he did not suffer, and he was mercifully
spared from knowing that he was about to quit
objects so beloved, and so fondly cherished as his
wife and children ever were. His tenderness as a
father, who can do justice to?
* * * * *
The funeral is to be on Saturday at Walcot
Church.[141] The serenity of the corpse is most
delightful. It preserves the sweet benevolent
smile which always distinguished him. They kindly
press my mother to remove to Steventon as soon as
it is all over, but I do not believe she will
leave Bath at present. We must have this house for
three months longer, and here we shall probably
stay till the end of that time. We all unite in
love, and I am
Affectionately yours,
J. A.
The companion letter, sent to a different address, gives a similar
account, and contains also these words[142]:--
Heavy as is the blow, we can already feel that a
thousand comforts remain to us to soften it. Next
to that of the consciousness of his worth and
constant preparation for another world, is the
remembrance of his having suffered, comparatively
speaking, nothing. Being quite insensible of his
own state, he was spared all pain of separation,
and he went off almost in his sleep. My mother
bears the shock as well as possible; she was quite
prepared for it and feels all the blessing of his
being spared a long illness. My uncle and aunt
have been with us and show us every imaginable
kindness.
* * * * *
Adieu, my dearest Frank. The loss of such a parent
must be felt, or we should be brutes. I wish I
could give you a better preparation, but it has
been impossible.
Yours ever affectionately,
J. A.
Mr. Austen's death placed his widow and daughters in straitened
circumstances; for most of his income had been derived from the livings
of Steventon and Deane. In fact the income of Mrs. Austen, together with
that of Cassandra (who had inherited one thousand pounds from her
intended husband, Thomas Fowle), was no more than two hundred and ten
pounds. Fortunately, she had sons who were only too glad to be able to
help her, and her income was raised to four hundred and sixty pounds a
year by contributions of one hundred pounds from Edward, and fifty
pounds from James, Henry, and Frank respectively. Frank, indeed, was
ready to do more; for Henry wrote to him to say that their mother 'feels
the magnificence of your offer and accepts of half.' Mrs. Austen's first
idea was to remain in Bath so long as her brother, Mr. Leigh Perrot,
lived there. Accordingly, she gave up her house at Lady Day, and moved,
with her daughters and one maid, into furnished lodgings at 25 Gay
Street.
Early in April, Cassandra was staying at Ibthorp, where it was her lot
to attend another death-bed--that of old Mrs. Lloyd.
25 Gay Street: Monday [April 8, 1805].
MY DEAR CASSANDRA,--Here is a day for you! Did
Bath or Ibthorp ever see a finer 8th of April? It
is March and April together, the glare of one and
the warmth of the other. We do nothing but walk
about. As far as your means will admit, I hope you
profit by such weather too. I dare say you are
already the better for change of place. We were
out again last night. Miss Irvine invited us, when
I met her in the Crescent, to drink tea with them,
but I rather declined it, having no idea that my
mother would be disposed for another evening visit
there so soon; but when I gave her the message, I
found her very well inclined to go; and
accordingly, on leaving Chapel, we walked to
Lansdown. This morning we have been to see Miss
Chamberlayne look hot on horseback. Seven years
and four months ago we went to the same
riding-house to see Miss Lefroy's performance!
What a different set are we now moving in! But
seven years, I suppose, are enough to change every
pore of one's skin and every feeling of one's
mind. We did not walk long in the Crescent
yesterday. It was hot and not crowded enough; so
we went into the field, and passed close by S. T.
and Miss S.[143] again. I have not yet seen her
face, but neither her dress nor air have anything
of the dash or stylishness which the Browns talked
of; quite the contrary; indeed, her dress is not
even smart, and her appearance very quiet. Miss
Irvine says she is never speaking a word. Poor
wretch; I am afraid she is _en penitence_. Here
has been that excellent Mrs. Coulthart calling,
while my mother was out, and I was believed to be
so. I always respected her, as a good-hearted
friendly woman. And the Brownes have been here; I
find their affidavits on the table. The
_Ambuscade_ reached Gibraltar on the 9th of March,
and found all well; so say the papers. We have had
no letters from anybody, but we expect to hear
from Edward to-morrow, and from you soon
afterwards. How happy they are at Godmersham now!
I shall be very glad of a letter from Ibthorp,
that I may know how you all are, but particularly
yourself. This is nice weather for Mrs. J.
Austen's going to Speen, and I hope she will have
a pleasant visit there. I expect a prodigious
account of the christening dinner; perhaps it
brought you at last into the company of Miss
Dundas again.
_Tuesday._--I received your letter last night, and
wish it may be soon followed by another to say
that all is over; but I cannot help thinking that
nature will struggle again, and produce a revival.
Poor woman! May her end be peaceful and easy as
the exit we have witnessed! And I dare say it
will. If there is no revival, suffering must be
all over; even the consciousness of existence, I
suppose, was gone when you wrote. The nonsense I
have been writing in this and in my last letter
seems out of place at such a time, but I will not
mind it; it will do you no harm, and nobody else
will be attacked by it. I am heartily glad that
you can speak so comfortably of your own health
and looks, though I can scarcely comprehend the
latter being really approved. Could travelling
fifty miles produce such an immediate change? You
were looking very poorly here, and everybody
seemed sensible of it. Is there a charm in a hack
post-chaise? But if there were, Mrs. Craven's
carriage might have undone it all. I am much
obliged to you for the time and trouble you have
bestowed on Mary's cap, and am glad it pleases
her; but it will prove a useless gift at present,
I suppose. Will not she leave Ibthorp on her
mother's death? As a companion you are all that
Martha can be supposed to want, and in that
light, under these circumstances, your visit will
indeed have been well timed.
* * * * *
The Cookes want us to drink tea with them
to-night, but I do not know whether my mother will
have nerves for it. We are engaged to-morrow
evening--what request we are in! Mrs. Chamberlayne
expressed to her niece her wish of being intimate
enough with us to ask us to drink tea with her in
a quiet way. We have therefore offered her
ourselves and our quietness through the same
medium. Our tea and sugar will last a great while.
I think we are just the kind of people and party
to be treated about among our relations; we cannot
be supposed to be very rich.
* * * * *
_Thursday._--I was not able to go on yesterday;
all my wit and leisure were bestowed on letters to
Charles and Henry. To the former I wrote in
consequence of my mother's having seen in the
papers that the _Urania_ was waiting at Portsmouth
for the convoy for Halifax. This is nice, as it is
only three weeks ago that you wrote by the
_Camilla_. . . . I wrote to Henry because I had a
letter from him in which he desired to hear from
me very soon. His to me was most affectionate and
kind, as well as entertaining; there is no merit
to him in _that_; he cannot help being amusing. . . .
He offers to meet us on the sea coast, if the plan
of which Edward gave him some hint takes place.
Will not this be making the execution of such a
plan more desirable and delightful than ever? He
talks of the rambles we took together last summer
with pleasing affection.
Yours ever,
J. A.
_From the Same to the Same._
Gay Street: Sunday Evening,
April 21 [1805].[144]
MY DEAR CASSANDRA,--I am much obliged to you for
writing to me again so soon; your letter
yesterday was quite an unexpected pleasure. Poor
Mrs. Stent! it has been her lot to be always in
the way; but we must be merciful, for perhaps in
time we may come to be Mrs. Stents ourselves,
unequal to anything, and unwelcome to everybody.
Your account of Martha is very comfortable indeed,
and now we shall be in no fear of receiving a
worse. This day, if she has gone to church, must
have been a trial to her feelings, but it will be
the last of any acuteness. . . . Yesterday was a busy
day with me. I went to Sydney Gardens soon after
one and did not return until four, and after
dinner I walked to Weston. My morning engagement
was with the Cookes, and our party consisted of
George and Mary, a Mr. and Miss B. who had been
with us at the concert, and the youngest Miss W.
Not Julia; we have done with her; she is very ill;
but Mary. Mary W.'s turn is actually come to be
grown up, and have a fine complexion, and wear a
great square muslin shawl. I have not expressly
enumerated myself among the party, but there I
was, and my cousin George was very kind, and
talked sense to me every now and then, in the
intervals of his more animated fooling with Miss
B., who is very young, and rather handsome, and
whose gracious manners, ready wit, and solid
remarks, put me somewhat in mind of my old
acquaintance L. L. There was a monstrous deal of
stupid quizzing and common-place nonsense talked,
but scarcely any wit; all that bordered on it or
on sense came from my cousin George, whom
altogether I like very well. Mr. B. seems nothing
more than a tall young man. . . . My evening
engagement and walk was with Miss A., who had
called on me the day before, and gently upbraided
me in her turn with a change of manners to her
since she had been in Bath, or at least of late.
Unlucky me! that my notice should be of such
consequence, and my manners so bad! She was so
well disposed, and so reasonable, that I soon
forgave her, and made this engagement with her in
proof of it. She is really an agreeable girl, so
I think I may like her; and her great want of a
companion at home, which may well make any
tolerable acquaintance important to her, gives her
another claim on my attention. I shall as much as
possible endeavour to keep my intimacies in their
proper place, and prevent their clashing. . . . Among
so many friends, it will be well if I do not get
into a scrape; and now here is Miss Blachford
come. I should have gone distracted if the Bullers
had staid. . . .
I am quite of your opinion as to the folly of
concealing any longer our intended partnership
with Martha, and wherever there has of late been
an enquiry on the subject I have always been
sincere, and I have sent word of it to the
Mediterranean in a letter to Frank. None of _our_
nearest connections I think will be unprepared for
it, and I do not know how to suppose that Martha's
have not foreseen it.
When I tell you we have been visiting a Countess
this morning, you will immediately, with great
justice, but no truth, guess it to be Lady Roden.
No: it is Lady Leven, the mother of Lord Balgonie.
On receiving a message from Lord and Lady Leven
through the Mackays, declaring their intention of
waiting on us, we thought it right to go to them.
I hope we have not done too much, but the friends
and admirers of Charles must be attended to. They
seem very reasonable, good sort of people, very
civil, and full of his praise.[145] We were shewn
at first into an empty drawing-room, and presently
in came his lordship, not knowing who we were, to
apologise for the servant's mistake, and tell a
lie himself that Lady Leven was not within. He is
a tall gentlemanlike-looking man, with spectacles,
and rather deaf. After sitting with him ten
minutes we walked away; but, Lady Leven coming
out of the dining parlour as we passed the door,
we were obliged to attend her back to it, and pay
our visit over again. She is a stout woman, with a
very handsome face. By this means we had the
pleasure of hearing Charles's praises twice over.
They think themselves excessively obliged to him,
and estimate him so highly as to wish Lord
Balgonie, when he is quite recovered, to go out to
him. . . . There is a pretty little Lady Marianne of
the party, to be shaken hands with, and asked if
she remembered Mr. Austen. . . .
I shall write to Charles by the next packet,
unless you tell me in the meantime of your
intending to do it.
Believe me, if you chuse,
Y^{r} aff^{te} Sister.
'Cousin George' was the Rev. George Leigh Cooke, long known and
respected at Oxford, where he held important offices, and had the
privilege of helping to form the minds of men more eminent than himself.
As tutor at Corpus Christi College, he had under his charge Arnold,
Keble, and Sir J. T. Coleridge.
The 'intended partnership' with Martha was an arrangement by which
Martha Lloyd joined the family party: an arrangement which was based on
their affectionate friendship for her, and which succeeded so well that
it lasted through Southampton and Chawton, and did not end until after
the death of Mrs. Austen in 1827.
FOOTNOTES:
[124] Probably, when they were on a visit to the Fowles at Elkstone,
between Cheltenham and Cirencester. See p. 373.
[125] Family MS. One short paragraph, _Memoir_, p. 65; the remainder
unpublished.
[126] Afterwards Sir William Heathcote, M.P.
[127] We remember that in _Mansfield Park_ William Price had been able
to afford only the amber cross as a present to Fanny, and not the chain.
See _Sailor Brothers_, p. 92.
[128] _Terrace_ seems to be a slip; at least, its present name is Sydney
Place. We have, unfortunately, no letters dated from this house.
[129] There is an inscription to his memory on the wall of the south
aisle in the Abbey.
[130] See p. 92.
[131] In an article called 'Is it Just?' p. 282.
[132] _Memoir_, p. 24.
[133] _Autobiography_, vol. ii. p. 40.
[134] See end of Chapter XIII.
[135] The watermarks of 1803 and 1804 on the paper are the sole
authority for this date.
[136] P. 296.
[137] Miss Hill seems to have identified also the cottage, 'Mrs. Dean's
house,' in which the Austens themselves lodged in 1804. No doubt
decanters, and everything else, have long been perfectly immaculate.
[138] Nearly all _Memoir_, p. 68; the remainder unpublished.
[139] Chap. V.
[140] _Sailor Brothers_, p. 127.
[141] Mr. Oscar Fay Adams, a most careful investigator, failed to
discover the inscription in Walcot Church to the memory of George
Austen. It is in the crypt below the church, and runs as follows: 'Under
this stone rest the remains of the Rev. George Austen, Rector of
Steventon and Dean in Hampshire, who departed this life the 21st of
January 1805, aged 73 years.'
[142] _Sailor Brothers_, p. 125.
[143] A gentleman and lady lately engaged to be married.
[144] _Memoir_, p. 74.
[145] It seems that Charles Austen, then first lieutenant of the
_Endymion_, had had an opportunity of showing attention and kindness to
some of Lord Leven's family.