The Cambridge Companion to Jane Austen

JANE AUSTEN Edited by Edward Copeland and Juliet McMaster

Leading scholars present a comprehensive and up-to-date guide to Jane Austen's works in the contexts o f her c o n t e m p o r a r y world, and o f present-day critical discourse. Beside discussions o f Austen's novels and letters there are essays on religion, politics, class-consciousness, publishing practices, d o m e s t i c e c o n o m y , style in the novels and the significance o f her juvenile works. A c h r o n o l o g y provides b i o g r a p h ­ ical i n f o r m a t i o n , and assessments o f the history o f Austen c r i t i c i s m highlight the m o s t recent studies in a vast field o f critical diversity.

C h r o n o l o g y o f Austen's life

D E I R D R E

T h e professional w o m a n writer Northanger

JAN

Abbey, Sense and Sensibility, R A C H E L

Mansfield

Park, Emma,

T h e short fiction T h e letters

M.

Money

M A R G A R E T

F.

Austen cults and cultures

W I L T S H I R E

A N N E

DOODY

F L Y N N

C O P E L A N D GARY

KELLY

B U R R O W S

Jane Austen and literary traditions F u r t h e r reading

Prejudice

MCMASTER

E D W A R D

JOHN

JOHN

H O U L I H A N

JULIET

Religion and politics Style

Pride and

B R O W N S T E I N

Persuasion

C A R O L

Class

L E F A Y E F E R G U S

ISOBEL

CLAULTIA L. B R U C E

G R U N D Y

JOHNSON

STOVEL

Cover illustration: Samuel C o l m a n , St James's

Fair.

By permission o f Bristol M u s e u m s and Art Gallery

CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY

ISBN 0 - 5 2 1 - 4 9 8 6 7 - 8

PRESS

H

n

9 780521 498678

In The Cambridge Companion to Jane Austen leading scholars from around the world present Austen's works in two broad contexts: that of her contemporary world, and that of present-day critical discourse. Beside discussions of Austen's novels there are essays on religion, politics, classconsciousness, publishing practices, and domestic economy, which describe the world in which Austen lived and wrote. More traditional issues for literary analysis are then addressed: style in the novels, Austen's letters as literary productions, and the stylistic significance of her juvenile works. The volume concludes with assessments of the history of Austen criticism and the develop­ ment of Austen as a literary cult-figure; it provides a chronology, and highlights the most interesting recent studies of Austen in a vast field of contemporary critical diversity.

THE

CAMBRIDGE

COMPANION

TO

JANE AUSTEN

CAMBRIDGE COMPANIONS TO The

Cambridge

Companion

to Old

English

The

LITERATURE

Cambridge

Companion

to

Beckett

edited by J o h n Pilling

Literature edited by M a l c o l m G o d d e n and The

Michael Lapidge

Cambridge

Companion

to T S. Eliot

edited by A . D a v i d M o o d y The

Cambridge

Companion

to

Dante The

edited by R a c h e l J a c o f f

Cambridge

Companion

to

Renaissance

Humanism The

Cambridge

Chaucer

Companion

edited by Jill K r a y e

edited by Piero Boitani and Jill M a n n The The

Cambridge

Companion

English

to

Cambridge

Companion

Medieval

to

Joseph

Conrad

Theatre

edited by J . H . Stape

edited by R i c h a r d Beadle The The

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Companion

to

Cambridge

Shakespeare

Companion

to

Faulkner

edited by Philip M . Weinstein

Studies The

edited by Stanley W e l l s

Cambridge

Companion

to

Thoreau

edited by Joel M y e r s o n The

Cambridge

Companion

Renaissance

to

English

The

Drama

Cambridge

The Cambridge

Companion

Poetry,

Donne

to

to

to

Edith

edited by Millicent Bell

Michael H a t t a w a y The

Companion Wharton

edited by A . R . Braunmuller and

Cambridge

English

Companion

to Realism

and

Naturalism

Marvell

edited by D o n a l d Pizer

edited by T h o m a s N . C o r n s The The

Cambridge

Companion

to

Milton

Cambridge

Companion

to

Twain

edited b y Forrest G . Robinson

edited by Dennis Danielson The The

Cambridge

Companion

to

Cambridge

British

Companion

to

Whitman

edited by Ezra Greenspan

Romanticism The

edited by Stuart C u r r a n

Cambridge

Companion

to

Hemingway

edited by Scott Donaldson The

Cambridge

Companion

to James

Joyce The

edited by Derek Attridge

Cambridge

Companion

Eighteenth-Century The

Cambridge

Companion

to

The

Cambridge

Companion

to

edited by J o h n Richetti

Ibsen

edited by J a m e s M c F a r l a n e Brecht

edited by Peter T h o m a s o n and G l e n d y r Sacks

to the

Novel

The

Cambridge

Companion

to Jane

Austen

edited by E d w a r d Copeland and Juliet M c M a s t e r

THE

CAMBRIDGE

C O M P A N I O N TO

J A N E AUSTEN E D I T E D

EDWARD

B Y

COPELAND

Pomona

College

A N D

JULIET McMASTER University

of

Alberta

I CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS

Published by the Press Syndicate of the University of Cambridge The Pitt Building, Trumpington Street, Cambridge CB2 IRP 40 West 20th Street, New York, N Y 1 0 0 1 1 - 4 2 1 1 , USA 1 0 Stamford Road, Oakleigh, Melbourne 3166, Australia © Cambridge University Press 1 9 9 7 First published 1 9 9 7 Reprinted 1 9 9 7 Printed in Great Britain at the University Press, Cambridge A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress cataloguing in publication data The Cambridge companion to Jane Austen / edited by Edward Copeland and Juliet McMaster p. cm. - (Cambridge companions to literature) Includes bibliographical references and index. I S B N o 5 2 1 4 9 5 1 7 2 (hardback) - I S B N O 5 2 1 4 9 8 6 7 8 (paperback) 1 . Austen, Jane, 1 7 7 5 - 1 8 1 7 - Criticism and interpretation. 2. Women and literature - England - History - 19th century. I. Copeland, Edward. II. McMaster, Juliet. III. Series. PR4036.C3

1997

ISBN ISBN

823'.7~dc2o

98-23387

o 5 2 1 4 9 5 1 7 2 hardback o 5 2 1 4 9 8 6 7 8 paperback

CE

CIP

CONTENTS

Notes on contributors

page ix

Preface • E D W A R D C O P E L A N D and J U L I E T M c M A S T E R

Acknowledgements Texts and abbreviations 1 •

xv

Chronology of Jane Austen's life

i

D E I R D R E LE F A Y E

2 •

The professional woman writer

12

J A N FERGUS

3 •

North anger Abbey, Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice

32

R A C H E L M. BROWNSTEIN

4 •

Mansfield Park, Emma, Persuasion

58

JOHN WILTSHIRE

5 •

The short fiction

84

M A R G A R E T A N N E DOODY

6 •

The letters

100

CAROL HOULIHAN FLYNN

7 •

Class

115

JULIET McM ASTER

8 •

xi

xiv

Money

131

EDWARD COPELAND

9

Religion

and

• GARY KELLY

Vll

politics

149

CONTENTS

10

Style

170

• JOHN F. BURROWS

11

Jane Austen and literary traditions

•

ISOBEL G R U N D Y

12

Austen cults and cultures

•

CLAUDIA L. J O H N S O N

13

Further reading

•

BRUCE STOVEL

189

211

227

Index

244

vni

NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS

M . B R O W N S T E I N is Professor of English at Brooklyn College and the Graduate Centre, C U N Y . She is the author of Becoming a Heroine: Reading about Women in Novels (1982) and Tragic Muse: Rachel of the ComédieFrançaise (1993).

RACHEL

is Emeritus Professor of English and Director of the Centre for Literary and Linguistic Computing at the University of Newcastle, N S W , Australia. He has published two monographs and several essays on Jane Austen's fiction. His other writings lie chiefly in the field of Australian literature and, since 1 9 8 3 , in that of computational stylistics. He is best known for Computation into Criticism: A Study of Jane Austen's Novels and an Experi­ ment in Method (1987).

J O H N F. BURROWS

C O P E L A N D , F. S. Jennings Professor of English at Pomona College, Claremont, California, is the author of a study of novelists contemporary with Jane Austen, Women Writing about Money: Women's Fiction in England, 1790-1810 (1995), and of essays on Austen, Smollett, Cleland, Richardson, and Burney. He is co-editor with Carol Houlihan Flynn of The Clarissa Project: volume 1 6 , The Critical Commentary - New Essays.

EDWARD

A N N E D O O D Y is Andrew W. Mellon Professor of Humanities and Professor of English at Vanderbilt University Nashville, where she is presently Director of the Comparative Literature Program. She is the author of two novels and a number of critical and biographical works, including A Natural Passion: A Study of the Novels of Samuel Richardson (1974), The Daring Muse: Augustan Poetry Reconsidered (1985), and Frances Burney: The Life in the Works (1988).

MARGARET

JAN

F E R G U S , Professor of English at Lehigh University, has published Jane Austen and the Didactic Novel (1983) and Jane Austen: A Literary Life ( 1 9 9 1 ) . She is Book Review Editor for Eighteenth-Century Studies, and is completing a study of the audience for prose fiction in eighteenth-century English entitled Readers and Fictions.

IX

NOTES ON

CONTRIBUTORS

H O U L I H A N F L Y N N , is Professor of English at Tufts University, and the author of Samuel Richardson: A Man of Letters (1982), a novel, Washed in the Blood (1983), The Body in Swift and Defoe (1990), and essays on Smollett, Sterne, Cleland, and Fielding. She is co-editor with Edward Copeland of The Clarissa Project: volume 1 6 , The Critical Commentary - New Essays.

CAROL

G R U N D Y is Henry Marshall Tory Professor at the University of Alberta. Her publications include Samuel Johnson and the Scale of Greatness (Georgia, 1986); with Patricia Clements and Virginia Blain, The Feminist Companion to Literature in English (Yale, 1990); and an edition of Eliza Fenwick's Secresy, or The Ruin on the Rock 1 7 9 5 (Broadview, 1994). She has edited Lady Mary Wortley Montagu's Romance Writings (forthcoming), and is writing her life.

ISOBEL

L . J O H N S O N , Professor of English at Princeton University, is author of Jane Austen: Women, Politics, and the Novel (Chicago, 1988), Equivocal Beings: Politics, Gender, and Sentimentality in the iyyos: Wollstonecraft, Radcliffe, Burney, Austen (Chicago, 1 9 9 5 ) , and essays and reviews on eight­ eenth-century literature and music. She is editing the forthcoming Norton Critical Edition of Mansfield Park.

CLAUDIA

K E L L Y is Professor and Head of the Department of English, Keele University, England. He has published The English Jacobin Novel (1976), English Fiction of the Romantic Period (1989), and Women, Writing, and Revolution (1993). He has edited Wollstonecraft's two novels and Sarah Scott's Millenium Hall.

GARY

L E F A Y E is the author of Jane Austen: A Family Record (1989), the definitive factual biography, and editor of the new (3rd) edition of Jane Austen's Letters (1995). She has also published (with Maggie Black) The Jane Austen Cookbook (1995), and numerous articles on Austenian subjects in Notes and Queries, Review of English Studies, and The Book Collector.

DEIRDRE

M c M A S T E R , University Professor at the University of Alberta, is the author of Thackeray: The Major Novels (1970), Trollope's Palliser Novels (1978), Dickens the Designer (1987), and Jane Austen the Novelist (1995). She is also co-editor with Bruce Stovel of Jane Austen's Business: Her World and her Profession (1995), and General Editor of the Juvenilia Press.

JULIET

S T O V E L is a member of the English Department at the University of Alberta. Co-editor with Juliet McMaster of Jane Austen's Business: Her World and her Profession (1995), he has published many essays and reviews on Austen, Richardson, Fielding, Swift, Sterne, Charlotte Lennox, Frances Burney, Scott, Evelyn Waugh, Kingsley Amis, Brian Moore, and Margaret Laurence.

BRUCE

W I L T S H I R E , Reader in English at La Trobe University, Melbourne, Aus­ tralia, is the author of Jane Austen and the Body (1992). He specializes in eighteenth-century literature and in medical and health-care narrative. He is an editor of the journal Hysteric: Body, Medicine, Text.

JOHN

x

PREFACE

T h e problem for a n y o n e w h o addresses readers of J a n e A u s t e n is a l w a y s the same: Which readers of J a n e Austen? T h e y c o m e uniquely self-defined. T h e old division between Janeites a n d anti-Janeites is n o w replaced by n e w divisions, perhaps not so hostile as the old ones, but sufficiently distinct to m a k e general introductions a m o o t question. T h e n e w Janeites, energetic members of the A u s t e n societies, for e x a m p l e , h a v e eager feelings for Austen, but limited tolerance for b o o k i s h h a r a n g u e s ; a n d the a c a d e m i c s , also with energy in a b u n d a n c e , are b o o k i s h e n o u g h a b o u t A u s t e n , but h a v e few feelings of the Janeite kind. G e n e r a t i o n a l divisions prevail as well: older readers w h o are jealously protective of A u s t e n , their cultural icon, a n d younger readers w h o are equally enthusiastic for A u s t e n , their n e w - f o u n d subversive. M e a n w h i l e , first-time readers arrive at the novels w i t h con­ flicting motives: ' I ' m reading J a n e A u s t e n for g r a d u a t e s c h o o l ' , or, ' I read J a n e Austen because I w a n t to understand m y m o t h e r . ' One a p p r o a c h , h o w e v e r , addresses a n issue that A u s t e n readers of all stripes embrace w i t h equal enthusiasm, the c o n t e x t u a l setting of A u s t e n ' s w o r k s . Students first encountering her w o r k s a n d old hands reading her novels both sense that A u s t e n ' s culture is receding from them at

an

unsettling speed. N o v e l s that once seemed so accessible to readers n o w produce a g r o w i n g consciousness that p r o f o u n d differences between A u s ­ ten's culture a n d t o d a y ' s must be addressed. N o r t h A m e r i c a n students in particular find themselves mystified, for e x a m p l e , b y the economics of Austen's novels, by her class distinctions, by the role of the church. T h e y are startled to find that Austen's w o r k s possess political resonance. R e a d e r s mystified by 'Sir', ' L a d y ' , and ' R e v e r e n d ' n o w w a n t m o r e than a simple key to the players.. T h e old Janeite question, ' H o w d o they m a k e l

syllabub?' has altered almost universally to Why

whip't

d o they m a k e w h i p ' t

syllabub?' J a n e Austen's stock in the literary m a r k e t p l a c e has never been higher than late in our twentieth century, w h e n even H o l l y w o o d has seen fit to attach XI

PREFACE

itself to her rapid rise in popularity, a n d adaptations on stage, screen, and television are emerging in such quick succession that the newsmedia can h a r d l y keep pace. F a c e d within the s a m e few months with a H o l l y w o o d a d a p t a t i o n of Emma

as the teenage fashion m o v i e Clueless,

versions of Persuasion

a n d Sense

television serial of Pride

and

and Prejudice

Sensibility,

full-scale screen

and the second B B C

in ten y e a r s , journalists have been

feverishly turning to literary critics to a s k w h i c h Austen novel they should r e a d first and fastest in order to catch up with the culture. T h e pace has certainly picked u p since the classic m o v i e of 1 9 3 9 , starring G r e e r G a r s o n a n d L a u r e n c e Olivier as Elizabeth and D a r c y . A Cambridge

Companion

to Jane

Austen

can't hope, any more than the

journalists, to capture the burgeoning Austen b o o m on the w i n g . This collection seeks rather to recover and illuminate elements of her culture, so that her novels m a y speak the m o r e lucidly to ours. E s s a y s in the Companion,

by a g r o u p of contributors w h o have already

distinguished themselves in A u s t e n studies and elsewhere, cover a broad r a n g e . Deirdre L e F a y e , A u s t e n ' s b i o g r a p h e r a n d the editor of her letters, provides a c h r o n o l o g y of A u s t e n ' s life, as a m a p of the life and career by w h i c h the student a n d scholar c a n locate other historical events. J a n Fergus fills this in with detailed g u i d a n c e o n the 'professional writer', and Austen's engagement in the publishing practices of her d a y . T h e s i x published novels, A u s t e n ' s major w o r k s , are discussed in t w o swathes, as she c o m p o s e d them: the first three, Northanger Prejudice

Abbey,

Sense

and

Sensibility,

and Pride

and

- all drafted in the 1 7 9 0 s - receive g r o u p treatment in Rachel

B r o w n s t e i n ' s searching essay o n irony a n d r o m a n c e . T h e last three, field Park, Emma,

and Persuasion,

Mans­

all c o m p o s e d in the ripe C h a w t o n years,

are J o h n Wiltshire's subject. T h i s division a l l o w s for a fresh a p p r o a c h to the m a j o r w o r k s , w h i c h h a v e been e x a m i n e d often enough individually, but w h i c h reveal n e w themes a n d motifs w h e n so g r o u p e d . A u s t e n ' s other w o r k s , the ones not designed for publication, receive separate treatment. M a r g a r e t A n n e D o o d y ' s essay on the short

fiction

presents a p r o v o c a t i v e glimpse of the other kind of writer Austen might h a v e become, but for her necessary adaptation to the n e w values of the R e g e n c y ; a n d C a r o l H o u l i h a n F l y n n e x a m i n e s the letters as literary produc­ tions, a n d as documents that register A u s t e n ' s marginalized position as a w o m a n writer. T h e subsequent essays address aspects of Austen's cultural context, and her reception in our o w n culture t o d a y . Juliet M c M a s t e r examines class and class consciousness in the novels; E d w a r d C o p e l a n d presents an informed guide to m o n e y , income, and material culture; and G a r y Kelly discusses A u s t e n ' s development of the A n g l i c a n novel, the genre she developed to Xll

PREFACE

articulate her o w n a n d her immediate society's mediated

middle-of-the-road

position in religion a n d politics. J o h n B u r r o w s e x a m i n e s A u s t e n ' s style in relation to that of her contemporaries, a n d Isobel G r u n d y , in a far-reaching essay, demonstrates

the

multiple literary sources, influences, a n d

light

allusions that inform A u s t e n ' s writing in her letters a n d fiction. In our o w n d a y , A u s t e n has become not just an a u t h o r , but a 'figure', a writer avidly claimed by readers lay a n d a c a d e m i c , by critics of different stripes and

schools. C l a u d i a J o h n s o n e x a m i n e s the J a n e i t e s a n d

anti-

Janeites, the 'cults a n d cultures' that have g r o w n to s u r r o u n d this retiring country spinster a n d her 'little bits . . . of i v o r y ' ; a n d finally B r u c e Stovel provides a guide to the burgeoning critical tradition from her time to o u r own.

Xlll

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The

Cambridge

number

Companion

to Jane

Austen

of outstanding scholars, a n d the

a c k n o w l e d g e is that to o u r contributors,

d r a w s on the talents of a first

debt w e w o u l d like to

for their patience under

our

editorial onslaughts as well as for their scholarly expertise. W e are grateful t o o for the skilled research assistance of E r i k a R o t h w e l l and

Nicholette

W a l k e r , of the English Department at the University of A l b e r t a . A version of M a r g a r e t A n n e D o o d y ' s p a p e r on the short fiction appeared in

Persuasions,

the a n n u a l journal of the J a n e Austen Society of N o r t h A m e r i c a (number 1 6 , 1 9 9 4 ) ; and Deirdre L e F a y e ' s ' C h r o n o l o g y ' of J a n e Austen's life appears in longer form in Jane

Austen:

A Family

Record

(London: T h e British

L i b r a r y , 1 9 8 9 ) . W e are grateful to the publishers for permission to reprint. T h a n k s are also due to J o h n M u r r a y , for permission granted to J a n Fergus to q u o t e from the M u r r a y A r c h i v e s in her essay on ' T h e w o m a n writer'.

xiv

professional

TEXTS AND ABBREVIATIONS

References to J a n e Austen's w o r k s are to these editions: The

Novels

of Jane

Austen,

ed. R . W . C h a p m a n ,

5 vols., 3rd

edition

(London: O x f o r d University Press, 1 9 3 3 ) , reprinted w i t h revisions, 1969. Minor

Works,

ed. R . W . C h a p m a n

( L o n d o n : O x f o r d University Press,

1 9 5 4 ) , reprinted with revisions b y B . C . S o u t h a m , 1 9 6 9 . Jane

Austen's

Letters,

collected a n d edited by Deirdre L e F a y e ( O x f o r d :

O x f o r d University Press, 1 9 9 5 ) . Catharine

and

Other

Writings,

ed. M a r g a r e t A n n e D o o d y a n d D o u g l a s

M u r r a y (Oxford: O x f o r d University Press, 1 9 9 3 ) . Abbreviations: C&OW E

Catharine

and Other

Writings

Emma

L

Jane Austen's

MP

Mansfield

MW

Minor

NA

North anger

P

Persuasion

Letters

Park Works Abbey

PP

Pride and

Prejudice

SS

Sense and

Sensibility

xv

1 DEIRDRE LE FAYE

Chronology of Jane Austen's life

1764

April 26 October

M a r r i a g e of R e v . G e o r g e A u s t e n a n d C a s s a n d r a L e i g h . 9

M a r r i a g e of J a m e s Leigh-Perrot ( M r s . A u s t e n ' s

brother) a n d J a n e C h o l m e l e y . 1765

February

13

Summer

J a m e s A u s t e n born at D e a n e .

M r . a n d M r s . H a n c o c k ( M r . A u s t e n ' s sister) a n d their

daughter Eliza return from India. 1766

August

z6

1767

October

1768

July/August

G e o r g e Austen the y o u n g e r b o r n at D e a n e .

7

E d w a r d Austen b o r n at D e a n e . A u s t e n family m o v e to Steventon.

?Autumn

M r . H a n c o c k returns alone to India.

} Winter

M a r r i a g e of J a n e L e i g h ( M r s . A u s t e n ' s sister) a n d R e v .

Dr. Edward Cooper. 1770

July 1

E d w a r d C o o p e r the y o u n g e r b o r n in L o n d o n .

1771

June 8

H e n r y - T h o m a s Austen (hereafter ' H T A ' ) b o r n at

Steventon. June zy

J a n e C o o p e r born at Southcote, near R e a d i n g .

?Autumn 1

773

January

C o o p e r family m o v e to B a t h , 1 2 R o y a l Crescent. 9

Cassandra-Elizabeth A u s t e n (hereafter ' C E A ' ) b o r n at

Steventon. March

23

M r . Austen becomes R e c t o r of D e a n e as w e l l as

Steventon. Pupils live at Steventon from n o w until 1 7 9 6 . 1774

April 2 3

Francis-William Austen (hereafter ' F W A ' ) b o r n at

Steventon. 1

DEIRDRE LE FAYE

1775

November

5

December

16

1777

Winter

1779

June 2 3

M r . H a n c o c k dies in C a l c u t t a . J a n e A u s t e n (hereafter ' J A ' ) born at Steventon.

M r s . H a n c o c k a n d Eliza g o to the Continent. C h a r l e s - J o h n A u s t e n (hereafter ' C J A ' ) born at

Steventon. July 3

J a m e s A u s t e n matriculates at St. J o h n ' s C o l l e g e , O x f o r d .

Summer

M r . a n d M r s . T h o m a s K n i g h t II (cousins of

M r . Austen) visit Steventon. ?i78o

T h e C o o p e r s m o v e to 1 4 Bennett Street, B a t h .

1781

M a r r i a g e of Eliza H a n c o c k to J e a n - F r a n ç o i s C a p o t de Feuillide, in France.

1782

Summer

First mention of J A in family tradition.

December

First a m a t e u r theatrical production at Steventon -

Matilda. 1783

E d w a r d A u s t e n (hereafter ' E A K ' ) a d o p t e d by M r . and M r s . T h o m a s K n i g h t II. Spring

J A , C E A , a n d J a n e C o o p e r g o to M r s . C a w l e y in O x f o r d .

May 3

R e v . I. P. G . Lefroy instituted to A s h e .

Summer

M r s . C a w l e y m o v e s to S o u t h a m p t o n a n d the girls fall ill.

October 1784

25

M r s . C o o p e r dies in B a t h .

July

The Rivals performed at Steventon.

July

D r . C o o p e r m o v e s to Sonning.

1785

Spring

1786

E A K a b r o a d o n G r a n d T o u r from 1 7 8 6 - 9 0 . April

J A a n d C E A g o to the A b b e y S c h o o l , R e a d i n g .

F W A enters R o y a l N a v a l A c a d e m y , Portsmouth.

June 2 5

1787

Eliza de Feuillide's son H a s t i n g s born in L o n d o n .

November

J a m e s A u s t e n goes to the Continent.

December

J A a n d C E A h a v e n o w left school.

J A starts writing her Autumn December

Juvenilia.

J a m e s A u s t e n returns from the Continent. The Wonder

performed at Steventon. 2

Chronology 1788

January

The Chances performed at Steventon.

March

Tom Thumb

performed at Steventon.

A 'private theatrical exhibition' also performed at Steventon s o m e time later this y e a r . July 1

H T A matriculates at St. J o h n ' s C o l l e g e , O x f o r d .

Summer

M r . a n d M r s . A u s t e n take J A a n d C E A to K e n t a n d

London. September

M r s . H a n c o c k a n d Eliza de Feuillide return to

France. December

23

Winter

F W A sails to E a s t Indies.

The Sultan a n d High Life Below

Stairs performed at

Steventon. 1789

January

31

First issue of The Loiterer

appears - published

w e e k l y by J a m e s A u s t e n in O x f o r d until M a r c h 1 7 9 0 . Spring 1790

1791

L l o y d family rent D e a n e p a r s o n a g e .

April

J a m e s A u s t e n takes up residence as curate of O v e r t o n .

Autumn

E A K returns to E n g l a n d from G r a n d T o u r .

June zi

Death of M r . Francis Austen of S e v e n o a k s

(Mr. Austen's uncle). July

C J A enters R o y a l N a v a l A c a d e m y , Portsmouth.

September

15

J a m e s Austen becomes vicar of Sherborne

zy

M a r r i a g e of E A K and Elizabeth B r i d g e s , in K e n t ;

St. J o h n . December

they live at R o w l i n g . 1792

January

T h e L l o y d s leave D e a n e for Ibthorpe.

February

z6

March

zy

D e a t h of M r s . H a n c o c k , in L o n d o n . Marriage

of J a m e s Austen

and

Anne

Mathew,

at L a v e r s t o k e ; they presently take up residence at D e a n e parsonage. August

zy

D e a t h of D r . C o o p e r , at Sonning.

October

J A a n d C E A visit the L l o y d s at Ibthorpe.

December

11

M a r r i a g e of J a n e C o o p e r and C a p t . T h o m a s

Williams, R N , at Steventon. ? Winter J

793

C E A engaged to R e v . T o m F o w l e .

January

zi

L o u i s X V I of France guillotined.

January

23

E A K ' s first child, F a n n y , born at R o w l i n g . 3

DEIRDRE LE FAYE

February

i

R e p u b l i c a n F r a n c e declares w a r on G r e a t Britain

and H o l l a n d . Spring

H T A becomes Lieutenant in Oxfordshire Militia.

March

14

M a r r i a g e of E d w a r d C o o p e r and Caroline L y b b e -

P o w y s ; they live at H a r p s d e n until 1 7 9 9 . April

15

June 3

J a m e s A u s t e n ' s first child, A n n a , born at Deane. J A writes last item of

Winter

Juvenilia.

F W A returns h o m e from F a r East.

December

J A a n d C E A visit Butler-Harrison cousins in

Southampton.

1794

February

22

M . de Feuillide guillotined in Paris.

Midsummer ?August

J A a n d C E A visit the Leighs at Adlestrop. J A a n d C E A visit E d w a r d a n d Elizabeth at R o w l i n g .

September October

C J A leaves R o y a l N a v a l A c a d e m y and goes to sea. 23

?Autumn

1

795

D e a t h of M r . T h o m a s K n i g h t II. J A possibly writes Lady Susan this y e a r .

J A p r o b a b l y writes Elinor May 3

and Marianne

this year.

D e a t h of A n n e M a t h e w at D e a n e ; A n n a sent to live at

Steventon. Autumn

R e v . T o m F o w l e joins L o r d C r a v e n as his private

chaplain for the W e s t Indian c a m p a i g n . December

179y/January

1796

J A ' s flirtation with T o m Lefroy

on his visit to A s h e R e c t o r y .

1796

January

T o m Lefroy leaves A s h e for L o n d o n .

T o m F o w l e sails for W e s t Indies. April

J A a n d C E A visit the C o o p e r s at H a r p s d e n .

^Summer June

J a m e s A u s t e n courting Eliza de Feuillide.

C a p t . T h o m a s W i l l i a m s knighted.

August

E A K a n d F W A take J A to R o w l i n g via L o n d o n ; she

returns to Steventon late September/early October. October

J A starts writing First

End November

1

797

January

iy

Impressions.

J a m e s A u s t e n engaged to M a r y L l o y d .

M a r r i a g e of J a m e s A u s t e n and M a r y Lloyd at

H u r s t b o u r n e T a r r a n t ; A n n a returns to live at Deane. February

T o m F o w l e dies of fever at San D o m i n g o and buried

at sea. 4

Chronology August

J A finishes First

November

i

Impressions.

M r . Austen offers First Impressions

to publisher

Cadell; rejected sight unseen. November and

J A starts converting Elinor

and Marianne

into Sense

Sensibility.

M r s . A u s t e n , J A , and C E A visit the Leigh-Perrots in B a t h , at P a r a g o n Buildings. E A K and family m o v e from R o w l i n g to G o d m e r s h a m . Winter

R e v . Samuel Blackall visits A s h e . M i l d courtship of

JA. December

31

M a r r i a g e of H T A a n d Eliza de Feuillide, in

London. 1798

April 6

Death of M r . W i l l i a m - H a m p s o n W a l t e r ( M r . A u s t e n ' s

elder half-brother), in K e n t . August

M r . a n d M r s . Austen, w i t h J A a n d C E A , visit

Godmersham. J A possibly starts writing Susan {Northanger August

9

October

Abbey).

L a d y Williams ( J a n e C o o p e r ) killed in r o a d accident. 24

J A and her parents leave G o d m e r s h a m for

Steventon. M r s . Austen ill until end N o v e m b e r . November 1799

17

February

J a m e s Austen's son J a m e s - E d w a r d b o r n at D e a n e .

J A possibly visits the L l o y d s at Ibthorpe.

March

C E A returns to Steventon from G o d m e r s h a m .

May iy

M r s . Austen and J A arrive in B a t h , with E d w a r d a n d

Elizabeth, a n d stay at 1 3 Queen S q u a r e . End June

T h e y return h o m e .

J A p r o b a b l y finishes Susan (Northanger Late summer

Abbey)

about now.

T h e Austens p a y r o u n d of visits to the Leighs at

A d l e s t r o p , the C o o p e r s at H a r p s d e n , a n d the C o o k e s at G r e a t Bookham. August

14

M r s . Leigh-Perrot charged w i t h theft a n d committed

to Ilchester G a o l . October 1800

March 2 9

T h e C o o p e r s m o v e to H a m s t a l l R i d w a r e , Staffordshire. M r s . Leigh-Perrot tried at T a u n t o n a n d acquitted.

P r o b a b l y stays at Steventon thereafter. October

E A K visits Steventon a n d takes C E A b a c k to

G o d m e r s h a m with him via C h a w t o n a n d L o n d o n . 5

DEIRDRE LE FAYE

End November

J A visits the L l o y d s at Ibthorpe; returns h o m e

mid-December. December 1801

M r . A u s t e n decides to retire and m o v e to Bath.

January

H T A resigns c o m m i s s i o n in Oxfordshire Militia and

sets up as b a n k e r a n d a r m y agent in L o n d o n , living at 2 4 U p p e r Berkeley Street a n d w i t h office at C l e v e l a n d C o u r t , St. J a m e s ' s . End January

J A visits the Bigg-Wither family at M a n y d o w n .

February

C E A returns to Steventon from G o d m e r s h a m via

London. May

T h e A u s t e n family leave Steventon; M r s . Austen and J A

travel to B a t h via Ibthorpe, and stay with the Leigh-Perrots. J a m e s A u s t e n a n d his family m o v e to Steventon. End May

T h e Austens lease 4 Sydney Place a n d then g o o n W e s t

C o u n t r y h o l i d a y ; p r o b a b l y visit Sidmouth and C o l y t o n . J A ' s traditionary W e s t C o u n t r y r o m a n c e p r e s u m a b l y occurs between n o w a n d the a u t u m n of 1 8 0 4 . September

1802

T h e Austens visit Steventon a n d A s h e .

October

5

T h e y return to B a t h .

October

9

H a s t i n g s de Feuillide dies, in L o n d o n .

Spring

M r s . L y b b e - P o w y s visits the Austens in Bath.

March

25

April

J a m e s a n d M a r y , with A n n a , visit the Austens in Bath.

Summer

Peace of A m i e n s commences. C J A joins the Austens for holidays; visit D a w l i s h and

p r o b a b l y T e i g n m o u t h , also p r o b a b l y T e n b y a n d B a r m o u t h . September

1

September

3

October

28

J A a n d C E A arrive at Steventon. C J A takes J A a n d C E A to G o d m e r s h a m . C J A brings his sisters back to Steventon.

November

2j

December

2

H a r r i s Bigg-Wither proposes to J A ; she accepts.

J A a n d C E A visit M a n y d o w n .

December

3

J A rejects p r o p o s a l ; she and C E A return to

Steventon a n d set off at once for Bath. Winter 1803

J A revises Susan (Northanger

February Spring

M r s . L y b b e - P o w y s visits the Austens in Bath. J A sells Susan (Northanger

May 18

Abbey).

Abbey)

to C r o s b y of L o n d o n .

N a p o l e o n breaks Peace of A m i e n s ; H T A a n d Eliza

nearly t r a p p e d in F r a n c e . Summer July

J A possibly visits C h a r m o u t h , U p L y m e , a n d Pinny.

F W A stationed in R a m s g a t e . 6

Chronology September

to October

M r . and M r s . Austen, probably accom­

panied by J A and C E A , stay at G o d m e r s h a m . October

J A and C E A visit A s h e .

October

24

T h e y return to B a t h .

November 1804

T h e Austens visit L y m e R e g i s .

J A p r o b a b l y writes The Watsons this y e a r . January

M r s . L y b b e - P o w y s visits the Austens in B a t h .

Spring

M r s . Austen seriously ill.

H T A m o v e s house to 1 6 M i c h a e l ' s Place, B r o m p t o n , a n d m o v e s office to A l b a n y , Piccadilly. Summer

T h e Austens, with H T A a n d Eliza, visit L y m e R e g i s .

October

25

T h e Austens return to B a t h a n d m o v e to 3 G r e e n

P a r k Buildings E a s t . December 1805

16

January

21

March

M a d a m Lefroy of A s h e killed in a riding accident. Death of M r . Austen in B a t h .

2j

M r s . Austen and her daughters m o v e to 2 5 G a y

Street, B a t h . April

16

M r s . L l o y d dies at Ibthorpe, a n d thereafter M a r t h a

L l o y d joins forces with M r s . A u s t e n , J A , and C E A . June

M r s . Austen, J A , and C E A travel to G o d m e r s h a m via

Steventon, taking A n n a with them. June

18

J a m e s Austen's y o u n g e r daughter C a r o l i n e born at

Steventon. Summer

Possible courtship by E d w a r d Bridges.

September

17

J A and C E A g o to W o r t h i n g , and stay there with

M r s . A u s t e n and M a r t h a L l o y d until at least early N o v e m b e r . October 1806

21

January January

Battle of T r a f a l g a r - F W A unable to participate.

M r s . Austen and her daughters visit Steventon. 29

M r s . Austen returns to B a t h a n d takes lodgings in

T r i m Street. February

J A a n d C E A visit M a n y d o w n , returning to B a t h via

Steventon m i d - M a r c h . July 2

M r s . Austen and her daughters finally leave B a t h , and g o

via Clifton to Adlestrop. July 24

M a r r i a g e of F W A to M a r y G i b s o n , at R a m s g a t e .

August

5

August

14

Adlestrop family g o to Stoneleigh A b b e y . M r s . Austen and her daughters g o from Stoneleigh to

visit the C o o p e r s at H a m s t a l l R i d w a r e and stay a b o u t five w e e k s . 7

DEIRDRE LE F AYE

October

T h e Austens call at Steventon, a n d with F W A and

M a r y G i b s o n take lodgings at S o u t h a m p t o n . Winter

1807

C E A visits G o d m e r s h a m .

H T A m o v e s office from A l b a n y to 1 0 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden. March

T h e Austens m o v e into house in Castle Square,

Southampton. April

H T A brings C E A b a c k to S o u t h a m p t o n from

Godmersham via London. May 1 9

M a r r i a g e of C J A to F a n n y Palmer, in B e r m u d a .

August

T h e C o o p e r s visit S o u t h a m p t o n .

September

E A K arranges family gathering at C h a w t o n G r e a t

H o u s e , f o l l o w e d by further family gathering in Southampton.

1808

January

to March

J A a n d C E A staying at Steventon,

M a n y d o w n , a n d w i t h the F o w l e s at K i n t b u r y . May 1 5

H T A a n d J A at Steventon en route for L o n d o n .

June

J A goes to G o d m e r s h a m w i t h J a m e s a n d M a r y .

14

July 8

J A returns to S o u t h a m p t o n .

September October

28 10

C E A goes to G o d m e r s h a m . D e a t h of Elizabeth Austen (Knight) at

Godmersham.

1809

February

C E A returns to S o u t h a m p t o n .

April 5

J A attempts to secure publication of Susan

[Northanger

Abbey). May is June

M r s . A u s t e n a n d her daughters arrive at G o d m e r s h a m . H T A a n d Eliza m o v e house to 64 Sloane Street, L o n d o n .

July 7

M r s . A u s t e n a n d her daughters m o v e into C h a w t o n

Cottage. August October

1810

J A regains interest in c o m p o s i t i o n . E A K a n d F a n n y visit C h a w t o n .

July to August November Winter

J A a n d C E A visit M a n y d o w n and Steventon. E A K a n d F a n n y visit C h a w t o n .

Sense and Sensibility

accepted for publication.

T h e Leigh-Perrots b u y 4 9 G r e a t Pulteney Street, Bath. 1811

February

J A planning Mansfield 8

Park.

Chronology March

J A staying with H T A in L o n d o n and correcting proofs of

Sense and Sensibility; May

C E A at G o d m e r s h a m .

J A returns to C h a w t o n via Streatham.

August

C J A and family return to E n g l a n d .

October

3o

November

Sense and Sensibility

published.

J A visits Steventon.

? Winter

J A starts revising First Impressions

into Pride

and

Prejudice. 1812

April

E A K and F a n n y visit C h a w t o n .

June 9 - 2 5

M r s . Austen and J A visit Steventon - the last time

M r s . Austen does so; C E A goes to G o d m e r s h a m . June 1 y

A m e r i c a declares w a r o n G r e a t Britain.

October

14

D e a t h of M r s . T h o m a s K n i g h t II; E d w a r d A u s t e n

n o w officially takes name of K n i g h t . Autumn

J A sells copyright of Pride and Prejudice

to E g e r t o n for

£110. 1813

January

28

Mansfield

Pride and Prejudice

published. J A h a l f - w a y t h r o u g h

Park.

April 21

E A K a n d family c o m e to C h a w t o n G r e a t H o u s e a n d

stay for four months. April 22

J A goes to L o n d o n to attend Eliza de Feuillide.

April 2 5 May 1

Eliza de Feuillide dies. J A returns to C h a w t o n .

May 19

H T A takes J A to L o n d o n a g a i n , for a fortnight.

June

H T A m o v e s house to 1 0 Henrietta Street.

}July

J A finishes Mansfield

August

1j

Park.

A n n a Austen engaged to B e n Lefroy.

September

E A K and J A travel v i a L o n d o n to G o d m e r s h a m ; her

last visit there. November

13

Mansfield 1814

January

E A K takes J A b a c k to C h a w t o n via L o n d o n ;

Park p r o b a b l y accepted for publication at this time. 21

J A commences

Emma.

March

1

H T A takes J A to L o n d o n .

April

J A returns to C h a w t o n via Streatham.

E A K and family stay at C h a w t o n G r e a t H o u s e for t w o m o n t h s . April 5 May 9

N a p o l e o n abdicates a n d is exiled to E l b a . Mansfield

Midsummer

Park

published.

J A visits the C o o k e s at G r e a t B o o k h a m . 9

DEIRDRE LE FAYE

H T A m o v e s house to 2 3 H a n s Place, L o n d o n . August

J A visits H T A in L o n d o n .

F W A a n d family m o v e into C h a w t o n G r e a t H o u s e and stay there for a b o u t t w o y e a r s . September

3

H T A takes J A h o m e to C h a w t o n .

September

6

C J A ' s wife F a n n y Palmer dies after childbirth.

Autumn

H i n t o n / B a v e r s t o c k lawsuit against E A K commences.

November

8

M a r r i a g e of A n n a Austen and Ben Lefroy at

Steventon; they g o to live in H e n d o n . November

zy

December

5

J A visits H T A in L o n d o n .

December

24

T r e a t y of G h e n t officially ends w a r with A m e r i c a .

December

z6

J A a n d C E A stay with M r s . Heathcote and M i s s

H T A takes J A b a c k to C h a w t o n .

Bigg in Winchester. 1815

January

z-16

J A a n d C E A stay at Steventon, also visiting A s h e

and L a v e r s t o k e . March

N a p o l e o n escapes and resumes p o w e r in France; hostili­

ties r e c o m m e n c e . March

zy

}March June

Emma

or April

18

July

finished. J A a n d C E A p r o b a b l y visit H T A in L o n d o n .

Battle of W a t e r l o o finally ends w a r with France.

M a r y L l o y d a n d C a r o l i n e stay at C h a w t o n .

August

8

J A starts

August

Persuasion.

A n n a a n d Ben Lefroy m o v e to W y a r d s , near C h a w t o n .

J A p o s s i b l y goes to L o n d o n to negotiate publication of

Emma,

returning early in September. October

4

H T A takes J A to L o n d o n ; he falls ill, and she stays

longer than anticipated. November

13

J A visits C a r l t o n H o u s e ; receives invitation to

dedicate a future w o r k to the Prince Regent. December

16

End December

J A returns to C h a w t o n . Emma

published, dedicated to the Prince

Regent. 1816

Spring

J A begins to feel unwell.

H T A buys b a c k M S of Susan (Northanger

Abbey),

which J A

revises a n d intends to offer again for publication. March

15

May

E A K a n d F a n n y stay at C h a w t o n for three w e e k s .

May zz

H T A ' s b a n k fails; he leaves L o n d o n . J A a n d C E A g o to Cheltenham via Steventon. 10

Chronology June i j

T h e y return to C h a w t o n via K i n t b u r y .

Midsummer

F W A and family m o v e from C h a w t o n G r e a t H o u s e

to A l t o n . July 18

First draft of Persuasion

August

1817

6

Persuasion

finished.

finally completed.

September

C E A a n d M a r y L l o y d g o to C h e l t e n h a m .

December

H T A ordained, becomes curate of C h a w t o n .

F W A a n d family living in A l t o n this y e a r . January

27

March

18

March

28

J A starts

Sanditon.

Ceases w o r k on this M S . D e a t h of M r . Leigh-Perrot at Scarlets.

April 27

J A m a k e s her will.

May

C E A takes J A to Winchester, w h e r e they lodge at

24

8 C o l l e g e Street. July 18

J A dies in early morning.

July 24

Buried in Winchester C a t h e d r a l .

? Autumn

H T A arranges publication of Northanger

Abbey

and

Persuasion. End December

Northanger

Abbey

a n d Persuasion

together, w i t h ' B i o g r a p h i c a l N o t i c e ' a d d e d by H T A .

11

published

2 J A N FERGUS

The professional women writer

1

You will be glad to hear that every Copy of S[ense] & S[ensibility] is sold &c that it has brought me £ 1 4 0 besides the Copyright, if that sh ever be of any value. - I have now therefore written myself into £ 2 5 0 - which only makes me long for more. d

T h e s e w o r d s of J a n e A u s t e n to her brother F r a n k , written on J u l y 3 , 1 8 1 3 (L 3 1 7 ) after she h a d published t w o novels, are those of a professional author w h o is acutely c o n s c i o u s of her sales (as w e l l as the possible future v a l u e of her copyright) a n d eager to increase her profits. Austen's professionalism here exists in startling contrast to her brother H e n r y ' s earliest biographical accounts of her, accounts that helped to create the longstanding m y t h of A u s t e n as a genteel amateur, the spinster lady author w h o sketched

her novels in m o m e n t s

of leisure. H e n r y w r o t e in his first

' B i o g r a p h i c a l N o t i c e ' (printed with Northanger

Abbey

a n d Persuasion

in

1818): Neither the hope of fame nor profit mixed with her early motives . . . She could scarcely believe what she termed her great good fortune when 'Sense and Sensibility' produced a clear profit of about £ 1 5 0 . Few so gifted were so truly unpretending. She regarded the above sum as a prodigious recompense for that which had cost her nothing . . . [S]o much did she shrink from notoriety, that no accumulation of fame would have induced her, had she lived, to affix her name to any productions of her pen . . . in public she turned away from any allusion to the character of an authoress. (NA, P 6-j) H e n r y ' s w i s h to project an i m a g e of a ladylike, unmercenary, unprofessional, private, delicate, a n d domestic author

led him to repeat

these

statements fifteen y e a r s later, in the e x p a n d e d ' M e m o i r s of M i s s Austen' that w e r e printed w i t h R i c h a r d Bentley's edition of Sense and Sensibility.

He

then a d d e d a n anecdote omitted earlier, that Austen refused to meet the writer G e r m a i n e de Staël, so as to emphasize Austen's ladylike disdain for 2

p u b l i c i t y . T h i s distaste did not m a k e her less professional, h o w e v e r . During 12

The professional woman writer p r o b a b l y the same visit to L o n d o n (September, 1 8 1 4 ) in w h i c h she a v o i d e d M a d a m e de Staël, she kept a careful eye to business: she w a s 'in s o m e h o p e ' , she w r o t e , 'of getting Egerton's account [for Mansfield

Park]

before I g o

a w a y - so w e will enjoy ourselves as long as w e c a n ' ( L 2 7 4 ) . The image that H e n r y A u s t e n creates - at o d d s w i t h the evidence that both A u s t e n ' s letters a n d her publishing decisions offer of her profession­ alism - is precisely the one that so a n n o y e d H e n r y J a m e s , a c c o r d i n g to Brian S o u t h a m : 'the m y t h of the inspired amateur, the h o m e l y spinster w h o 3

put d o w n her knitting needles to take up her p e n ' . T h a t m y t h , a n d others like it, h a v e prevented subsequent readers from understanding that, for Austen, being a professional writer w a s , a p a r t from her family,

more

important to her than anything else in her life. Austen w r o t e w h e n opportunities for w o m e n to publish h a d never been greater, a n d from her childhood her a i m w a s to see her w o r k s in print. She collected her juvenilia in v o l u m e s m a d e to resemble published b o o k s as closely as possible. She w r o t e three novels before she w a s twenty-five, although she didn't m a n a g e to publish them till m u c h later. H e r literary career depended to some extent u p o n the other w o m e n novelists of her time, w h o created a n d sustained a m a r k e t for domestic fiction by w o m e n , a n d w h o s e attitudes t o w a r d s writing, like A u s t e n ' s o w n , became increasingly professional. M a n y of A u s t e n ' s contemporaries, including A n n Radcliffe, Frances B u r n e y , Charlotte Smith, Elizabeth Inchbald, M a r i a E d g e w o r t h , and Amelia O p i e , a m o n g others, received m u c h greater fame a n d fortune as novelists in their o w n time than A u s t e n did. B u t these novelists are only the most visible of a large m a s s of w o m e n w h o rushed into print at the end of the eighteenth century. T h e n u m b e r of w o m e n writers increased dramati­ cally throughout

the century, as J u d i t h Phillips Stanton's research

s h o w n , but e x p l o d e d at the end, rising b y ' a r o u n d 5 0 percent every starting in the 1 7 6 0 s ' .

has

decade

4

THE CULTURAL CONTEXT: OBSTACLES

TO

AUTHORSHIP This publishing e x p l o s i o n occurred despite the presence of m a n y social obstacles to w o m e n ' s writing. Publishing her o w n writing could threaten a w o m a n ' s reputation as well as her social position. F o r a n y w o m a n , the fame of authorship could become infamy, a n d novels w e r e particularly reprehen­ sible, as their famous defence in Northanger

Abbey

indicates ( 3 7 - 8 ) . P r o p e r

w o m e n , as H e n r y A u s t e n m a k e s clear, w e r e modest, retiring, essentially domestic a n d private. A u t h o r s h i p of a n y kind entailed publicity, thrusting oneself before the public eye - thus loss of femininity. T h e s e prejudices led 13

JAN

FERGUS

m a n y w o m e n besides A u s t e n to publish their first novels a n o n y m o u s l y , a m o n g them S a r a h Fielding, Frances B u r n e y , and A n n Radcliffe;

they

affixed their names to their w o r k s only w h e n their excellent reputations as novelists w e r e established. A n d writing for profit - professional writing c o u l d be even m o r e disreputable than writing for fame; H e n r y Austen, in the first passage quoted from him, takes care to assert that at first Austen h o p e d for neither fame n o r profit. Before A u s t e n ' s birth in 1 7 7 5 , literature h a d become firmly fixed in the m a r k e t p l a c e , to the d i s m a y of m a n y . A l v i n K e r n a n has succinctly summar­ ized the change: ' A n older system of polite o r courtly letters - primarily oral, aristocratic, amateur, authoritarian, court-centered - w a s swept a w a y at this time a n d g r a d u a l l y replaced by a n e w print-based,

market-centered,

5

democratic literary s y s t e m . ' T h e public replaced the patron as a source of income. But the older aristocratic attitudes that s a w print a n d p a y m e n t as v u l g a r w e r e surprisingly persistent a m o n g elite w o m e n and some men. M o s t m a l e writers, h o w e v e r , w e r e h a p p y to be p a i d for their writing, a n d once they established themselves in this n e w literary marketplace, as reviewers, essayists, and so forth, with few exceptions they tended to discourage competition from w o m e n writers. T h e y transferred (with renewed energy) m u c h of the old aristocratic disdain for all print to hack writers - the male denizens of G r u b Street - a n d to w o m e n w h o w r o t e . W o m e n w e r e attacked for h a v i n g the temerity to write w i t h o u t h a v i n g the necessary learning a n d taste. O n l y desperate financial need, preferably to support aged parents, a sick h u s b a n d , or destitute children, could (according to literary men) excuse a

woman's

e x p o s i n g herself

in print to

obtain

money. Accordingly,

w o m e n ' s prefaces often a p o l o g i z e for writing by alluding to distresses of this sort, causing reviewers frequently to condescend kindly to their w o r k , t h o u g h increasingly they b e m o a n e d the n u m b e r and g r a m m a r of 'female scribblers'. A w o m a n might also face legal obstacles to authorship if she were married. M a r r i e d w o m e n h a d n o legal existence. T h e y could not o w n property or sign contracts. A l t h o u g h C h a r l o t t e Smith began to publish in order to support herself a n d her children after her feckless h u s b a n d w a s imprisoned for debt, a contract for her novel Desmond

( 1 7 9 2 ) survives signed not by her but by

Benjamin Smith, w h o w a s at the time residing in Scotland under an a l i a s . T h e publishing records for A n n Radcliffe's The (1791)

list W i l l i a m Radcliffe,

her h u s b a n d ,

Romance

of the

6

Forest

as the w o r k ' s author;

he

7

apparently received £ 4 0 for the second edition ( 1 7 9 2 ) . C o m p a r a b l e restric­ tions survived in F r a n c e within living m e m o r y : 'it w a s not until 1 9 6 5 that married w o m e n w e r e legally permitted to publish a w o r k or to engage in any 8

profession w i t h o u t the consent of their h u s b a n d s ' . U n m a r r i e d w o m e n in the

14

The professional woman writer eighteenth century did not face these restrictions, but they generally lived under their fathers' authority, and fathers (like Frances B u r n e y ' s ) m i g h t tend to disapprove of their daughters' risking their modesty, their

reputations,

and possibly their marriageability by publishing. B y contrast, A u s t e n ' s father tried to help her publish the early version of Pride Impressions,

and

Prejudice,

First

writing to a possible publisher himself.

T H E P R O C E S S OF

PUBLISHING

The obstacles to w o m e n ' s writing m a k e their success in publishing novels all the more r e m a r k a b l e . Admittedly, it w a s m u c h easier then for authors to have novels published, nationally distributed, a n d r e v i e w e d in the m a j o r review journals than it is n o w . W h e n A u s t e n g a v e advice to her niece A n n a Austen on a novel-in-progress, she a s s u m e d that the novel w o u l d be not only finished

but published. A l t h o u g h t o d a y

few w o u l d

be likely to

encourage y o u n g unpublished writers to expect to see their novels in print, Austen did not hesitate. In her o w n circle of family a n d friends, in fact, Austen k n e w several published authors, m a n y of them w o m e n : for instance, her much older friend A n n e Lefroy, w h o s e 1 8 0 4 obituary mentions that she had published poetry w h e n quite y o u n g . C a s s a n d r a C o o k e produced Battleridge:

9

A u s t e n ' s mother's first cousin

An Historical

Tale,

Founded

on

Facts (2 vols., 1 7 9 9 ) . Other slightly m o r e distant Leigh cousins published during Austen's childhood: J a m e s H e n r y L e i g h ' s p o e m The New appeared in 1 7 8 5 , a n d C a s s a n d r a , L a d y H a w k e ' s novel Julia

de

Rosciad Gramont

came out in 1 7 8 8 . In the n e x t y e a r , Austen's brothers J a m e s a n d H e n r y , along with other friends, began publishing their w e e k l y periodical essays, The Loiterer,

the collected essays w e r e brought out in 1 7 9 0 . A l l these b o o k s

were reviewed in m a j o r r e v i e w j o u r n a l s .

10

This family access to print must h a v e e n c o u r a g e d the youthful A u s t e n a n d helps to account for the w a y that her advice to her niece takes printing for granted, reflecting the greater availability of publication in her lifetime. A l l writers, k n o w n or u n k n o w n , w h o w i s h e d to obtain p a y m e n t for a n o v e l h a d four options for publishing: ( 1 ) by subscription, (2) by profit-sharing, (3) by selling copyright, a n d (4) on ' c o m m i s s i o n ' , a system w h e r e b y the a u t h o r w a s responsible for p a y i n g all the expenses of publication w h i l e the publisher distributed the copies a n d t o o k a commission on all sold. A u s t e n m o s t frequently e m p l o y e d this last form, also k n o w n as publishing for oneself. The closest equivalent w e h a v e to this method is to e m p l o y a ' v a n i t y press' that is, to p a y for printing one's o w n w o r k s . T h i s form of publication, not respected n o w , means that b o o k s will be neither r e v i e w e d by the public press nor sold in shops; authors frequently distribute them free of c h a r g e . B y

15

JAN

FERGUS

contrast, in A u s t e n ' s lifetime a b o o k published on commission w a s perfectly respectable, as likely as a n y other b o o k to be r e v i e w e d a n d sold. Publication

by

subscription

Subscription w a s declining s o m e w h a t ,

for it w a s a c u m b e r s o m e

and

d e m e a n i n g business, a n d not a l w a y s remunerative. Subscribers paid for a projected b o o k , preferably in a d v a n c e . A list of their names w o u l d be printed in the w o r k w h e n it a p p e a r e d . A n author solicited subscribers (usually by publishing p r o p o s a l s ) , kept records, a n d collected m o n e y - or a s k e d friends to d o s o , rather a h e a v y t a x o n friendship because subscribers generally w e r e reluctant to part w i t h cash. Admittedly, Frances Burney m a d e £ 1 , 0 0 0 - a tremendous s u m - by selling subscriptions to Camilla, Picture

of Youth

or a

( 1 7 9 6 ) ; ' M i s s J . A u s t e n , Steventon' is listed as a subscriber

in the first v o l u m e . B u r n e y also received £ 1 , 0 0 0 in copyright m o n e y for 11

Camilla.

B u t her success in c o m b i n i n g these t w o forms of publication w a s

possible only because her reputation

w a s preeminent.

The

Hookham

records s h o w h o w unlikely such r e w a r d s w e r e for other w o m e n . A M r s . Clutterbuck attempted to get subscribers through H o o k h a m and Carpenter for a projected 'Beauties of St. Pierre' in J u n e a n d J u l y , 1 7 9 8 ; she got five a n d h a d H o o k h a m return the m o n e y ( G / 1 2 7 ) . Publication

by

profit-sharing

Profit-sharing b e c a m e frequent only in the early nineteenth century. Pub­ lishers w h o chose this form of publication paid for printing and advertising, repaid themselves as the b o o k s w e r e sold, a n d shared a n y profit realized over a n d a b o v e the costs. If the sale did not c o v e r expenses, the firm absorbed the loss. Publishers generally offered profit-sharing to untried authors w h o s e m a r k e t they c o u l d not predict. In some cases, sharing profits could be more remunerative than publishing for oneself o r selling copyright. If Austen had published all the editions of her w o r k s that a p p e a r e d during her lifetime by profit-sharing, she w o u l d h a v e m a d e m o r e m o n e y than she actually d i d .

1 2

O b v i o u s l y , a n a u t h o r w h o published for himself t o o k all the profits, not just half, but in practice this m e a n t only a b o u t 5 0 per cent m o r e m o n e y . Sale of To

most

eighteenth-century

copyright

British authors

eager to dispose of

their

property, sale of limited c o p y r i g h t for a fee w a s by far the most prestigious a n d desirable option a v a i l a b l e , if they could find a purchaser. T h e fee offered a clear s u m of m o n e y , generally p a y a b l e within a y e a r of publica­ tion, a n d it r e m o v e d the writer c o m f o r t a b l y a n d decorously from

the

m a r k e t p l a c e as none of the other options did, for the publisher w a s obliged 16

The professional woman writer to p a y the sum agreed u p o n h o w e v e r p o o r l y the w o r k sold. If sales w e r e g o o d a n d further editions w e r e printed, a publisher w h o h a d p u r c h a s e d copyright might

send the

author

an

additional

payment.

Established

authors, unwilling to leave themselves at the mercy of publishers' generosity, might contract for additional p a y m e n t s once a specified n u m b e r of copies o r editions were printed or sold, as Radcliffe h a d p r o b a b l y d o n e w h e n she sold the copyright of The

Romance

of the Forest

for a n u n n a m e d s u m to

H o o k h a m and Carpenter. Publishing

on

commission

Austen's most frequent m o d e of publication w a s at her o w n risk, o r ' o n commission' as it w a s called. T h e a u t h o r w a s ultimately responsible for the cost of paper, printing, a n d advertising; the publisher kept

accounts,

distributed the b o o k s to the trade, a n d c h a r g e d a 1 0 per cent c o m m i s s i o n o n each c o p y sold - a kind of r o y a l t y in reverse. If not e n o u g h copies w e r e sold to cover costs, the author h a d to m a k e up the difference. A u s t e n herself assumed that this m e t h o d required a n initial outlay of capital: she w r o t e to her sister on the a p p e a r a n c e of the second edition of Sense and

Sensibility

that 'I suppose in the meantime I shall o w e dear H e n r y a great deal of M o n e y for Printing & c ' ( L 2 5 0 ) . B u t s u r v i v i n g publishers' records indicate that as a rule the publisher seems to h a v e p a i d for production of a b o o k , charging the expenses off against receipts s o m e months later, after the w o r k had sold. E v e n H o o k h a m a n d C a r p e n t e r , fashionable booksellers but a relatively small publishing firm, o p e r a t e d this w a y . W h e n M i s s M a r y B a r k e r published 7 5 0 copies of her three-volume novel A Welsh

Story

in J u n e ,

1 7 9 8 , H o o k h a m carried the cost of a b o u t £61 for p a p e r , not quite £ 5 0 for composing, printing, a n d correcting, a n d £ 6 for advertising. Less than half the copies were disposed of by the end of September, so that the a u t h o r o w e d the firm over £ 4 8 ( G / 1 3 8 ) . T h i s m o d e of publication could be m o r e remunerative to an a u t h o r than selling copyright, but clearly the risks w e r e great - to publishers a l s o , if they

financed

the outlay. H o o k h a m

and

Carpenter m a y never h a v e r e c o v e r e d the m o n e y o w e d them by M a r y Barker. H e r debt of £ 4 8 includes the c o m m i s s i o n gained o n selling 1 8 0 copies, only a b o u t £ 5 . If the w o r k h a d sold out, their total profit o n commission w o u l d h a v e been less than £ 2 5 - a small s u m for w h i c h to risk nearly £ 1 2 0 .

MONEY AND THE

MARKET

P r o b a b l y the major reason for the e x p l o s i o n of w o m e n into print t o w a r d s the end of the eighteenth century w a s their need for m o n e y . Publishing w a s 17

JAN

FERGUS

one of the few means b y w h i c h a w o m a n of the middling or upper classes could earn cash. L a e t i t i a - M a t i l d a H a w k i n s ' account of her first venture into print m a k e s this m o t i v e clear: ' S o m e f e w years previous to this time [Samuel J o h n s o n ' s death in 1 7 8 4 ] , being in w a n t of a s u m of m o n e y for a w h i m of girlish p a t r o n a g e , a n d h a v i n g n o honest downright n o v e l . '

1 3

means of raising it, I w r o t e a

H a w k i n s sold her novel to T h o m a s H o o k h a m , p r o b ­

a b l y for n o m o r e than 1 0 or 2 0 p o u n d s - sufficient for 'a w h i m of girlish patronage'

but not for full support. With few exceptions, as E d w a r d

C o p e l a n d ' s research has s h o w n ,

1 4

w o m e n c o u l d not live o n their earnings

from publishing novels alone; these funds h a d to supplement other sources of i n c o m e . O n e r e a s o n for m o s t w o m e n ' s v e r y limited income from publishing w a s that the novel-reading public at this time w a s small. In the 1 7 9 0 s , novels by u n k n o w n writers w o u l d be published in editions of just 7 5 0 , 5 0 0 , o r (later) 1,000

copies, w h i l e p r o v e n novelists might sell 2 , 0 0 0 or 3 , 0 0 0 in one or

m o r e editions. T h e largest k n o w n edition for an Austen novel w a s 2 , 0 0 0 , for Emma enlarge Waverley

( 1 8 1 6 ) , a n d it failed to sell out. It t o o k W a l t e r Scott's novels to the

novel-reading

public,

beginning

with

the

publication

of

in 1 8 1 4 . T h e limited m a r k e t for novels w a s partly dictated by

their cost. A l l A u s t e n ' s novels w e r e printed on h a n d presses similar in principle to those used by G u t e n b e r g three hundred years earlier. These techniques a n d especially the great expense of h a n d m a d e p a p e r kept the price of b o o k s h i g h ,

1 5

m a k i n g small editions m o r e economical than large

ones unless a strong a n d steady d e m a n d w e r e assured. It w a s m u c h cheaper to print a small edition of 7 5 0 copies a n d to recompose a n d reprint if it sold out than to risk a large edition of t w o or three thousand

that might

ultimately be sold as w a s t e p a p e r . T h e p a p e r for even a small edition, like the 7 5 0 copies of M a r y B a r k e r ' s Welsh Story,

a b s o r b e d m o r e than half the

costs. B a r k e r ' s b o o k , unlike those of A u s t e n ' s brothers a n d cousins, does not seem to h a v e been r e v i e w e d .

1 6

R e v i e w s w e r e thought then as n o w to

increase sales, t h o u g h they m a y h a v e h a d less influence upon purchases by individuals than u p o n purchases m a d e by b o o k clubs a n d b o o k societies, w h i c h frequently subscribed to r e v i e w j o u r n a l s .

17

O n the w h o l e , A u s t e n

received few reviews - during her lifetime, t w o for Sense and three for Pride

and Prejudice,

none for Mansfield

Sensibility,

Park, a n d ten for

Emma

(although t w o of these w e r e written in G e r m a n ) . M o s t w e r e short a n d r e a s o n a b l y f a v o u r a b l e . T h e longest, o n Emma,

w a s written by W a l t e r Scott

at her publisher J o h n M u r r a y ' s urging: ' H a v e y o u any fancy to dash off an article o n " E m m a " ? It w a n t s incident a n d r o m a n c e , does it not? N o n e of the author's other novels h a v e been noticed [by M u r r a y ' s o w n periodical, the 18

The professional woman writer Quarterly tion.'

18

Review]

and surely "Pride and P r e j u d i c e " merits high c o m m e n d a ­

M u r r a y sent Austen a c o p y of the r e v i e w , a n d her response survives

- a surprising one: ' I return y o u the Quarterly R e v e i w w i t h m a n y T h a n k s . T h e Authoress of Emma

has n o reason I think to c o m p l a i n of her treatment

in it - except in the total omission of M a n s f i e l d P a r k . - 1 c a n n o t but be sorry that so clever a m a n as the R e v e i w e r of Emma,

should consider it as

u n w o r t h y of being noticed' ( L 3 1 3 ) . A u s t e n ' s response is professional. She regrets Scott's failure to mention Mansfield

Park,

n o d o u b t because the

novel h a d never been r e v i e w e d and, m o r e i m p o r t a n t , because she m a y h a v e k n o w n that sales of the second edition h a d already stalled b y the time she wrote.

AUSTEN'S PUBLISHING

CAREER

W h e n Austen arrived in her final h o m e at C h a w t o n o n J u l y 7 , 1 8 0 9 , she w a s thirty-four and unpublished, a condition that she w a s determined alter. H e r earlier attempts to publish First Impressions of Pride

and

Prejudice

Davies, respectable

and Northanger

publishers,

had

Abbey,

refused

a n d Susan,

to

versions

h a d failed. C a d e l l a n d

George Austen's

N o v e m b e r 1 , 1 7 9 7 of the manuscript of First Impressions.

offer

on

A u s t e n h a d sold

the manuscript of Susan to the L o n d o n publisher B . C r o s b y a n d C o m p a n y and had received £ 1 0 for it by 'the Spring of the y e a r 1 8 0 3 ' , according to her a n g r y letter to the firm o n A p r i l 5 , 1 8 0 9 ( L 1 7 4 ) . She a d o p t e d pseudonym ' M

r s

the

A s h t o n D e n n i s ' for this enquiry to C r o s b y a b o u t the delay

in publishing Susan;

this n a m e a l l o w e d her to sign herself ' M . A . D . ' H e r

letter m a k e s clear her determination to publish. Sense and

Sensibility

A t this point, Austen h a d three completed manuscripts a v a i l a b l e to her: Susan (although to publish it, she w o u l d have to return C r o s b y ' s £ 1 0 ) , Impressions,

a n d Sense

Sense and Sensibility.

and Sensibility.

First

She chose s h r e w d l y to w o r k o n

Its emphasis u p o n the importance as well as the costs

of self-command m a d e it her most o r t h o d o x n o v e l both aesthetically a n d morally. Susan

or Northanger

Abbey

constituted

a b o l d experiment

in

burlesque o v e r w h i c h C r o s b y had clearly vacillated, thinking it a profitable speculation at first, a n d then a p o o r risk. T h e m a n u s c r i p t version of

Pride

and Prejudice

contained an extremely u n o r t h o d o x heroine, and A u s t e n m a y

have feared

either

similar

vacillation

from

another

publisher,

succeeded in selling the copyright, or a m o r e a m b i v a l e n t reception reviewers and the reading public than Sense and Sensibility

if

she from

w a s likely to

obtain. M a r y Russell M i t f o r d w r o t e to a friend in D e c e m b e r , 1 8 1 4 , for 19

JAN

FERGUS

instance, deploring 'the entire w a n t of taste w h i c h could produce so pert, so w o r l d l y a heroine as the b e l o v e d of such a m a n as D a r c y ' .

1 9

Austen m a y

h a v e a p p r o a c h e d the publisher T h o m a s Egerton early in 1 8 1 1 H e n r y . E g e r t o n h a d sold J a m e s ' a n d H e n r y ' s The Loiterer

through

in his Whitehall

s h o p m o r e than twenty y e a r s earlier a n d m a y h a v e liked the novel well e n o u g h to feel that he w o u l d gain prestige by being associated with it. Perhaps m o r e important,

he m u s t h a v e felt that he could trust H e n r y

A u s t e n , at this time a b a n k e r , to settle the bill for costs. O n c e Egerton h a d agreed to publish the novel on commission, he sent it to the printer Charles R o w o r t h , p e r h a p s in F e b r u a r y or M a r c h , Roworth

took

his

time:

Austen

wrote

near

the

end

1811.

of A p r i l that

' M r s . K[nightJ regrets in the m o s t flattering m a n n e r that she must w a i t till M a y [for Sense and Sensibility],

but I h a v e scarcely a hope of its being out in

J u n e . - H e n r y does not neglect it; he has hurried the Printer . . . ' (L 1 8 2 ) . T h e delay w a s m u c h w o r s e than A u s t e n anticipated; the novel w a s not advertised until the end of O c t o b e r . She experienced some delay from printers o n every

novel that she published for herself, though none w a s as

lengthy as this. B y contrast, E g e r t o n w a s later able to issue Pride Prejudice

and

within a few months of p u r c h a s i n g it, doubtless because his o w n

profit w a s at stake. H e w o u l d earn less than £ 3 6 by publishing Sense Sensibility

and

o n c o m m i s s i o n in a n edition of 7 5 0 copies, by m y calculations,

w h e r e a s A u s t e n herself m a d e £ 1 4 0 , as she w r o t e to her brother

Frank

(L 2 1 7 ) . It w a s not w o r t h E g e r t o n ' s w h i l e to hurry the printers. A l t h o u g h he stood to gain little by agreeing to publish Sense Sensibility

and

o n c o m m i s s i o n , E g e r t o n r a n n o risk; only the author did. Austen

w a s , a c c o r d i n g to her brother H e n r y ' s ' B i o g r a p h i c a l N o t i c e ' , 'so persuaded . . . that its sale w o u l d not r e p a y the e x p e n s e of publication, that she actually m a d e a reserve from her v e r y m o d e r a t e income to meet the expected loss' (NA,

P 6 ) . A t this time, the expenses of publishing 7 5 0 copies of the novel

w o u l d c o m e to a b o u t £ 1 5 5 , a n d advertisements w o u l d ordinarily take another

£ 2 4 or s o .

2 0

T h e n o v e l retailed at 1 5 s . , but the b o o k s were

accounted for to the a u t h o r at the trade price of 9s. é d . If every c o p y were sold, receipts at the trade price w o u l d be o v e r £ 3 5 6 , leaving a m a x i m u m profit of a b o u t £ 1 4 0 after deducting e x p e n s e s of £ 1 7 9 a n d Egerton's 1 0 per cent c o m m i s s i o n o n the sales. A u s t e n w a s risking, then, a b o u t £ 1 8 0 o n the chance of earning £ 1 4 0 . In fact, h o w e v e r , her risk w a s substantially less. T h e buyer's market for novels w a s small, but sales to circulating libraries were fairly certain. A novel n o r m a l l y w o u l d h a v e to sell between one half and two-thirds of an edition to b e c o m e profitable. F o r e x a m p l e , within five months of being issued in F e b r u a r y , 1 8 1 0 , M a r i a B e n s o n ' s The

20

Wife. A Novel

h a d sold 2 7 5 of the

The professional woman writer 5 0 0 copies printed, and in t w o m o r e years another 4 9 , realizing £ 7 . 6 . 4 to split with L o n g m a n , w h o h a d agreed to share profits w i t h the a u t h o r . only 2 7 5 copies of Sense and Sensibility

2 1

If

h a d sold, A u s t e n w o u l d h a v e h a d

£ 1 3 0 , less Egerton's 1 0 per cent, to offset her expenses of £ 1 7 9 ; that is, she w o u l d have o w e d a b o u t £ 6 2 . If the other 4 7 5 copies had been remaindered at the same price that Benson's novel w a s in 1 8 1 3 ( i s . 6d. e a c h ) , A u s t e n w o u l d have received another £ 3 2 or s o . A t w o r s t , then, her loss w a s unlikely to be more than £ 3 0 . A l t h o u g h she p r o b a b l y w a s unable to 'reserve' such a sum from her o w n 'moderate income' (her dress a l l o w a n c e h a d been £ 2 0 a year [L 3 1 , 3 2 ] ) , she could perhaps

set aside a b o u t

half. A n d every

additional copy of her novel that w a s sold at the full trade price of 9 s . 6d. w o u l d reduce this possible debt. She w o u l d break even once 4 1 9 copies were bought, even a l l o w i n g for Egerton's c o m m i s s i o n . H a d A u s t e n k n o w n earlier that even at w o r s t her losses w e r e likely to be m a n a g e a b l e , she might have published sooner - perhaps w h e n she inherited £ 5 0 in 1 8 0 7 . Fortu­ nately, by 1 8 1 1 Austen w a s prepared to invest m o n e y in herself, in her o w n authorship. Pride

and

Prejudice

Egerton had almost certainly accepted Sense and Sensibility

by F e b r u a r y ,

1 8 1 1 . This acceptance evidently m a d e Austen optimistic e n o u g h a b o u t the possibilities of publication to begin her m o s t ambitious n o v e l to Mansfield

Park.

A c c o r d i n g to C a s s a n d r a ' s m e m o r a n d u m ,

date,

this n o v e l w a s

7

begun 'somewhere a b o u t F e b 1 8 1 1 - Finished s o o n after J u n e 1 8 1 3 '

(MW

facing 2 4 2 ) . N o other novel t o o k Austen so long to write. P r o b a b l y p a r t of the time w a s spent revising First Impressions

into Pride

and Prejudice.

perhaps began this revision w h e n she discovered that Sense and

She

Sensibility

had sold well enough to b r e a k even; this point w a s quite likely to be reached within six months of issue, in M a y , 1 8 1 2 . B y the f o l l o w i n g N o v e m b e r , Austen had completed her revisions to Pride

and Prejudice,

m a d e a fair

copy, and sold the manuscript to Egerton for £ 1 1 0 , as she w r o t e to M a r t h a Lloyd: 'Its' being sold will I hope be a great saving of T r o u b l e to H e n r y , &c therefore must be w e l c o m e to me. - T h e M o n e y is to be p a i d at the end of the twelvemonth.' Austen h a d been disappointed

by E g e r t o n ' s offer: ' I

w o u l d rather have had £ 1 5 0 , but w e could not both be pleased, &c I a m not at all surprised that he should not chuse to h a z a r d so m u c h ' ( L 1 9 7 ) . T h e offer w a s rather n i g g a r d l y . B y m y calculations, Egerton m a d e a profit of more than £ 4 5 0 on just the first t w o editions. A u s t e n ' s unfortunate decision to part with the c o p y r i g h t of Pride

and

Prejudice

was made, however,

before she could predict that the first edition of Sense and Sensibility sell out and bring her £ 1 4 0 .

21

would

JAN

FERGUS

Issued at the end of J a n u a r y , 1 8 1 3 , Pride

and Prejudice

w a s Austen's

m o s t p o p u l a r n o v e l , both with the public a n d with her family and friends. B y the spring of 1 8 1 3 , three f a v o u r a b l e reviews h a d a p p e a r e d (compared to t w o for Sense and Sensibility).

Before M a y , 1 8 1 3 , Pride

and Prejudice

had

b e c o m e the 'fashionable n o v e l ' , according to A n n e Isabella M i l b a n k e , w h o w a s to m a r r y L o r d B y r o n .

2 2

Its popularity eventually m e a n t the end of

A u s t e n ' s a n o n y m i t y . B y the following September, her authorship w a s pretty w e l l k n o w n , as she w r o t e to her brother F r a n k : ' . . . the truth is that the Secret has s p r e a d s o far as to be scarcely the S h a d o w of a secret n o w - & d

that I beleive w h e n e v e r the 3 a p p e a r s , I shall not even attempt to tell Lies a b o u t it. - I shall rather try to m a k e all the M o n e y than all the M y s t e r y I c a n of it. - People shall p a y for their k n o w l e d g e if I c a n m a k e them' (L 2 . 3 1 ) . A l t h o u g h A u s t e n j o k e d a b o u t both, m o n e y w a s important

to her, a n d

a n o n y m i t y h a d been so essential that she h a d h a d C a s s a n d r a write to G o d m e r s h a m in September, 1 8 1 1 , 'to beg w e w o u l d not mention that A u n t J a n e A u s t e n w r o t e " S e n s e & Sensibility" \

2 3

B e c a u s e she h a d sold the copyright, Austen did not profit from her most p o p u l a r n o v e l as she should h a v e done. Egerton p r o b a b l y issued a first edition of 1 , 0 0 0 copies of Pride

and

Prejudice

a n d , in the following

O c t o b e r , a second edition of perhaps 7 5 0 , both of w h i c h w e r e sold at 1 8 s . , three shillings m o r e than Sense and Sensibility.

H a d A u s t e n published such

editions

about

for herself,

she w o u l d h a v e m a d e

Egerton's commission

£ 4 7 5 , allowing for

of a p p r o x i m a t e l y £ 1 0 0 , w h e n

they sold out

-

s u p p o s i n g that E g e r t o n h a d brought them out as economically for her as he did for himself. C e r t a i n l y he p r o d u c e d Pride

and Prejudice

more cheaply,

using c h e a p e r p a p e r a n d less of it, even t h o u g h the novel w a s longer than Sense and Sensibility}*

A n d furthermore, he seems to h a v e been guilty of

o v e r c h a r g i n g for Pride

and Prejudice,

Sense

T h e latter h a d in fact been slightly

and

Sensibility.

w h i c h cost three shillings m o r e than underpriced:

L o n g m a n c h a r g e d 1 6 s . 6d. for a shorter three-volume novel like Benson's The Wife e a r l y in 1 8 1 0 , a n d retained that price for She Thinks w h i c h a p p e a r e d a l m o s t exactly w h e n Pride

and Prejudice

for

Herself,

did a n d w a s of

c o m p a r a b l e length. A u s t e n seems to h a v e been professionally alert

to

E g e r t o n ' s m a n o e u v r i n g s , for she w r o t e s h r e w d l y to C a s s a n d r a on J a n u a r y 2 9 , 1 8 1 3 : ' T h e Advertisement is in o u r p a p e r to d a y for the first time; - 1 8 s . - H e shall a s k £ 1 -

1-

for m y t w o next, & £ 1 -

8 -

for m y stupidest of

all' ( L 2 0 1 ) . F o r A u s t e n , 'shall' in the second o r third person is a l w a y s emphatic: it ' c o m m a n d s o r threatens', to use an eighteenth-century marian's f o r m u l a .

2 5

gram­

B y naming sums in excess of one p o u n d - not yet

a p p r o p r i a t e for a three-volume novel - she j o k i n g l y suggests that she will imitate E g e r t o n ' s s h a r p business practices. M o r e seriously, she implies that

22

The professional woman writer she will not permit him to undercharge a g a i n w h e n her o w n profit is at stake - a n d she did not. Mansfield T h e success of Pride Sense and Sensibility,

Park retailed at 1 8 shillings.

and Prejudice

certainly increased the d e m a n d for

sold out by J u l y 3 , 1 8 1 3 , according to a letter written

on that date to F r a n k ( L 2 1 7 ) . It h a d taken a b o u t t w e n t y m o n t h s to clear the edition. A u s t e n w r o t e as a postscript to F r a n k o n September 2 5 , 1 8 1 3 , d

that 'There is to be a 2 Edition of S. & S. E g e r t o n advises it' ( L 2 3 2 ) , a n d the second editions of both Sense and Sensibility

a n d Pride

and

Prejudice

were advertised together o n O c t o b e r 2 9 . O n the w h o l e , E g e r t o n ' s a d v i c e to Austen w a s s o u n d . She never lost m o n e y b y publishing w i t h him, a l t h o u g h she had to w a i t until 1 8 1 6 before receiving profits on the second edition of Sense and

26

Sensibility.

Mansfield

Park

In her dealings w i t h Egerton, A u s t e n seems to h a v e learned q u i c k l y that his interests w e r e very different from hers. H e r w r y r e m a r k o n the price that he charged for Pride and Prejudice

s h o w s her a w a r e n e s s that he w a s likely to

profit from the novel m o r e than she h a d - a n d m o r e than she h a d profited from publishing Sense and Sensibility and

Prejudice,

for herself. After the success of

Pride

Egerton certainly offered to purchase the c o p y r i g h t of

Austen's next novel, but she did not accept his offer. It w a s n o d o u b t rather l o w - perhaps £ 1 5 0 . She evidently h a d learned to prefer her o w n j u d g m e n t of the value of her w o r k to E g e r t o n ' s , a n d she w a s p r e p a r e d to risk a n unfavourable response from the reading public. In other w o r d s , as A u s t e n wrote to her brother, ' I h a v e written myself into £ 2 5 0 ' ; she chose to invest that m o n e y in underwriting her o w n w o r k - wisely ( L 2 1 7 ) . She p r o b a b l y offered Mansfield

Park to Egerton in J a n u a r y , 1 8 1 4 . O n M a r c h 2 1 , A u s t e n

expected a delay of at least a m o n t h before publication: 'Perhaps before the end of A p r i l , Mansfield

Park by the a u t h o r of S & S. - P. & P. m a y be in the

w o r l d . - K e e p the name beforehand' (L 2 Ô 2 ) .

to yourself. I s h

d

not like to h a v e it k n o w n

2 7

Egerton seems to h a v e p r o d u c e d Mansfield

Park quite cheaply, perhaps at

Austen's request. T h e p a p e r is thinner (thus less expensive) than the thin paper used for Pride and Prejudice,

a n d because each p a g e contains twenty-

five lines, not twenty-three as in the earlier novels, further savings o n p a p e r were achieved. R . W . C h a p m a n has conjectured that E g e r t o n printed only 1 , 2 5 0 copies; later, H e n r y Austen reminded J o h n M u r r a y that he himself had 'expressed astonishment that so small an edition of such a w o r k should have been sent into the w o r l d ' .

2 8

T h i s edition sold out in only s i x m o n t h s ,

more quickly than that of Pride

and Prejudice,

w h i c h h a d taken eight o r

nine

being

certainly

months

to

clear

despite

23

almost

smaller.

Using

JAN

Chapman's

estimate

p r o d u c e d Mansfield

of Park

FERGUS

1 , 2 5 0 copies, w e must

assume that

Egerton

extremely cheaply indeed, based on w h a t w e

k n o w of A u s t e n ' s earnings. H e r profit exceeded £ 3 1 0 , m o r e than she received during her lifetime for a n y n o v e l .

2 9

Emma A u s t e n c o m p o s e d Emma

in only fourteen months, from J a n u a r y 2 1 , 1 8 1 4 ,

to M a r c h 2 9 , 1 8 1 5 ; she w a s clearly at the height of her genius. D u r i n g this time, she also s a w Mansfield

Park

through the press, m a d e three visits to

H e n r y in L o n d o n , a n d three m o r e to other friends. She w r o t e on N o v e m b e r 1 8 , 1 8 1 4 , that the first edition of Mansfield

Park w a s sold out, and that her d

brother w a n t e d her to c o m e to L o n d o n , 'to settle a b o u t a 2 Edit: - but as I c o u l d not v e r y conveniently leave h o m e n o w , I h a v e written him m y Will & pleasure, & unless he still urges it, shall not g o . - 1 a m very greedy ÔC w a n t to m a k e the m o s t of it' ( L 2 8 1 ) . She did g o , for o n N o v e m b e r 3 0 , 1 8 1 4 , she d

w r o t e : 'it is not settled yet w h e t h e r I do hazard a 2 Edition. W e are to see Egerton t o d a y , w h e n it will p r o b a b l y be determined. - People are m o r e ready to b o r r o w &c praise, than to b u y . . . but t h o ' I like praise as well as a n y b o d y , I like w h a t E d w a r d calls Pewter

t o o ' ( L 2 8 7 ) . Egerton must already h a v e

advised against a second edition. H e m a y h a v e pointed to a falling-off in d e m a n d for the first edition before it sold out. Austen h a d hoped in J u l y , 1 8 1 3 , that Mansfield

Park ' o n the credit of P. & P. will sell well, tho' not half

so entertaining' ( L 2 1 7 ) . A l t h o u g h in fact Mansfield Pride

and Prejudice,

Park sold out faster than

perhaps w o r d of m o u t h reduced later d e m a n d . T h e

second edition w a s finally issued m o r e than a y e a r later o n F e b r u a r y 1 9 , 1 8 1 6 , by J o h n M u r r a y , w h o b r o u g h t out Emma

at the end of 1 8 1 5 .

Unfortunately, E g e r t o n ' s advice turned out to be g o o d . M u r r a y ' s second edition of Mansfield

Park lost m o n e y . In addition, M u r r a y produced Austen's

b o o k s m o r e expensively during her lifetime than Egerton had, w h i c h reduced her possible profit. Nonetheless, her decision to a p p r o a c h M u r r a y w a s not, o n the face of it, a b a d one. M u r r a y ' s imprint carried much more prestige than E g e r t o n ' s . B y the time A u s t e n submitted Emma

to him in A u g u s t o r

September, 1 8 1 5 , he w a s L o r d B y r o n ' s publisher and h a d co-published m a n y of W a l t e r Scott's w o r k s , including Waverley

(1814).

Furthermore,

M u r r a y w a s reputedly very o p e n - h a n d e d to authors, offering large c o p y right fees. A c c o r d i n g l y , once M u r r a y received a favourable opinion of Emma

from his editor W i l l i a m G i f f o r d , w h o w r o t e that ' O f " E m m a " , I

h a v e nothing but g o o d to s a y ' , A u s t e n might w e l l have expected a generous fee for the c o p y r i g h t .

30

Instead, o n O c t o b e r 1 5 , 1 8 1 5 , M u r r a y offered the

s u m of £ 4 5 0 altogether for the copyrights of Emma, Sense and Sensibility.

Mansfield

Park,

and

A u s t e n c o m m e n t e d , accurately enough, 'It will end in

24

The professional woman writer rny publishing for myself I d a r e s a y ' ( L 2 9 1 ) . Despite illness, H e n r y dictated early in N o v e m b e r an exasperated reply to M u r r a y : ' T h e terms y o u offer are so very inferior to w h a t w e h a d expected, that I a m apprehensive of having m a d e some great error in m y arithmetical c a l c u l a t i o n . ' H e w e n t o n to point out that his sister h a d made m o r e than £ 4 5 0 b y one small edition of Sense and Sensibility

31

a n d a moderate one of Mansfield

Park.

Henry's

illness w o r s e n e d , a n d Austen conducted m o s t of the remaining negotiations for herself. In a letter of N o v e m b e r 3 , she requested a meeting w i t h M u r r a y , at which time he must h a v e agreed to publish Emma

on commission, and on

N o v e m b e r 2 3 she w a s already ' v e x e d ' by printers' delays ( L 2 9 5 , 2 9 7 ) . M u r r a y responded civilly, promising 'no farther cause for dissatisfaction . . . In short, I a m soothed & complimented into tolerable c o m f o r t ' ( L 2 9 8 ) . Hindsight indicates that M u r r a y ' s offer of £ 4 5 0 for the three copyrights w a s fair if not generous. A u s t e n w o u l d h a v e done w e l l to accept it. First, she w o u l d h a v e received that sum within a y e a r . Instead, because losses o n the second edition of Mansfield

Park

w e r e set a g a i n s t the profits of

Emma,

Austen received during her lifetime only £ 3 8 . 1 8 . 0 profit o n her greatest work.

3 2

Ultimately, her heirs received a total of a b o u t £ 3 8 5 m o r e from the

sole edition of Emma,

from the second of Mansfield

Park

(both of w h i c h

were remaindered in 1 8 2 1 ) , a n d from the sale in 1 8 3 2 of the copyrights of the three novels for £ 4 2 e a c h .

3 3

In short, M u r r a y ' s estimate in 1 8 1 5 of the

market value of her copyrights w a s if anything e x a g g e r a t e d . Nonetheless, M u r r a y treated

Austen rather

less generously than other

writers.

He

frequently g a v e such large payments to his authors that he lost m o n e y by their w o r k s . F o r instance, he offered Helen M a r i a W i l l i a m s 5 0 guineas in 1 8 1 6 for her pamphlet, Letters

on Protestants;

M u r r a y still realized a loss of £ 1 8 . 2 . 6 .

3 4

the w o r k sold out,

but

Austen's refusal to accept M u r r a y ' s

£ 4 5 0 suggests h o w highly she valued Emma

a n d h o w willing she w a s to risk

a different valuation from the public. H e r recent profit o n Mansfield

Park

m a y h a v e encouraged her to insist that M u r r a y publish the fairly large edition of 2 , 0 0 0 copies of Emma.

Unfortunately, Emma

w a s not as p o p u l a r

as her earlier w o r k s : in the first nine months it h a d sold only 1 , 2 4 8 copies. After four y e a r s , the total w a s 1 , 4 3 7 , a n d the rest w e r e remaindered. Ironically enough, at a b o u t the same time that A u s t e n w a s refusing M u r r a y ' s m o n e y a n d insisting on publishing for herself, she w a s e x p o s e d to her only experience of ' p a t r o n a g e ' - the support of polite letters by w e a l t h y patrons. W h e n Emma

w a s in the press, the Prince R e g e n t - w h o a d m i r e d

the novels - apparently learned of Austen's presence in L o n d o n a n d sent his librarian to visit her. This officious a n d obtuse character, J a m e s Stanier C l a r k e , invited Austen to visit him at C a r l t o n H o u s e a n d during the course of the visit imparted, in her w o r d s , 'the Information of m y being at liberty

2.5

JAN

FERGUS

to dedicate a n y future w o r k to H R H . the P . R . without the necessity of any solicitation o n m y p a r t ' ( L 2 9 6 ) . O n N o v e m b e r 1 5 , 1 8 1 5 , just over a month before Emma

w a s issued, A u s t e n w i s h e d to k n o w 'whether it is incumbent

o n me to s h e w m y sense of the H o n o u r , by inscribing the W o r k n o w in the Press, to H . R . H . - 1 s h be equally concerned to appear either Presumptuous d

o r Ungrateful' ( L 4 2 9 ) . T h e w o r d 'incumbent' suggests her a n n o y a n c e . She o r perhaps H e n r y subsequently w r o t e the briefest possible dedication to be prefixed to Emma,

a n d she w a s obliged to send an expensively b o u n d c o p y

to the R e g e n t ; he t o o k n o notice of it o r the dedication a n d certainly sent n o m o n e y . A u s t e n ' s last letter to C l a r k e contains her very professional reply to his suggestion that she w r i t e ' a n Historical R o m a n c e , founded on the H o u s e of S a x e C o b o u r g ' , w h i c h she a c k n o w l e d g e d 'might be m u c h more to the p u r p o s e of Profit o r P o p u l a r i t y than such pictures of domestic Life in C o u n t r y Villages as I deal in'. She c o n c l u d e d , h o w e v e r , ' N o , I must keep to m y o w n style a n d g o o n in m y o w n w a y ; A n d though I m a y never succeed a g a i n in that, I a m c o n v i n c e d that I should totally fail in any other' ( L 3 1 2 ) . Persuasion

a n d Northanger

Abbey

W h e n A u s t e n w r o t e this letter to C l a r k e o n A p r i l 1 , 1 8 1 6 , she h a d been writing Persuasion

for nearly eight months, a n d the phrase 'though I m a y

never succeed a g a i n ' - t h o u g h p r o p e r l y modest - m a y hint at a fear that this novel might fail to earn m o n e y , as her second edition of Mansfield

Park w a s

failing. A t this time, 'Profit o r P o p u l a r i t y ' w a s of even m o r e concern to her as a writer than it h a d been. H e r family h a d suffered financial reverses. H e r brother H e n r y ' s b a n k h a d failed o n M a r c h 1 5 , 1 8 1 6 ; he took orders and b e c a m e a curate in the C h a w t o n n e i g h b o u r h o o d . Austen herself h a d lost £ 1 3 . 7 . 0 of profit o n Mansfield

Park that h a d remained in her account with

H e n r y , but fortunately the remainder of her earnings had already been invested in the ' N a v y F i v e s ' . Other m e m b e r s of her family w e r e m u c h m o r e seriously affected. H e r brother E d w a r d lost £ 2 0 , 0 0 0 , her uncle J a m e s LeighPerrot £ 1 0 , 0 0 0 , her brothers J a m e s a n d F r a n k several hundreds each. A s a result, neither F r a n k n o r H e n r y c o u l d afford any longer to contribute to their mother's i n c o m e .

3 5

T h e s e losses a n d threats m a y have kept A u s t e n

from a n y immediate attempt to publish Northanger

Abbey,

which Henry

h a d p r o b a b l y reclaimed from the L o n d o n publisher C r o s b y , returning his 6

£ 1 0 , fairly s o o n after the publication of Emma?

In any case, the strain of

so m a n y family reverses helped to undermine Austen's o w n health. S y m p ­ toms of A d d i s o n ' s disease, w h i c h eventually killed her, m a y h a v e s h o w n themselves early in 1 8 1 6 . W h e n Persuasion

was

3 7

finally

completed o n A u g u s t 6, 1 8 1 6 , almost

precisely a y e a r after it w a s begun o n A u g u s t 8, 1 8 1 5 , Austen put it aside 26

The professional woman writer for longer than any other n o v e l , p r o b a b l y because of the f a m i l y ' s

financial

troubles. In F e b r u a r y , 1 8 1 7 , she received the first small profits o n Emma.

At

this point, she h a d t w o completed but unpublished novels on her h a n d s . Possibly she had expected that she could use earnings o n Emma write the publication of Northanger

Abbey

o r Persuasion,

to under-

o r both. H e r

meagre profit of a b o u t £ 3 9 m a y h a v e caused her to write to her niece F a n n y Knight on M a r c h 1 3 , 1 8 1 7 : 'I h a v e a something r e a d y for Publication, which m a y perhaps a p p e a r a b o u t a t w e l v e m o n t h hence' ( L 3 3 3 ) . A u s t e n perhaps hoped that n e x t y e a r ' s profits w o u l d permit the publication of Persuasion.

Since the failure of H e n r y ' s b a n k , she h a d been a l l o w i n g her

half-yearly dividends of £ 1 5 o n the £ 6 0 0 in the ' N a v y F i v e s ' to a c c u m u l a t e in a n e w account at H o a r e ' s b a n k ; they a m o u n t e d to £ 4 5 by the time she died.

38

She m a y h a v e planned to d r a w u p o n these a l s o , if necessary, to

publish Persuasion

a n d p e r h a p s Northanger

Abbey

as well. In the s a m e

letter, she told F a n n y that ' M i s s Catherine is put u p o n the Shelve for the present, and I d o not k n o w that she will ever c o m e out' ( L 3 3 3 ) . T h e p h r a s e 'upon the s h e l f is a p p r o p r i a t e l y mercantile, whether applied to a n unsuccessful debutante unable to c o m e out into the m a r k e t o r to a n unsaleable commodity like a b o o k . A u s t e n ' s mind a n d l a n g u a g e seem to h a v e been particularly attuned to the m a r k e t after the disappointing failure to earn money from

Emma.

Nonetheless, A u s t e n did not permit herself to be discouraged from further publication by illness, b y h a v i n g t w o unpublished manuscripts b y her, by the failure of her second edition of Mansfield unpopularity of Emma.

Park,

o r b y the relative

She w a s forced to postpone publication, but it

remained her g o a l , as is evident in her decision to begin a n e w n o v e l , Sanditon,

on J a n u a r y 2 7 , 1 8 1 7 . She w r o t e twelve chapters before stopping

on M a r c h 1 8 , 1 8 1 7 , w h e n p r e s u m a b l y her health failed. She died four months later. A l t h o u g h anxiety a b o u t m o n e y a n d ill health h a d prevented A u s t e n from publishing Persuasion

before her death, her sister C a s s a n d r a w a s evidently

determined to see her sister's last w o r k s in print. She h a d A u s t e n ' s will proved on September 1 0 , 1 8 1 7 . After p a y i n g burial expenses of £ 9 2 , £ 1 0 0 in legacies, m o r e than £ 2 2 in probate costs, a n d £ 2 5 in debts, C a s s a n d r a o w e d duty on an estate

of £ 5 é i . 2 . o .

3 9

O n c e the estate

was

settled,

C a s s a n d r a arranged to publish the t w o remaining novels w i t h M u r r a y ; as a result, she h a d n o duty to p a y on those receipts. Possibly the f a m i l y ' s financial

problems lay behind the apparent insistence that M u r r a y p r o d u c e

Northanger

Abbey

a n d Persuasion

as cheaply as possible: only 1 , 7 5 0 copies

were printed o n v e r y inexpensive paper. T h e y a p p e a r e d at the end of December, 1 8 1 7 , a n d 1 , 4 0 9 copies sold within a y e a r . T h i s f o u r - v o l u m e

27

JAN

FERGUS

d u a l publication o n c o m m i s s i o n earned £ 5 1 8 . 6 . 5 , m o r e than any earlier A u s t e n n o v e l , even though the last 2 8 3 copies h a d to be remaindered at 3 s . i d . each - a far cry from the £ 1 . 4 . 0 retail p r i c e .

4 0

Overall, Cassandra

collected £ 7 8 4 . 1 1 . 0 from M u r r a y on this edition a n d on the final sales of Emma

a n d Mansfield

41

Park.

T h e sale of the five remaining copyrights to

R i c h a r d Bentley in 1 8 3 2 for £ 2 1 0 b r o u g h t Austen's overall literary earnings to at least £ 1 , 6 2 5 , most of w h i c h w a s received after her death. During her life she received something o v e r £ 6 3 1 , perhaps as m u c h as £ 6 6 8 and loose change.

4 2

She earned, despite her increasing professionalism, rather less

than has usually been thought, m u c h less than contemporaries like M a r i a E d g e w o r t h ( £ 1 1 , 0 6 2 . 8 . 1 0 ) or Frances B u r n e y ( £ 4 , 2 8 o ) .

4 3

T h i s £ 6 3 0 or s o that A u s t e n ' w r o t e herself into', to use her o w n phrase, was

not

v e r y substantial

by a n y c o n t e m p o r a r y

standard.

As Edward

C o p e l a n d points out elsewhere in this v o l u m e , l u m p sums of m o n e y were a l w a y s translated into y e a r l y incomes. Invested in the N a v y Fives, part of A u s t e n ' s earnings b r o u g h t her £ 3 0 a y e a r , not m u c h m o r e than her dress a l l o w a n c e of £ 2 0 a y e a r during her father's lifetime a n d m u c h less than the income of a n y o n e else in her f a m i l y .

4 4

T h i s s u m w o u l d not afford genteel

maintenance to a single w o m a n , even though w o m e n alone w e r e certainly s u p p o s e d to require v e r y little: as F a n n y D a s h w o o d puts it, her mother- and sisters-in-law ' w i l l live so c h e a p ' {SS 1 2 ) . If w e depart from Austen's practice, h o w e v e r , a n d calculate her earnings of just o v e r £ 6 3 0 between 1 8 1 1 a n d 1 8 1 7 as a y e a r l y income of £ 9 0 , w e c a n n o t conclude that she w r o t e herself into even t e m p o r a r y wealth. N o v e l ­ ists like A m e l i a O p i e a n d M a r y D a r b y R o b i n s o n , w h o did not invest their earnings but applied them to daily expenses, found that even w h e n they m a d e as m u c h as £ 1 5 0 to £ 2 0 0 a y e a r for several y e a r s , those sums did not keep them o u t of debt despite other sources of i n c o m e .

4 5

B y contrast,

A u s t e n not only invested most of her earnings but a l l o w e d the dividends to a c c u m u l a t e in her account at H o a r e ' s b a n k .

4 6

W h e n she w r o t e to her niece

F a n n y K n i g h t o n M a r c h 1 3 , 1 8 1 7 that 'I h a v e a something ready for Publication, w h i c h m a y perhaps a p p e a r a t w e l v e m o n t h hence' (L 4 8 4 ) , she h a d learned a m o n t h earlier that her profits o n Emma the second edition of Mansfield

Park

w e r e small because

h a d sold so p o o r l y . H e r dividends

a m o u n t e d to £ 3 0 by J a n u a r y , 1 8 1 7 ; in a y e a r , they w o u l d come to £ 6 0 . I imagine that, after the family catastrophe of H e n r y ' s bankruptcy a y e a r before, a n d the w e a k sale of Mansfield Persuasion

(and perhaps Northanger

Park, A u s t e n w a s waiting to publish Abbey)

until she could underwrite the

publication herself. W e see here, I believe, a n d in her continuing M a r c h 1 8 ) despite failing health to write her n e w novel Sandition, the m o s t p o i g n a n t evidences of Austen's professionalism.

28

(until

perhaps

The professional woman writer

NOTES 1 The arguments in this essay summarize and expand those presented earlier in Jane Austen: A Literary Life (London: Macmillan, 1 9 9 1 ) . 2 [Henry Austen,] 'Memoir of Miss Austen', in Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility (London: Richard Bentley, 1 8 3 3 ) , p. ix. 3 B. C. Southam, ed., 'Introduction', Jane Austen: The Critical Heritage (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1968), p. 3 2 . 4 'Profile of Women Writing in English from 1 6 6 0 to 1 8 0 0 ' , Eighteenth-Century Women and the Arts, ed. Frederick M . Keener and Susan E. Lorsch (New York: Greenwood Press, 1988), p. 248. 5 Alvin Kernan, Printing Technology, Letters & Samuel Johnson (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1987), p. 4. 6 Judith Phillips Stanton, 'Charlotte Smith's "Literary Business": Income, Patronage, and Indigence', in Paul J . Korshin, ed., The Age of Johnson, vol. 1 (New York: A M S Press, 1 9 8 7 ) , pp. 3 7 6 - 7 . 7 Hookham and Carpenter published The Romance of the Forest. Their records are located in the Public Record Office, C 1 0 4 / 7 5 / 1 - 3 . They comprise three ledgers, the first labelled F (= 1 ) , the second G (= 2), and the third Petty Ledger F (= 3). This information comes from the Petty Ledger, p. 1 9 1 , where the name is spelled 'Mr Ratcliff. All subsequent references to the ledgers will be indicated in the text by the alphabetical abbreviation of the ledger followed by page number. 8 Carla Hesse, 'Reading Signatures: Female Authorship and Revolutionary L a w in France, 1 7 5 0 - 1 8 5 0 ' , Eighteenth-Century Studies, 22:3 (1989), 486. 9 Gentleman's Magazine, vol. 84, part ii (Dec. 1804), 1 1 7 8 . 1 0 See Antonia Forster's Index to Book Reviews in England, 1775-1800, to be published by the British Library. 1 1 Frances Burney, Camilla, ed. Edward A. and Lillian D. Bloom (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1 9 8 2 ) , pp. x i x - x x . 1 2 Jan Fergus and Janice Farrar Thaddeus, 'Women, Publishers, and Money, 1 7 9 0 1 8 2 0 ' , Studies in Eighteenth-Century Culture, 1 7 (1987), 198 and n. 38, 2 0 6 - 7 . 1 3 Laetitia-Matilda Hawkins, Memoirs, Anecdotes, Facts, and Opinions, 2 vols. (London: Longman, Hurst, et al., 1 8 2 4 ) , 1:156. 14 Edward Copeland, Women Writing about Money: Women's Fiction in England, 1790-1820 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1 9 9 5 ) , ch. 7. See also calculations of various levels of income, pp. 2 4 - 3 3. 1 5 When Austen sold the copyright of Susan for £ 1 0 in 1 8 0 3 , novels cost about 3s. 6d. per volume; by 1 8 1 3 , they had doubled: Egerton charged 6s. per volume for Pride and Prejudice. 1 6 See Forster, Index 1775-1800. 1 7 Jan Fergus and Ruth Portner, 'Provincial Subscribers to the Monthly and Critical Reviews, and their Book Purchasing', O M Brack J r . , ed., Writers, Books, and Trade: An Eighteenth-Century Miscellany for William B. Todd (New York: A M S Press, 1994), p. 1 6 7 . 18 Samuel Smiles, A Publisher and his Friends: Memoir and Correspondence of the Late John Murray, 2 vols. (London: John Murray, 1 8 9 1 ) , 1:228. 1 9 Mary Russell Mitford, The Life of Mary Russell Mitford, ed. A. G. L'Estrange and William Harness, 3 vols. (London: Richard Bentley, 1 8 7 0 ) , 1:300.

29

JAN

FERGUS

20 I have arrived at these figures by examining the Archives of the House of Longman, microfilmed by Chadwyck-Healey (Cambridge, England), hereafter cited as Longman; I have used Longman's costs for books of comparable length produced at the same time as Austen's to calculate the probable sizes and costs of editions she published with Egerton (whose records do not survive). Because my conclusions about Austen's editions and profits differ significantly from other accounts, I have documented my calculations in detail in the notes to ch. 5 of Jane Austen: A Literary Life; those interested may refer to those notes. The Longman records usefully supplement those of Austen's later publisher John Murray. For very different estimates of Austen's editions and profits, see (among others) Jane Aiken Hodge, 'Jane Austen and her Publishers', John Halperin, ed., Jane Austen: Bicentenary Essays (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 8

1 9 7 5 ) , PP- 7 5 " 5 2 1 Longman reel 1 , 1 / 2 / 1 5 6 . 22 Quoted by David Gilson, A Bibliography of Jane Austen (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1 9 8 2 ) , p. 2 5 . 23 Quoted by Le Faye in William and Richard Arthur Austen-Leigh, revised and enlarged by Deirdre Le Faye, Jane Austen: A Family Record (London: The British Library, 1989), p. 1 6 7 . 24 These estimations are based upon Gilson's bibliographical analysis of the novel: despite being somewhat longer than 5 5 , PP was printed in fewer sheets, 36.5 instead of 38, using slightly smaller type in the second and third volumes. With his own profits at stake, Egerton shaved costs. 25 Robert Lowth, A Short Introduction to English Grammar (1762), p. 58, quoted by K . C. Phillipps, Jane Austen's English (London: André Deutsch, 1970), p. 1 2 5 . 26 See Austen's note of 'Profits of my Novels', reproduced in facsimile in Plan of a Novel (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 192.6); hereafter cited as 'Note on profits'. 27 Sidney Ives, The Trial of Mrs. Leigh Perrot (Boston: Stinehour Press, 1980), p. iii; Deirdre Le Faye conjectures that this fragment was written to Frank Austen, Jane Austen: A Family Record, p. 1 8 8 . 28 Bodleian M S Autog d n / 2 4 4 ; printed in William and Richard Arthur AustenLeigh, Jane Austen: Her Life and Letters. A Family Record, 2nd edition (London: 1 9 1 3 ; reissued N e w York: Russell and Russell, 1965), p. 3 1 1 . 29 Austen must have made over £ 3 1 0 from MP, according to the letter from Henry to John Murray cited later in the text, for Henry asserts that she received from her small edition of 5 5 (£140) and a moderate one of MP more than the £450 Murray had offered for the copyrights of 5 5 , M P , and E. She also invested the bulk of profits from her novels in £600 worth of 'Navy Fives', according to her own 'Note on profits'. Scholars have assumed that this £600 represents clear profit, but in fact 'Navy Fives' always sold at a discount during the period when Austen could have purchased them. Her investment cost her less than £600, and her profits were accordingly smaller than has been assumed. Although we cannot calculate her earnings precisely without knowing the date on which she made her purchase, we can nonetheless infer the size of the first edition of MP and arrive at an approximation of Austen's profits on it. Accordingly, I calculate that she earned from £ 3 1 0 on MP to a little over £ 3 4 7 . 30 Quoted by Gilson, A Bibliography of Jane Austen, pp. 66-7. r

30

The professional woman writer r

3 1 Bodleian M S Autog d n / 2 2 4 ; W. and R . Austen-Leigh, Jane Austen: Her Life and Letters. A Family Record, p. 3 1 0 . 3 2 See 'Note on profits'. 33 Exactly 539 copies of E were remaindered at 2s. apiece on January 2 5 , 1 8 2 1 , 498 copies of MP at 2s. éd., and 282 copies of NA and P at 3s. i d . (Murray Archives, BB 1 / 2 2 8 - 9 ; BB 1 / 2 4 2 - 3 ; BB 2/28-9; Copies Ledger B / 1 5 1 ) . British Library Add. Mss. 46611, ff. 3 0 5 , 3 1 1 , 3 1 3 records the sale of Austen's copyrights to Richard Bentley. Austen and her heirs also received profits on the second edition of Sense and Sensibility, which came to about £ 3 2 during her lifetime, according to her 'Note on profits', and an unknown sum afterwards; the existence of this edition no doubt helped to lower Murray's offer for the three copyrights. 34 Murray Archives, Copies Day Book (CB)/B/i28. 3 5 Le Faye, Jane Austen: A Family Record, pp. 2 1 1 , 2 2 2 . 36 James Edward Austen-Leigh, Memoir of Jane Austen, ed. R. W. Chapman ( 1 9 2 e ; rpt. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1 9 0 7 ) , p. 1 3 8 . The Memoir was originally issued in 1 8 7 0 . 37 For this diagnosis, see Zachary Cope, 'Jane Austen's Last Illness', reprinted in Collected Reports of the Jane Austen Society, 1949-1965 {1967; rpt. Folkestone: William Dawson and Sons, 1990), pp. 2 0 7 - 7 2 . 38 Elizabeth Jenkins, 'Some Banking Accounts of the Austen Family', Annual Report of the Jane Austen Society (1954); rpt. Collected Reports of the Jane Austen Society, 1949-1965, intro. Elizabeth Jenkins (1907; rpt. Overton, Hampshire: Jane Austen Society, 1990), p. 59. 39 Collected Reports, 1966-1975, p. 39 (1967). Legacy duty came to £ i é . i é . 8 ; see Le Faye, Jane Austen: A Family Record, p. 2 3 3 . 40 Murray Archives, Copies Ledger B / 1 4 2 , 1 5 1 . 4 1 Murray Archives, Customer Ledger D/550. 42 Austen had received during her lifetime more than £ 3 1 0 (and up to £347) from MP, £ 2 5 0 from SS and PP, £71.6.1 partial profits on E and the second edition of SS; Cassandra's £ 7 8 4 . 1 1 . 0 from Murray and £ 2 1 0 from Bentley bring the total to £ 1 0 2 5 . 1 7 . 1 at least (see British Library Add. Mss. 46611, ff. 3 0 5 , 3 1 1 , 3 1 3 ) . Some further payments from Egerton for the second edition of SS were certainly also received, and more profit on MP is very likely. 43 Fergus and Thaddeus, 'Women, Publishers, and Money, 1 7 9 0 - 1 8 2 0 ' , p. 2 0 5 , n. 27. 44 Her sister Cassandra had an income of £ 5 0 a year from the legacy of £ 1 , 0 0 0 left her by her fiancé Tom Fowle; her mother had by her own account £ 1 2 2 a year in 1 8 2 0 (Richard A. Austen-Leigh, Austen Papers, 1704-1856 [London: Spottiswoode, Ballantyne, 1 9 4 2 ] , p. 2é4); even her brother Henry after his bankruptcy obtained the curacy of Chawton at 52 guineas a year (Le Faye, Jane Austen: A Family Record, p. 2 1 2 ) . 45 Jan Fergus and Ruth Portner, 'Women, Publishers', passim. 46 Collected Reports of the Jane Austen Society, 1949-1965, intro. Elizabeth Jenkins, 1 9 7 e ; reprinted by the Jane Austen Society, 1 9 9 0 , p. 59 (Report for 1954).

3i

3 RACHEL M. BROWNSTEIN

Northanger Abbey, Sense and Sensibility Pride and Prejudice y

' F o r w h a t d o w e live', M r . Bennet e x c l a i m s to his favourite daughter late in Pride

and Prejudice,

'but to m a k e sport for o u r neighbours, and laugh at

them in o u r turn?' {PP 3 6 4 ) . T h e question is rhetorical - an a n s w e r , not a p r o p e r question - a n d J a n e Austen's m o r a l critics h a v e sternly remonstrated w i t h those w h o read it as the novelist's o w n a n s w e r . T h e y e x p l a i n it a w a y as a n e p i g r a m , only M r . Bennet's p h i l o s o p h y , to be read ironically - by w h i c h they m e a n dismissively. A n d indeed M r . Bennet is particularly obtuse, his w i t ill-advised, w h e n he s a y s w h a t he does while chuckling over the letter in w h i c h M r . Collins reports that his patroness, L a d y Catherine de B o u r g h , d i s a p p r o v e s of a m a r r i a g e between Elizabeth and D a r c y . Earlier in the novel, w h e n her father read a letter from the same unctuous writer, Elizabeth w a s his pleased c o l l a b o r a t o r , a s k i n g , ' C a n he be a sensible m a n , sir?', so M r . Bennet c o u l d complacently reply, ' N o , m y dear; I think not. I h a v e great hopes of finding him quite the reverse. There is a mixture of servility a n d self-importance

in his letter, w h i c h promises well. I a m

impatient to see h i m ' (64). N o w Elizabeth is in love with D a r c y ; she has just refused to p r o m i s e L a d y Catherine de B o u r g h not to m a r r y him; she cannot possibly laugh at w h a t her parent takes to be the absurd r u m o u r of her impending m a r r i a g e ( ' M r . D a r c y , w h o never l o o k s at any w o m a n but to see a blemish, a n d w h o p r o b a b l y never l o o k e d at you in his life!' [ 3 6 3 ] ) . W h e n M r . Bennet urges her to be 'diverted', not 'Missish'

( 3 6 3 - 4 ) , Elizabeth c a n

o n l y muster a strained smile a n d a nervous laugh. ' H e r father h a d m o s t cruelly mortified her, by w h a t he said of M r . D a r c y ' s indifference, a n d she could d o nothing but w o n d e r at such a w a n t of penetration, or fear that p e r h a p s , instead of his seeing t o o little, she might have fancied t o o

much'

( 3 6 4 ) . Because it is glib as well as blind, her father's self-confidence threatens her o w n . W h e n Elizabeth w a s first 'mortified' by D a r c y ' s dismissal of her beauty ('tolerable; but not h a n d s o m e e n o u g h to tempt me'),

she forced a

laugh

her

and

'told

the

story

...

with

great

spirit a m o n g

friends';

M r . Bennet's daughter h a s , after all, 'a lively, playful disposition, w h i c h

32

Northanger Abbey, Sense and Sensibility, Pride and

Prejudice

delighted in any thing ridiculous' ( 1 2 ) . But n o w she is w o r r i e d that D a r c y ' s own

'notions of dignity' might m a k e him accept his aunt's 'ridiculous'

arguments against her; a n d she is w e a k e r than she w a s , living n o w neither to m a k e sport for her neighbours nor to laugh at them, but m o r e a n x i o u s l y and n a r r o w l y for love. T h e sympathetic reader is inclined to deplore M r . Bennet's failure of penetration as Elizabeth does, a n d reflect that it is of a piece w i t h w h a t w e (along w i t h her) h a v e c o m e to recognize as his general insufficiency - as the lax, irresponsible father w h o invited disaster by a l l o w i n g L y d i a to f o l l o w the soldiers to Brighton; the overly caustic parent w h o e m b a r r a s s e d M a r y in public to stop her singing ( ' Y o u h a v e delighted us long e n o u g h ' [ 1 0 1 ] ) , a n d flippantly recommended W i c k h a m to Elizabeth as 'a pleasant fellow, [ w h o ] w o u l d jilt y o u creditably' ( 1 3 8 ) ; the h u s b a n d guilty of breaching d e c o r u m by exposing his wife to the contempt of her daughters. A t this point in the story, one tends not to reflect (as one might) that he b e h a v e d m o r e reason­ ably than not w h e n he refused to lock up his w i l d daughter, silenced his doltish one, teased Elizabeth for a silly infatuation, a n d , y e a r s before, chose the detached pleasures of 'the true philosopher' o v e r m o r e foolish o r vicious occupations w h e n his pretty wife p r o v e d silly a n d 'all his v i e w s of domestic happiness were o v e r t h r o w n '

( 2 3 6 ) . T h e courtship

plot is

approaching

closure, and feeling seems m o r e important than r e a s o n , especially as the dialogue of father a n d daughter in v o l u m e 111 f o l l o w s a long p a s s a g e in the free indirect style that gives us access to Elizabeth's thoughts. M r . Bennet seems a flat, static c o m i c character, merely the sum of his ' q u i c k parts', in comparison to his daughter, w h o has depth a n d feeling as w e l l as ' s o m e ­ thing m o r e of quickness than her sisters' (5). Nevertheless, undercut

as it is by his character

M r . Bennet's remark is p a r t of w h a t Pride

and

and Prejudice

T h e epigram leaps off the p a g e ; like the narrator's

circumstances,

says a n d m e a n s . happy

formulation

about Charlotte L u c a s , that 'without thinking highly either of m e n o r of matrimony, m a r r i a g e h a d a l w a y s been her object' ( 1 2 2 ) , it claims truth by thus leaping, a n d by m o v i n g with authority from the particular to the general. Rejecting great expectations (like Elizabeth's), it s p e a k s to

the

portions of our brains that suspect romantic fiction - portions J a n e A u s t e n has cultivated.

Its e c o n o m i c a l phrasing,

its

symmetry

and

sense,

its

philosophical detachment, are appealing not merely for their o w n sakes but because they are a m o n g this novel's values. M r . Bennet's reflects with striking a c c u r a c y the w o r l d of Pride

and Prejudice,

question in w h i c h

social interactions are the substance of life. E v e n the r o m a n t i c plot begins as Elizabeth m a k e s sport for D a r c y , a n d she laughs at him in her turn; a n d t o w a r d s the end, w h e n J a n e Bennet gets engaged, the n a r r a t o r l o o k s a w a y

33

RACHEL M. BROWNSTEIN

from

the m a i n

characters

to tell us that 'the

Bennets w e r e speedily

p r o n o u n c e d to be the luckiest family in the w o r l d , though only a few w e e k s before . . . they h a d been generally p r o v e d to be m a r k e d out for misfortune' ( 3 5 0 ) . In the w o r l d of A u s t e n ' s novels, all the people w h o d o n ' t inherit p r o p e r t y depend for their lives on w h a t the neighbours say a b o u t them, spend their time e x c h a n g i n g gossip o r ' n e w s ' a b o u t

one

another, a n d quite r e a s o n a b l y feel themselves to be (in the w o r d s of H e n r y Tilney of Northanger

Abbey)

' s u r r o u n d e d by a n e i g h b o u r h o o d of volun­

tary spies' ( N A 1 9 8 ) . It is tempting to r e a d M r . Bennet's r e m a r k as a selfconscious gesture by the novelist: like J a n e A u s t e n , he relishes people and g o s s i p , a n d m o v e s easily from observations a b o u t his fellows to m o r a l p h i l o s o p h y . If his detachment is not e x e m p l a r y , his disinterest is. W h e n w e consider the a n s w e r s that other characters in Pride

and Prejudice

might

give to the big question - if it occurred to them - of w h a t w e live for, Elizabeth's father's

seems not half b a d : living to m a k e sport for our

neighbours a n d to laugh at them in o u r turn is m o r e generous and civil than living to m a k e self-aggrandizing m a r r i a g e s o r to attend to o u r o w n a n d o u r f a m i l y ' s best interests, as most people in the novel, a n d elsewhere, do. M o s t readers will agree that J a n e A u s t e n w a n t s us to condemn those people - m o s t people - but M r . Bennet's p h i l o s o p h y still strikes most as insufficient, antithetical to the values of feeling, s y m p a t h y , a n d love that m o s t people profess. A u s t e n ' s irony t h w a r t s readers in search of straight a n s w e r s to big questions; her novels formulate only to undercut

them.

M e a n w h i l e the seriousness of her irony baffles those readers w h o think w i t must be either decorative o r definitive. I begin here w i t h M r . Bennet because playful a n d purposeful irony seems to me the m o s t important thing about J a n e A u s t e n . O n e of her acquaintances recalled of A u s t e n that 'her keen 1

sense of h u m o u r . . . o o z e d out very m u c h in M r . Bennett's [sic] S t y l e ' , and his accents, o r the m o r e cynical tones of L a R o c h e f o u c a u l d , are audible in a g o s s i p y letter she w r o t e to her sister C a s s a n d r a in 1 7 9 9 : 'Whenever I fall into misfortune, h o w m a n y jokes it o u g h t to furnish to m y acquaintance in general, o r I shall die dreadfully in their debt for entertainment' (L 3 8 ) . B u t m y a r g u m e n t here is not biographical; n o r d o I p r o p o s e to take issue with H e n r y A u s t e n ' s n e r v o u s insistence that his sister ' d r e w from nature; but, w h a t e v e r m a y h a v e been surmised to the contrary, never from individuals' ( ' M e m o i r ' , NA,

P 7 - 8 ) . R a t h e r , I w a n t to consider the conjunctions of

r o m a n t i c narrative a n d ironic c o m m e n t a r y in J a n e Austen's first three fulllength n o v e l s , Northanger

Abbey,

Sense

and

Sensibility,

and Pride

and

Prejudice. T h e s e novels present themselves as a g r o u p on the basis of a 'memor34

Northanger Abbey, Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice a n d u m ' C a s s a n d r a A u s t e n jotted d o w n after her sister's death, stating that all three were drafted in the 1 7 9 0 s . B e c a u s e they w e r e published m u c h later and no manuscripts s u r v i v e , it is impossible to k n o w h o w closely the drafts correspond to the novels as w e k n o w them, o r w h a t revisions w e r e m a d e and w h e n J a n e A u s t e n m a d e them, o r w h i c h novels should rightly be considered her first, second, a n d third. Sense and Sensibility the w o r k s to be published, but a version of Pride Impressions Abbey

w a s the first of

and Prejudice

called First

w a s p r o b a b l y the first long n o v e l she completed;

Northanger

remained in manuscript until after the novelist's death, but

Susan,

the first novel she sold to a publisher, w h o advertised but failed to print it, w a s evidently a version of the b o o k that finally a p p e a r e d in 1 8 1 8 . A s the facts, such as they are, prevent a critic from relying o n the standard plot of g r o w t h and development, they free her to devise another one. T h i s essay will consider the w a y s irony interrogates r o m a n c e a n d romanticism, in these three novels. I will conclude w i t h Pride and Prejudice

because it p r o v i d e s a

happy ending, the balance of forces being m o s t strenuous a n d perfect there: disengagement from r o m a n c e is a simpler pleasure in Northanger and in Sense and Sensibility

Abbey,

both satire a n d sentiment are m o r e p r o b l e m a t i c .

J a n e Austen, in her twenties, is easily i m a g i n e d as asking herself w h a t w e write novels for, and a n s w e r i n g that she for one w r o t e to criticize a n d perfect the form. H e r early novels are all brilliantly a w a r e of themselves as novels - heroine-centred domestic fictions of a kind that became p o p u l a r in the w a k e of Samuel R i c h a r d s o n ' s Pamela

( 1 7 4 2 ) a n d Clarissa

(1747-8). By

the time she began writing, the genre h a d been w i d e l y criticized o n m o r a l and aesthetic g r o u n d s . F o c u s e d o n the education a n d courtship of a virtuous virgin, courtship novels - m a n y of them by w o m e n - reflected the concerns of a culture in change, w h i c h debated the nature of authority a n d personal distinction, and the value of sentiment a n d the sentient self. T h e w o m a n centred novel w a s deliberately didactic, conscious of setting standards of morality and b e h a v i o u r in a w o r l d that w a n t e d them. It w a s critical of mere materialism; it v a l u e d genteel m a n n e r s , female subjectivity, w o m e n ' s lives, and affection in m a r r i a g e , a n d a b o v e all the unique, superior, integral self. Novels a b o u t a y o u n g w o m a n ' s courtship a n d m a r r i a g e - crucial to the cultural revolution w e call romanticism - w e r e J a n e Austen's favourite reading; the novels she w r o t e in her turn l a u g h at them in M r . Bennet's spirit, conscious of being novels themselves. E m b r a c i n g a n d p a r o d y i n g the novel form, Austen keeps a neighbourly distance from its tropes

and

premises, seeing them as analogues of her culture's conventions a n d v a l u e s . H e r sense of the novel's limits permeates her m o r a l , witty fictions, offering itself - in lieu of a n y ideal romantic heroine, in place of a n y clear didactic message - as a model of h u m a n b e h a v i o u r .

35

RACHEL M.

BROWNSTEIN

NORTHANGER

ABBEY

T h e m i x e d m o c k e r y a n d defence of fiction in Northanger

Abbey

is evident

from the first sentence, w h i c h (like the m o r e famous first sentence of and Prejudice)

Pride

repeats so as to m o c k w h a t the neighbours (other writers a n d

readers) think a n d s a y . H e r e the subject is the idea of a heroine: ' N o one w h o h a d ever seen Catherine M o r l a n d in her infancy, w o u l d h a v e supposed her b o r n to be a n heroine' (NA

1 3 ) . C l e a r l y ' n o o n e ' , i.e. everyone, is

w r o n g . Catherine, n a m e d in the first sentence of a novel, is sure to be a heroine, w h a t e v e r that m e a n s . A l o n g w i t h those conditional verbs, the initiating negative, the excessive emphasis, the peculiar pauses imposed by the c o m m a a n d the queer ' a n ' before 'heroine' that forces one to say it (here, but n o w h e r e else) w i t h a n e x t r a - h a r d aspirate or n o 'h' at all - all these serve to question the very idea of a heroine. E v e n if w e k n o w nothing about the b o o k s that Catherine's neighbours read, w e h a v e n o trouble

under­

standing that idea, or the reasons w h y Catherine w o u l d seem a n unlikely heroine. She is plain, not beautiful, a n d h a p p y a n d healthy rather than victimized a n d pathetic. Preferring rolling d o w n a hill, a n d b o y s ' g a m e s , to 'the m o r e heroic enjoyments of infancy, nursing a d o r m o u s e , feeding a c a n a r y - b i r d , o r w a t e r i n g a rose-bush' ( 1 3 ) , she is unfeminine. N u r t u r i n g is not her g a m e - until she g r o w s u p a n d begins to curl her hair a n d read the b o o k s that e n c o u r a g e a girl to b e h a v e like other girls - that is, like that extraordinary

representation

of

conventional

femininity,

a

romantic

heroine. M o c k i n g the implausible e x a g g e r a t i o n s and clichés of novelists, J a n e A u s t e n simultaneously suggests that these reflect society's expectations of genteel girls. A s Catherine becomes a heroine inevitably, by g r o w i n g up, A u s t e n m a k e s the point that social a n d literary conventions collaborate with b i o l o g y to construct femininity - m u c h as Simone de B e a u v o i r does in The Second

Sex, w h e r e she m e m o r a b l y declares, ' O n e is not born, but rather 2

becomes, a w o m a n . ' If the novelist is less outraged by her insight than the twentieth-century polemicist is, she is also m o r e c h a r y than de B e a u v o i r of the r o m a n t i c idea of the heroic o r transcendent self. C o n c l u d i n g her introduction of Catherine, the narrator writes that ' w h e n a y o u n g l a d y is to be a heroine, the perverseness of forty

surrounding

families c a n n o t prevent her. Something must a n d will happen to t h r o w a hero in her w a y ' ( 1 6 - 1 7 ) . Northanger

Abbey

sets a b o u t to m a k e a heroine

of Catherine M o r l a n d in the m a n n e r of sentimental novelists, by arranging the y o u n g l a d y ' s entrance into the social w o r l d . Ineptly chaperoned by empty-headed M r s . A l l e n , she is taken from her father's country parish, w h e r e heroes are hard to c o m e b y , to the resort city of B a t h : location will turn out to be as important as a hero o r a novelist in m a k i n g a y o u n g lady a

36

Northanger Abbey, Sense and Sensibility, Pride and

Prejudice

heroine. In B a t h , ignorant Catherine sets a b o u t to learn w h a t the manners of g o o d society are a n d w h a t they mean a n d m a s k , a n d h o w to b e h a v e herself a n d judge others; later, at N o r t h a n g e r A b b e y , she is threatened by the more inchoate a n d intimate sinister forces of the e p o n y m o u s a b b e y a n d her o w n imagination, a n d her education continues. T h a t Catherine does not in fact change or learn very much - her mind being, first a n d last, ' w a r p e d by an innate principle of general integrity' ( 2 1 9 ) , in H e n r y T i l n e y ' s w r y formulation - is an ironic comment on novels of education. A s Catherine reads a n d discusses gothic novels in B a t h , a n d schemes to visit a castle in the neighbourhood,

A u s t e n elides the differences between

didactic,

moral

domestic novels a n d the m o r e sensational a n d fantastic gothic novels that were the r a g e in the 1 7 9 0 s . Northanger

Abbey's

take on tropes of

fiction,

kinds of readers, a n d modes of reading is t o o t h o r o u g h l y riddled w i t h ironies to a l l o w one to categorize it c o m f o r t a b l y as p a r o d y o r pastiche. Austen's most sustained defence of fiction occurs at the end of the fifth chapter of the first v o l u m e of this novel. It is presented as a digression - a n abrupt disengagement, really - from the a c c o u n t of C a t h e r i n e ' s

swiftly

developing intimacy with Isabella T h o r p e . T h e y o u n g ladies, the n a r r a t o r reports, are such great friends that if a rainy morning deprived them of other enjoyments, they were still resolute in meeting in defiance of wet and dirt, and shut themselves up, to read novels together. Yes, novels; - for I will not adopt that ungenerous and impolitic custom so common with novel writers, of degrading by their contemptuous censure the very performances, to the number of which they are themselves adding - joining with their greatest enemies in bestowing the harshest epithets on such works, and scarcely ever permitting them to be read by their own heroine, who, if she accidentally take up a novel, is sure to turn over its insipid pages with disgust. (37) The language in w h i c h other novelists are criticized is violent; the pleasure in departing from their practice is gleeful. Still, the writer insists that novels, 'which h a v e only genius, wit, and taste to r e c o m m e n d them', are vastly superior to the 'threadbare strains' of reviewers a n d the productions of literary h a c k s , 'the nine-hundredth abridger of the H i s t o r y of E n g l a n d , or . . . the m a n w h o collects and publishes in a v o l u m e s o m e dozen lines of M i l t o n , P o p e , a n d Prior, with a paper from the Spectator, a n d a chapter from Sterne' ( 3 7 - 8 ) . She m a k e s a stirring declaration of solidarity with her fellows ('Alas! if the heroine of one novel be not patronized by the heroine of another, from w h o m can she expect protection a n d r e g a r d ? . . . L e t us not desert one another; w e are an injured b o d y ' [ 3 7 ] ) , n a m i n g individuals 'Cecilia, o r C a m i l l a , o r Belinda', novels, or heroines - as m e m b e r s of this 37

RACHEL M.

BROWNSTEIN

' b o d y ' . N o v e l s are conflated w i t h heroines, novelists praised for exhibiting 'the greatest p o w e r s of the m i n d . . . the m o s t t h o r o u g h k n o w l e d g e of h u m a n nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of w i t a n d h u m o u r ' ( 3 8 ) . A u s t e n ' s defence of the gothic novels that Catherine a n d Isabella read a n d talk a b o u t , w h i c h this declaration conspicuously ignores, will also rest o n their truth to - their imbrication in - h u m a n

nature.

F a v o u r i n g individuals o v e r abstractions, m o v i n g swiftly from the specific to the

philosophical

and

general,

the

narrator's

rhetoric

is

very

like

M r . Bennet's. Catherine's necessary h e r o is introduced to her altogether prosaically, as a dancing partner, by the master of ceremonies w h o s e j o b it is to m a k e such introductions. R o m a n t i c fiction is implicitly d e b u n k e d by this event, also by the fact that Catherine likes H e n r y T i l n e y immediately, a n d that that m a k e s him like her: far from being o v e r w h e l m e d by her heroinical qualities, 'a persuasion of her partiality for him [is] the only cause of giving her a serious t h o u g h t ' ( 2 4 3 ) . T h e tropes of stock r o m a n c e are p a r o d i e d as, for instance, the requisite separation of the lovers is effected by Isabella T h o r p e a n d her brother J o h n , w h o physically restrain Catherine, each holding onto one a r m , w h e n she struggles to f o l l o w H e n r y a n d his sister d o w n the street. L o n g i n g for the m o r e elegant T i l n e y s , o u r heroine is entangled with the v u l g a r T h o r p e s , because she w a s so q u i c k l y taken up by the importunate, scheming Isabella - w h o as it turns out is being courted by her o w n brother J a m e s . T h e several brother-and-sister

pairs, a n d Catherine's

infatuation

w i t h both the sisters as w e l l as one of the brothers, m a k e for an ironically unerotic atmosphere in this r o m a n c e : H e n r y ' s clever chaste c o m p a r i s o n of m a r r i a g e to a country d a n c e reflects the n o v e l ' s sassy sexlessness. N a m e d perhaps after J a n e A u s t e n ' s favourite brother, but perhaps after 3

8 0 per cent of the heroes of the novels she h a d r e a d , H e n r y Tilney is an unconventional r o m a n t i c h e r o , 'not quite h a n d s o m e ' , though 'very near it' ( 2 5 ) , a n d w o m a n i s h l y k n o w l e d g e a b l e a b o u t not only fiction but fabrics. H e is dominated a n d intimidated b y his o v e r b e a r i n g father, the G e n e r a l , himself 'a v e r y h a n d s o m e m a n , of a c o m m a n d i n g aspect, past the b l o o m , but not past the v i g o u r of life' (80). It is G e n e r a l T i l n e y , not his son, w h o pointedly relishes Catherine's physical attractions, appreciating the elasticity of her w a l k - a n d causing her to w a l k o n ' w i t h great elasticity, though she h a d never thought of it before' ( 1 0 3 ) . (Sir T h o m a s Bertram of Mansfield

Park,

another propertied paterfamilias, a l s o m a k e s a y o u n g w o m a n blush by appreciating her b o d y . ) T h e G e n e r a l invites Catherine to

Northanger

A b b e y : misinformed that she is a n heiress, he means to m a r r y her to his c l e r g y m a n son. (His older s o n Frederick, w h o will inherit

Northanger

A b b e y , is a military m a n like his father, a n d a rake.) T h e coincidence of the

38

Northanger Abbey, Sense and Sensibility, Pride and

Prejudice

heroine's motive a n d the villain's, along w i t h the hero's passivity, are a m o n g the nice ironies that m a k e this r o m a n c e so cheerful. The sexy G e n e r a l is c o m m a n d i n g , a n d w h e n he instructs Catherine to ride in H e n r y ' s open curricle she agrees, even t h o u g h she has a l r e a d y learned and m a n a g e d to get M r . Allen to a c k n o w l e d g e - that it is i m p r o p e r for a y o u n g lady to ride alone w i t h a gentleman in a n o p e n c a r r i a g e . In the carriage H e n r y sets her u p to expect 'all the h o r r o r s that a building such as " w h a t one reads a b o u t " m a y p r o d u c e ' ( 1 5 7 ) . H e e n c o u r a g e s her to e x p e c t to be lodged in a ' g l o o m y c h a m b e r - t o o lofty a n d extensive for y o u , w i t h only the feeble r a y s of a single l a m p to take in its size - its w a l l s hung w i t h tapestry exhibiting figures as large as life, a n d the bed, of d a r k green stuff o r purple velvet, presenting even a funereal a p p e a r a n c e ' . O v e r r i d i n g her g o o d humoured, sensible protests that w h a t he projects is impossible ('This is just like a b o o k ! - B u t it c a n n o t really h a p p e n to m e ' [ 1 5 9 ] ) , he predicts w h a t she will find in the secret chambers of the a b b e y in the matter-of-fact flat tones of the fiction that has captivated Catherine: 'In one p e r h a p s there m a y be a dagger, in another a few drops of b l o o d , a n d in a third the remains of some instrument of torture; but there being nothing in all this o u t of the c o m m o n w a y , and y o u r l a m p being nearly e x h a u s t e d , y o u will return towards y o u r o w n apartment' ( 1 6 0 ) . Catherine continues to protest that she is nothing like a gothic heroine, but she is d r a w n in b y the familiar f o r m u l a s ; because she likes him, she falls for attractive H e n r y T i l n e y ' s skilful straightfaced teasing even though she w a s able to recognize it for w h a t it w a s from the beginning, in B a t h , w h e n he solemnly discussed the durability a n d cost of muslin w i t h M r s . A l l e n , a n d she feared 'as she listened to their discourse, that he indulged himself a little t o o m u c h w i t h the foibles of others' ( 2 9 ) . Once they reach the a b b e y , a n d the c o o p e r a t i v e elements p r o v i d e the requisite storm, Catherine begins to imagine gothic h o r r o r s . F o r all its modern kitchens that are the G e n e r a l ' s particular pride, N o r t h a n g e r A b b e y w a s 'a richly-endowed convent at the time of the R e f o r m a t i o n ' ( 1 4 2 ) a n d it is still redolent of the sinister spirituality a n d r o m a n c e of a repudiated religion, therefore

of stories like A n n Radcliffe's

dangerous, exotic continent

that are set o n

the

of E u r o p e . T h e G e n e r a l is i m p o s i n g ; his

children are afraid of him; to Catherine, it is logical to imagine that he must have murdered his wife in the A b b e y . Catherine is energetic, curious, a n d only seventeen; she has longed to visit an atmospheric old building the w a y she has w a n t e d to dance, to w a l k , to learn to appreciate the picturesque, and to love a hyacinth. She is nothing like a q u i x o t i c , deluded, isolated reader w h o prefers r o m a n t i c fantasies to the actual w o r l d : w h i l e J a n e Austen enjoyed Charlotte L e n n o x ' s The Female Eaton Stannard Barrett's The Heroine

39

Quixote

( 1 8 1 5 ) , Northanger

( 1 7 5 2 ) a n d , later, Abbey

departs

RACHEL M. BROWN STEIN

from the C e r v a n t e a n m o d e l . N o t only is Catherine too modest to presume herself a heroine of r o m a n c e , but it w o u l d be hard for a n y girl to d o so in a w o r l d like hers, w h e r e people read novels, a n d discuss them together Catherine a n d Isabella T h o r p e , a n d also H e n r y T i l n e y , w h o finished Mysteries

of Udolpho

-

The

in t w o d a y s , his 'hair standing on end the w h o l e time'

( 1 0 6 ) , after he m a d e off w i t h his sister's c o p y of the novel w h e n their reading a l o u d w a s interrupted.

(The thorough

i n a d e q u a c y of H e n r y ' s

w o u l d - b e r i v a l J o h n T h o r p e is clear from his ignorance of novels - as well as his l o u d , p r o f a n e , slangy talk, w h i c h he directs at his horse w h e n he takes Catherine out for a drive. W h e r e H e n r y ' s style is personal a n d his tastes are feminine, m a c h o T h o r p e will only admit to h a v i n g r e a d risqué novels by men, Tom Jones

a n d The

Monk.)

Catherine is t o o n a i v e a n d unselfconscious to keep anything like H e n r y ' s a m u s e d distance from novels; she especially admires Isabella for sounding like 'all the heroines of her acquaintance' ( 1 1 9 ) , a n d has nothing but a n e w publication in mind w h e n she expects 'that something very shocking indeed, will s o o n c o m e out in L o n d o n ' ( 1 1 2 ) . W e are persuaded to think her absurd for h a v i n g horrific 'visions of r o m a n c e ' ( 1 9 9 ) a b o u t the G e n e r a l - but then, o n the other h a n d , they p r o v e to be substantially correct. N o wife-murderer, he is evil in a c o m m o n p l a c e w a y - a greedy, scheming, rude social climber; w h e n he discovers that she is not rich after all, he ejects p o o r Catherine from his house w i t h o u t ceremony, o r e x p l a n a t i o n , or p o c k e t m o n e y , at a n u n c o m f o r t a b l y early h o u r of the morning, forcing her to travel h o m e alone in a public c o n v e y a n c e , therefore in some degree of danger. Insensitive, inhospitable, a n d selfish, obsessed w i t h m a r r y i n g his children for m o n e y , he is a villain of ' c o m m o n life', not r o m a n c e . T h e m o r a l w o u l d seem to be that o u r heroine's instincts w e r e g o o d guides to truth - perhaps even that they w e r e g o o d because they w e r e informed by gothic novels a b o u t vulnerable w o m e n persecuted b y powerful men. But one is w a r n e d a w a y from that conclusion as, at the end, the question of a m o r a l is explicitly begged. T h e h a p p y ending r e w a r d s nearly everyone as the n a r r a t o r , w i n k i n g at the reader, marries Catherine a n d H e n r y a n d even finds a m o n g the incidental dramatis

personae

a h u s b a n d for M i s s

Tilney, w h o s e n e w title a l l o w s the G e n e r a l the pleasure of addressing his daughter as ' M y L a d y ' . T h e n a r r a t o r ostentatiously leaves 'it to be settled by w h o m s o e v e r it m a y concern, whether the tendency of this w o r k be altogether to r e c o m m e n d parental tyranny, o r r e w a r d filial disobedience' ( 2 5 2 ) . M o c k i n g l y rejecting these inversions of c o m m o n p l a c e m o r a l s a n d the typical ones they p a r o d y , A u s t e n offers, in place of a n y advice o n living, this novel that c o m p a r e s a n d contrasts itself to its romantic, didactic fellows, its heroine to other heroines. T h e literary satire of Northanger

40

Abbey

mod-

Northanger Abbey, Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice ulates smoothly into c o m m e n t a r y on m o s t people's l a n g u a g e , w h i c h is so very different from 'the best chosen l a n g u a g e ' (38) of novelists: Isabella T h o r p e ' s lies and fluent endearments a n d inflated expostulations,

her

brother J o h n ' s profane bluster, a n d the bland inanities of M r s . Allen, w h o 'as she never talked a great deal, so she could never be entirely silent; a n d , therefore, while she sat at her w o r k , if she lost her needle o r b r o k e her thread, if she heard a carriage in the street, o r s a w a speck u p o n her g o w n , she must observe it a l o u d , whether there w e r e a n y one at leisure to a n s w e r her or not' (60). H e n r y Tilney is the novel's hero because he m o c k s c o m m o n p l a c e s , p r o n o u n c i n g professorially on the style of w o m e n ' s letters and journals a n d the loose overuse of w o r d s like ' a m a z i n g l y ' a n d 'nice', a n d m a n a g i n g to put himself nearly in the frame of the story, alongside the narrator, w h e n he first meets Catherine a n d anticipates the figure he'll cut in the journal he's sure she keeps: I know exactly what you will say: Friday, went to the Lower Rooms; wore my sprigged muslin robe with blue trimmings - plain black shoes - appeared to much advantage; but was strangely harassed by a queer, half-witted man, who would make me dance with him, and distressed me by his nonsense. (26) (Poor Catherine doesn't k n o w w h a t to s a y , but recognizes this as clever.) Like M r . Bennet, H e n r y is self-indulgent a n d sometimes goes t o o far, being too quick to see himself as others might see him. B u t he shines, in a w o r l d where it is not possible to transcend the c o m m o n lot or the

common

language, by seeing conventions a n d fictions for the near relations they are, and appreciating a n d using them for his purposes. Briefly at a loss for language w h e n he discovers Catherine's suspicions a b o u t his father, he charges her w i t h having 'formed a surmise of such h o r r o r as I h a v e h a r d l y w o r d s to - ' ( 1 9 7 ) . H e m a n a g e s , h o w e v e r , to reprimand her fluently, m a k i n g a charming fine distinction, as he does s o , between her c o n v e n t i o n a l , outlandish fantasies a n d Catherine herself: 'Dearest M i s s M o r l a n d , w h a t ideas h a v e y o u been admitting?' ( 1 9 8 ) . Catherine, H e n r y ' s counterpart, is this novel's heroine because she c a n give n e w meaning to a v a i l a b l e clichés. W h e n she chats in the P u m p - r o o m with E l e a n o r Tilney, the n a r r a t o r tells us, 'though in all probability not a n observation w a s m a d e , nor an expression used by either w h i c h h a d not been m a d e a n d used some t h o u s a n d s of times before, under that roof, in every Bath season, yet the merit of their being s p o k e n w i t h simplicity a n d truth, and without personal conceit, might be something u n c o m m o n ' ( 7 2 ) . T h e meanings of ' c o m m o n ' , a w o r d related to ' c o m m u n a l ' , range from ' p e r v a ­ sive', to ' b a n a l ' ; ' u n c o m m o n ' can m e a n 'implausible' a n d also ' r a r e ' . B o t h w o r d s occur frequently in Northanger

Abbey, 41

w h i c h contrasts the implausi-

RACHEL M.

BROWNSTEIN

bilities of r o m a n c e w i t h the c o m m o n p l a c e s of c o m m o n life - ordinary life, the life w e lead in c o m m o n - only to s h o w that the t w o have much in c o m m o n . M o c k i n g conventions

a n d clichés, it suggests that they

are

inescapable - a n d that the best a n d m o s t interesting w a y to live is with a w a r e n e s s of them, a n d in d i a l o g u e , as this novel is, with others.

SENSE Sense

and Sensibility

AND

SENSIBILITY

( 1 8 1 1 ) a n d Bride

m o r e ambitious novels t h a n Northanger

and Prejudice Abbey:

( 1 8 1 3 ) are longer,

in both, the literary satire is

subtler a n d the social satire b r o a d e r , a n d the narrator's engagement with the heroine a n d the fiction is m o r e c o m p l e x . T h e similar symmetrical titles invite the reader to see the novels as a pair, p r o p o s i n g different views of r o m a n c e a n d reality, the self a n d the neighbours, love a n d laughter. M o s t of the laughter in Sense and Sensibility

is h o l l o w : those w h o laugh

m o s t are m o s t u n a w a r e that they themselves m a k e sport for their neigh­ bours. W h e n fastidious M a r i a n n e D a s h w o o d corrects him for using a cliché, declaring that she a b h o r s 'every c o m m o n - p l a c e phrase by w h i c h w i t is intended', bluff Sir J o h n M i d d l e t o n doesn't understand her - 'but he laughed as heartily as if he d i d ' {SS 4 5 ) . H i s jolly but coarse mother-in-law, Mrs.

J e n n i n g s , m a k e s c l u m s y , stupid jokes - at w h i c h nearly everyone

laughs -

a b o u t E l i n o r D a s h w o o d ' s lover w h o s e n a m e starts with ' F ' ,

perverting w i t by establishing 'its character as the wittiest letter in the alphabet' ( 1 2 . 5 ) . M r s . J e n n i n g s ' silly second daughter, M r s . Palmer, laughs all the time at nothing, hardest of all w h e n her d o u r , sour, unpleasant h u s b a n d ignores her: ' " M r . Palmer does not hear m e , " said she, laughing, "he never does sometimes. It is so r i d i c u l o u s ! ' " ( 1 0 7 ) . She anticipates the absurdity of his election to Parliament w i t h m o r e laughter: ' " H o w I shall laugh! It will be so ridiculous to see all his letters directed to him with an M . P . ' " ( 1 1 3 ) . E d w a r d F e r r a r s , E l i n o r ' s lover, has a foppish brother R o b e r t who

is as a m u s e d b y the church as M r s . Palmer is by the state; w h e n told

that E d w a r d has finally chosen a profession, ' H e laughed most i m m o d e ­ rately. T h e idea of E d w a r d ' s being a c l e r g y m a n , a n d living in a small p a r s o n a g e - h o u s e , diverted him b e y o n d measure; - and w h e n to that w a s a d d e d the fanciful i m a g e r y of E d w a r d reading prayers in a white surplice, a n d publishing the banns of m a r r i a g e between J o h n Smith a n d M a r y B r o w n , he c o u l d conceive nothing m o r e ridiculous' (298). Elinor a n d M a r i a n n e D a s h w o o d , the novel's earnest a n d self-conscious heroines, register the failings of their neighbours with m o r e pain than pleasure, scornful M a r i a n n e usually averting her eyes while Elinor struggles civilly to keep her countenance. A l t h o u g h L a d y M i d d l e t o n , 'because they 42

Northanger Abbey, Sense and Sensibility, Pride and

Prejudice

were fond of reading, . . . fancied them satirical', the D a s h w o o d sisters are hardly that; only the narrator is satirical, o b s e r v i n g that L a d y M i d d l e t o n used the w o r d 'perhaps

without

exactly k n o w i n g w h a t it w a s to

be

satirical; but that did not signify. It w a s censure in c o m m o n use, a n d easily given' ( 2 4 6 ) . Sense and Sensibility c o m m o n p l a c e s as Northanger

is as critical of literary a n d linguistic

Abbey

is, a n d its definitions of distinction

are m o r e discriminating. A s M a r i l y n Butler o b s e r v e s , it resembles didactic novels by M r s . W e s t a n d M a r i a E d g e w o r t h that w e r e published a r o u n d the time it w a s drafted, w h i c h c o m p a r e a n d contrast 'the beliefs a n d conduct of t w o protagonists - with the object of finding one i n v a r i a b l y right a n d the other i n v a r i a b l y w r o n g ' .

4

T h e presence of the third, y o u n g e s t D a s h w o o d

sister, M a r g a r e t , hints at Austen's intention to diverge from this pattern. Sense and Sensibility

corrects the typical didactic e m p h a s i s by refusing to

choose between M a r i a n n e a n d Elinor. W h i l e the action of the novel is mediated by the consciousness of the prudent sister, the narrative r e w a r d s both equally. M a r i a n n e and Elinor are m o r e interestingly alike than they are different. T h e first chapter a c k n o w l e d g e s that M a r i a n n e has sense as well as sensi­ bility, a n d that Elinor has 'an excellent heart' (6), a n d strong feelings as well as prudence. T h e opposing values of r o m a n c e a n d practical realism are debated as each sister takes issue w i t h the c o n d u c t a n d the 'doctrine' of the other. M a r i a n n e loves the poetry of C o w p e r a n d Scott, a n d

picturesque

landscapes; she believes in first and passionate l o v e , a meeting of tastes a n d minds; she trusts her feelings to guide her conduct. E l i n o r is m o r e circum­ spect, m o r e a w a r e of h o w the self interacts w i t h others; in her v i e w , conventions are necessary and even useful. T h e sisters are devoted to one another, but they can be cutting in debate, as w h e n M a r i a n n e pretends to think E l i n o r believes that 'our judgments w e r e given us merely to

be

subservient to those of o u r neighbours' (94). E a c h e x a g g e r a t e s a n d observes and indeed seems deliberately to fashion herself as her sister's opposite. M a r i a n n e depends for her identity on E l i n o r ' s watchful judgments of her; Elinor fears the force of M a r i a n n e ' s s y m p a t h y . Elinor's v i e w of the self as social, not isolated, is a l s o the

narrator's.

W h e n M a r i a n n e ' s lover inexplicably leaves t o w n , the characterization of her

as

Abbey's

a

would-be

romantic

heroine

is

reminiscent

of

Northanger

satire; the difference is made by the emphasis o n the feelings of

others:

Marianne would have thought herself very inexcusable had she been able to sleep at all the first night after parting from Willoughby. She would have been ashamed to look her family in the face the next morning, had she not risen 43

RACHEL M.

BROWNSTEIN

from her bed in more need of repose than when she lay down in it. But the feelings which made such composure a disgrace, left her in no danger of incurring it. She was awake the whole night, and she wept the greatest part of it. She got up with an headache, was unable to talk, and unwilling to take any nourishment; giving pain every moment to her mother and sisters, and forbidding all attempt at consolation from either. Her sensibility was potent enough! (83) L a t e r , the social a n d p s y c h o l o g i c a l dangers of s h o w i n g feeling are excruciat­ ingly dramatized as M a r i a n n e insists o n claiming intimacy with W i l l o u g h b y in a c r o w d e d b a l l r o o m . In contrast, prudent Elinor painfully hears out L u c y Steele's story of E d w a r d F e r r a r s ' secret engagement to her under cover of the noise a n d music in L a d y M i d d l e t o n ' s d r a w i n g r o o m . T h e n , heartbroken b y the revelation of w h a t she constrains herself to think of, conventionally, as L u c y ' s secret, she says nothing a b o u t it to her mother a n d sisters, w h o h a v e a s s u m e d , w i t h her, that E d w a r d ' s mother is the only impediment to her m a r r y i n g him: It was a relief to her, to be spared the communication of what would give such affliction to them, and to be saved likewise from hearing that condemnation of Edward, which would probably flow from the excess of their partial affection for herself, and which was more than she felt equal to support. From their counsel, or their conversation she knew she could receive no assistance, their tenderness and sorrow must add to her distress, while her selfcommand would neither receive encouragement from their example nor from their praise. She was stronger alone, and her own good sense so well supported her, that her firmness was as unshaken, her appearance of cheerfulness as invariable, as with regrets so poignant and so fresh, it was possible for them to be. (141) E l i n o r ' s self-control is contingent, dependent on her control of others. T h e difference between her chilling chat w i t h L u c y and Catherine M o r l a n d ' s sincere e x c h a n g e of c o m m o n p l a c e s w i t h E l e a n o r Tilney in the P u m p - r o o m at B a t h suggests the difference between the v i e w s of h u m a n nature a n d h u m a n relations in Sense and Sensibility

a n d Northanger

Abbey.

As Lucy

'confesses' so as to steer E l i n o r a w a y from E d w a r d , in an effort to get him b a c k , a n d E l i n o r seeks to find out the hurtful truth while convincing L u c y of her perfect serenity a n d propriety, the y o u n g w o m e n use w h a t looks like an intimate e x c h a n g e to strengthen the facades that conceal and serve their o p p o s i n g purposes. T h e w o r l d is w i d e r in Sense Abbey:

and

Sensibility

than it is in

Northanger

C o l o n e l B r a n d o n has been in the E a s t Indies, and he could talk,

w e r e he only lively e n o u g h , a b o u t ' n a b o b s , gold mohrs, a n d palanquins' 44

Northanger Abbey, Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice ( 5 1 ) ; the heroines m o v e a r o u n d E n g l a n d , shuttled by their shifting fortunes from Sussex to D e v o n s h i r e to L o n d o n to Somerset. B u t as other people's lives and histories impinge on theirs, M a r i a n n e ' s a n d E l i n o r ' s m o v e s (to a small cottage, suffocating c r o w d e d r o o m s , a n d finally adjoining properties, at the very end) seem constricting. While the cultivated D a s h w o o d sisters argue a b o u t right c o n d u c t a n d the picturesque, instead of hunting for m e n , contrasting pairs of sisters underscore o r undercut their superiority a n d gentility, a n d perhaps even the importance of the contrast between them: big-mouthed N a n c y a n d small-eyed L u c y Steele, w h o m e a n to m a r r y as well as possible, a n d polite L a d y M i d d l e t o n a n d inappropriate M r s . P a l m e r , w h o already h a v e . L u c y ' s calculating a p p r o a c h to life a n d her prohibited love affair with E d w a r d caricature E l i n o r ' s , a n d the passionate love that nearly destroys M a r i a n n e is elaborately p a r o d i e d by the story of the t w o Elizas that C o l o n e l B r a n d o n tells. T h e details of that story - a callous parent committed

to primogeniture, brothers

at o d d s w i t h one another,

two

w o m e n ' s lives irrecoverably lost - echo the n o v e l ' s plots, a n d its themes of selfishness and greed. Debates a b o u t taste seem a l u x u r y , a n d true gentility a romantic dream, as a divorce a n d a couple of seductions, a fall into a life of sin and an illegitimate birth, a secret engagement a n d even a duel, touch the lives of scrupulous a n d sensitive M a r i a n n e a n d E l i n o r D a s h w o o d . Catherine M o r l a n d ' s adventures begin w h e n she leaves her

healthy,

normal family; their c l i m a x comes w h e n G e n e r a l T i l n e y forces her to leave his house. In contrast, E l i n o r a n d M a r i a n n e D a s h w o o d are cast out of their home to begin w i t h , b y their o w n close relatives. A chronicle of deaths in the family begins their story. W h e n his sister a n d housekeeper died, the o w n e r of N o r l a n d P a r k , 'a single m a n ' , invited his n e p h e w a n d heir H e n r y D a s h w o o d , w i t h his wife a n d three daughters, to live on the estate so as to care for him; the subsequent death of 'the old G e n t l e m a n ' ensured the loss of their h o m e , w h i c h he left to the father of the D a s h w o o d girls, a n d then his son by a former m a r r i a g e and that son's son, a child w h o s e o r d i n a r y infantile charms m a d e the old m a n forget 'all the attention w h i c h , for y e a r s , he had received from his niece a n d her daughters'. T h e death of H e n r y D a s h w o o d a n d the o c c u p a t i o n of N o r l a n d by the greedy J o h n D a s h w o o d s initiate the action. T h e n a r r a t o r ' s even tone implies it is as certain as death that men merely use dependent w o m e n , that virtue goes u n r e w a r d e d , that ingratitude, caprice, a n d selfishness prevail, that people d o active h a r m a n d yet remain respectable. T h e D a s h w o o d family h a d lived for generations 'in so respectable a m a n n e r , as to engage the general g o o d o p i n i o n of their surrounding a c q u a i n t a n c e ' ( 3 ) ; and J o h n D a s h w o o d will clearly not lose the g o o d opinion of his neighbours by leaving his dependent female relatives penniless. H e is sketched in three long acidulous sentences:

45

RACHEL M.

BROWNSTEIN

He was not an ill-disposed young man, unless to be rather cold hearted, and rather selfish, is to be ill-disposed: but he was, in general, well respected; for he conducted himself with propriety in the discharge of his ordinary duties. Had he married a more amiable woman, he might have been made still more respectable than he was: - he might even have been made amiable himself; for he was very young when he married, and very fond of his wife. But Mrs. John Dashwood was a strong caricature of himself; - more narrow-minded and selfish. (5)

Beginning w i t h a polite d o u b l e negative a n d quickly modifying it, reiterating 'rather' to m a k e it a l m o s t an intensifier, shifting the blame from the man to his wife -

as people d o - a n d sympathetically a c k n o w l e d g i n g J o h n

D a s h w o o d ' s g o o d points, or seeming to, before reverting in a damningly short, e m p h a t i c sentence to his character's fixed flaws, the narrator makes it clear that his respectability reflects b a d l y o n his neighbours. T o w a r d s the end of the n o v e l , w h e n Elinor meditates as generously as she can on the character of her sister's deceiver, she c o n d e m n s W i l l o u g h b y in the w o r d s used here of J o h n D a s h w o o d : ' E x t r a v a g a n c e a n d vanity h a d m a d e him coldhearted a n d selfish' ( 3 3 1 ) . A w o r l d w h e r e y o u n g men h a v e these vices is a h a r s h one for y o u n g w o m e n . L i k e all J a n e A u s t e n ' s novels, Sense and Sensibility

is a c o m e d y that ends

in m a r r i a g e s , w h i c h traditionally affirm the connections between sexes and families, a n d between desire a n d public ritual o r social convention. Its portraits of m a r r i a g e s a l r e a d y m a d e are clear signs of the novel's darkness. A s J o h n a n d F a n n y D a s h w o o d , in the e x t r a o r d i n a r y d i a l o g u e in chapter 2 , talk themselves, like K i n g L e a r ' s evil daughters, into ever less fairness and generosity to J o h n ' s half-sisters, their m a r r i a g e is revealed as effectively an anti-social relationship. T h e m a r r i a g e of the less well-matched Sir J o h n and L a d y M i d d l e t o n falls short of doing active social ill, but it also unpleasantly illustrates h o w both individual character a n d the w i d e r society are affected by the m o s t intimate of chosen social relations. T h e desperate hospitality of the M i d d l e t o n s is

necessary to the happiness of both; for however dissimilar in temper and outward behaviour, they strongly resembled each other in that total want of talent and taste which confined their employments, unconnected with such as society produced, within a very narrow compass. Sir John was a sportsman, Lady Middleton a mother. He hunted and shot, and she humoured her children; and these were their only resources. Lady Middleton had the advantage of being able to spoil her children all the year round, while Sir John's independent employments were in existence only half the time. Continual engagements at home and abroad, however, supplied all the 46

Northanger Abbey, Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice deficiencies of nature and education; supported the good spirits of Sir John, and gave exercise to the good-breeding of his wife. (32) T h e doubling that m a r r i a g e effects c a n be negative w h e n t w o minds m o v e as one, as in the D a s h w o o d dialogue, or, as here, w h e n o p p o s i t i o n a n d balance and antithesis u n c o m f o r t a b l y prevail. In both unpleasant families, the fruits of m a r r i a g e - the undeserving scion of the J o h n D a s h w o o d s , the spoiled a n d noisy children of the M i d d l e t o n s - are unappetizing.

Lady

Middleton's empty politeness, especially in v i e w of her mother's a n d sister's vulgarity, can be called ' g o o d - b r e e d i n g ' only ironically (and punningly) here. T h e M i d d l e t o n s ' relatives, the even m o r e badly m a t c h e d

Palmers,

produce a child in the middle of the novel: they also p r o v o k e E l i n o r to reflect on 'the strange unsuitableness w h i c h often existed between h u s b a n d and wife' ( 1 1 8 ) . Further dimming the v i e w of r o m a n t i c l o v e is the depressing similarity among the three men w h o court the D a s h w o o d sisters, repeating

one

another's moves and mistakes. E a c h one has h a d an earlier attachment

to

another w o m a n ; each one, beginning w i t h C o l o n e l B r a n d o n , leaves the D a s h w o o d s abruptly, for u n e x p l a i n e d r e a s o n s . T h e suggestion that people m a y be substituted for one another is d e v e l o p e d in a series of misrecognition scenes:

Marianne,

in

her

passionate

eagerness

to

see

her

beloved

Willoughby, twice mistakes another m a n for him, first as E d w a r d Ferrars approaches on horseback, a n d then w h e n B r a n d o n arrives at the d o o r of M r s . J e n n i n g s ' house in L o n d o n (86, 1 6 1 ) ; E l i n o r , trembling w i t h eagerness to see E d w a r d but unwilling to h o p e , w r o n g l y identifies him as B r a n d o n ( 3 5 8 ) ; earlier, waiting for her mother to arrive at M a r i a n n e ' s bedside, she goes to the d o o r to w e l c o m e her a n d finds ' o n l y W i l l o u g h b y ' , instead ( 3 1 6 ) . Elinor sees on E d w a r d ' s finger a ring that contains a lock of hair, supposes it is his sister F a n n y D a s h w o o d ' s , then decides it must be her o w n ; it turns out - dramatically, at the end of v o l u m e 1 - to be L u c y ' s . W h e n considered as candidates for m a r r i a g e a n d possible sole heirs of their mother's fortune, sober E d w a r d Ferrars a n d his silly brother R o b e r t become indistinguishable; as she disowns one a n d then the other, their o w n mother c a n barely tell the difference between them: Her family had of late been exceedingly fluctuating. For many years of her life she had had two sons; but the crime and annihilation of Edward a few weeks ago, had robbed her of one; the similar annihilation of Robert had left her for a fortnight without any; and now, by the resuscitation of Edward, she had one again. (373) In this w o r l d w h e r e sons a n d lovers seem interchangeable, w h e r e people affect by watching one another, a n d individuals seem neither integral n o r 47

RACHEL M.

BROWNSTEIN

unique, M a r i a n n e D a s h w o o d romantically insists on an ideal of perfect selffulfilment in a love based o n m u t u a l feeling a n d shared tastes, and hence on the impossibility of second attachments; it is one of 'her most favourite m a x i m s ' ( 3 6 6 ) . A c o n v e r s a t i o n between Elinor and B r a n d o n , early in the novel, raises the nice question of whether she thinks them unimaginable or immoral: 'Your sister, I understand, does not approve of second attachments.' 'No,' replied Elinor, 'her opinions are all romantic' 'Or rather, as I believe, she considers them impossible to exist.' 'I believe she does. But how she contrives it without reflecting on the character of her own father, who had himself two wives, I know not.' (5 5-6) T h a t M r . H e n r y D a s h w o o d h a d t w o w i v e s - a fact central to the predica­ ment of his daughters - is a p o i g n a n t context for M a r i a n n e ' s creed; equally p o i g n a n t is B r a n d o n ' s loving correction of Elinor's harshly emphasis, a n d his sympathetic emendation

judgmental

of his o w n remark. Second

thoughts are characteristic of this revisionary lover, w h o loves M a r i a n n e because she reminds him of the w o m a n he loved before; w h e n in the end he attaches her to himself, he changes her mind. A s nearly e v e r y o n e but E l i n o r comes to love more than once, Sense Sensibility

comes

to

a

thoroughly

unromantic

resolution,

and

coupling

M a r i a n n e with the colonel in the flannel w a i s t c o a t , a n d Elinor - w h o does not, as w e might, c o u n t his history a n d family against him - with the familiar, hapless E d w a r d . T h e reader is urged to believe that ' M a r i a n n e could never love by halves; a n d her w h o l e heart became, in time, as m u c h devoted to her h u s b a n d , as it h a d once been to W i l l o u g h b y ' ( 3 7 9 ) . T o balance this, w e are assured that W i l l o u g h b y , although 'he lived to exert, a n d frequently to enjoy h i m s e l f , will remember her forever, and m a k e 'her his secret standard

of perfection in w o m a n ' ( 3 7 9 ) . But the

concluding

p a r a g r a p h brilliantly u n d o e s the requisite romantic resolution, by startlingly giving E l i n o r ' s a n d M a r i a n n e ' s attachment to one another pride of place, so as to m a k e their second attachments,

to their husbands, seem merely

secondary. Between Barton and Delaford, there was that constant communication which strong family affection would naturally dictate; - and among the merits and the happiness of Elinor and Marianne, let it not be ranked as the least considerable, that though sisters, and living almost within sight of each other, they could live without disagreement between themselves, or producing cool­ ness between their husbands. (380) B y returning the focus, surprisingly, to the family of origin, by the super48

Northanger Abbey, Sense and Sensibility, Pride and

Prejudice

fluity of 'naturally' and the ambiguity of ' w o u l d dictate', A u s t e n questions by affirming the strength and naturalness of family affection. T h e w o r d s 'though sisters' shifts the g r o u n d under the reader w h o , being a s s u m e d to understand that married sisters c o m m o n l y disagree, is a b r u p t l y disengaged not only from the characters a n d the fiction but from the premise of sisterly affection that the novel never questioned as it detailed the arguments a n d differences between E l i n o r a n d M a r i a n n e . T h e s a l u b r i o u s little distance from one's o w n reality that fiction provides is suddenly d o u b l e d ; the reader is placed in an uneasy position w h e r e it seems possible - o r necessary - to laugh even at oneself.

PRIDE

AND

PREJUDICE

'I have for the first time l o o k e d into " P r i d e a n d Prejudice", a n d it is really a very pretty thing', one of his literary advisers w r o t e to the publisher J o h n M u r r a y in 1 8 1 5 , w h e n he w a s considering the m a n u s c r i p t of Emma.

'No

dark p a s s a g e s , ' W i l l i a m Gifford continued a p p r o v i n g l y ; ' n o secret c h a m ­ bers; n o w i n d - h o w l i n g s in long galleries; n o d r o p s of b l o o d u p o n a rusty dagger - things that should n o w be left to ladies' m a i d s a n d

sentimental

5

w a s h e r w o m e n ' . N o one these d a y s w o u l d condescend, w i t h such evident class a n d gender bias, to J a n e A u s t e n ' s masterpiece - a n y m o r e than they w o u l d think of c o m p a r i n g it to a gothic n o v e l . G i f f o r d ' s c o m m e n t reminds us that for its first readers Pride and Prejudice

w a s a notable departure from

the romantic fictions that w e r e still p o p u l a r a n d still expected of w o m e n novelists. It also reminds us - by m i m i n g it - of the n o v e l ' s o w n r e m a r k a b l e easy superiority, the confidence with w h i c h it m a k e s its critical judgments. O n its title p a g e , Sense and Sensibility Pride and Prejudice,

is identified as a w o r k b y ' A L a d y ' ;

published t w o years later, w a s signed ' b y the A u t h o r of

"Sense a n d S e n s i b i l i t y " ' . In 1 8 1 3 , the a u t h o r w a s thirty-seven y e a r s o l d . First Impressions,

the first version of Pride and Prejudice,

h a d been rejected

unseen w h e n her father h a d offered it to a publisher fifteen y e a r s earlier, but J a n e A u s t e n h a d continued to believe in it, e n c o u r a g e d b y the continuing admiration of her family circle. A t twenty-four, she h a d written playfully to her sister from B a t h , a b o u t a close friend, ' I w o u l d not let M a r t h a read First Impressions again u p o n a n y account . . . She is v e r y cunning, but I see through her design; - she means to publish it from M e m o r y , & one m o r e perusal must enable her to d o it' (L 4 4 ) . L o n g anticipated a n d denied, the joy of publishing Pride

and

Prejudice

w a s intense. T h e a u t h o r a n d her

family read it a l o u d , in the evenings, during the w e e k after the b o o k ('my o w n darling C h i l d ' ) c a m e in the mail from L o n d o n . A u s t e n searched it for errors, found a few, decided that 'a " s a i d h e " o r a " s a i d s h e " w o u l d

49

RACHEL M.

BROWNSTEIN

sometimes m a k e the D i a l o g u e m o r e immediately clear', but also that for readers like hers that w a s unnecessary ( L 2 0 1 - 2 ) . Gleefully paraphrasing Sir W a l t e r Scott, she w r o t e to her sister C a s s a n d r a , ' " I d o not write for such D u l l E l v e s " / " A s h a v e not a great deal of Ingenuity t h e m s e l v e s " ' ( 2 0 2 ) . In the m o o d to flatter her readers a n d herself, she did so characteristically by indirection, delighting in her o w n ingenuity, telling C a s s a n d r a perversely: The work is rather too light &C bright & sparkling; - it wants shade; - it wants to be stretched out here & 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 anything that would form a contrast &c bring the reader with increased delight to the playfulness & Epigrammatism of the general stile. (L203) L i k e a n y o n e w h o has written in obscurity for years, she felt sure no one w o u l d like her w o r k as m u c h as she did; a n d at the same time she felt grandiosely a k i n to the m o s t respected a u t h o r of the d a y . She k n e w that her b o o k h a d the authority of magisterial discourse

-

literary criticism or history, the sort of serious, abstract, philosophical, pretentious

writing she c o m p a r e d

negatively in Northanger

Abbey

to

w o m e n ' s novels a b o u t people. Its brilliant first sentence takes the tone of a J o h n s o n i a n essayist p r o n o u n c i n g o n the nature of universals and truths: 'It is a truth universally a c k n o w l e d g e d , that a single m a n in possession of a g o o d fortune, must be in w a n t of a w i f e . ' T a k e s the tone, of course, so as to m o c k it. A s critics h a v e enjoyed pointing out, that sentence is full of logical holes: a truth universally acknowledged

is p r o b a b l y less than true; and the

real truth is not that single men w a n t w i v e s ('in w a n t o f merely means they lack them) but that p o o r y o u n g w o m e n need husbands, 'their pleasantest preservative from w a n t ' (PP 1 2 2 - 3 ) . F a r from describing the state of affairs even a r o u n d M e r y t o n , that s o n o r o u s first sentence, taken at face v a l u e , expresses the g o s s i p ' s fantasy that w o m e n e x c h a n g e or traffic in men, a n d not vice v e r s a . T h e novel takes off, in other w o r d s , from M r s . Bennet's notion (or is it only w h a t M r s . Bennet pretends to believe?): that rich men exist for people to m a r r y . Its irony further

suggests that the universal

acceptance of this idea m a y m a k e it operatively true - that w h a t authorities s a y , a n d m o s t people a c k n o w l e d g e , matters. T h e first sentence of Pride and Prejudice

pretends to repeat something like

a p r o v e r b , one of those e p i g r a m m a t i c sayings that R i c h a r d s o n ' s novels illustrate a n d debate, like ' A reformed r a k e makes the best h u s b a n d ' , or ' O n c e subdued, a l w a y s s u b d u e d ' . T h e n o v e l ' s house moralist, M a r y Bennet, rattles off a jumble of similar sayings gleaned from her reading w h e n her 5°

Northanger Abbey, Sense and Sensibility, Pride and

Prejudice

sister L y d i a runs off w i t h the r a k e G e o r g e W i c k h a m : 'loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable . . . one false step involves her in endless ruin . . . her reputation is no less brittle than it is beautiful' ( 2 8 9 ) . W h e n L y d i a ' s life is successfully patched u p , in the end, M a r y ' s m o r a l s p r o v e to be w r o n g . B u t disproving the truth of generally accepted notions is not the a i m of and

Prejudice,

playful

Pride

any m o r e than p r o v i n g a universal truth is. T h e n o v e l ' s

' E p i g r a m m a t i s m ' counters

the generalities of philosophers

and

theorists with the specificities of individual styles a n d stories, the p r o v i n c e of gossips and novelists. E p i g r a m m a t i s m itself is laughed at, w h e n C h a r l o t t e Lucas intones her credo that ' H a p p i n e s s in m a r r i a g e is entirely a matter of chance', and Elizabeth protests, ' Y o u m a k e me l a u g h , C h a r l o t t e ; but it is not sound' ( 2 3 ) . W h e n Elizabeth, dancing with the silent, a w k w a r d D a r c y , teases him in H e n r y T i l n e y ' s engaging, disengaged m a n n e r ('It is your

turn

to say something n o w , M r . D a r c y . - J talked a b o u t the d a n c e , a n d

you

ought to m a k e some k i n d of r e m a r k o n the size of the r o o m , o r the n u m b e r of couples'), she jokes that they are both 'unwilling to s p e a k , unless w e expect to say something that will a m a z e the w h o l e r o o m , a n d be h a n d e d d o w n to posterity w i t h all the eclat of a p r o v e r b ' ( 9 1 ) . 'Her liking D a r c y & Elizth is e n o u g h ' , J a n e A u s t e n w r o t e of one of her early readers (L 2 0 5 ) . Theirs is the most r o m a n t i c of l o v e stories, rivalled in J a n e Austen's oeuvre only by Persuasion. Park,

a n d Emma,

In Sense and Sensibility,

Mansfield

the h a p p y marriages of the heroines are not

quite

e x o g a m o u s , but D a r c y a n d Elizabeth are perfect strangers. D a r c y prefers Elizabeth to his first cousin, A n n e de B o u r g h , a n d to C a r o l i n e Bingley, his friend's sister; Elizabeth chooses him o v e r her relative, M r . C o l l i n s , a n d M r . W i c k h a m , w h o s e relation to her is that of 'brother a n d sister' ( 3 2 9 ) at the end. Y o u n g , h a n d s o m e , a n d justifiably p r o u d of his tastes,

standards,

wealth, and antecedents, D a r c y is captivated against his will b y the second of five daughters of a country gentleman w h o s e estate is entailed o n the male line. (That M r . Bennet's legal plight is the fault of n o b o d y in particular is a m o n g the m a n y elements that m a k e Pride brighter than Sense and Sensibility.)

and Prejudice

lighter a n d

D a r c y dismisses Elizabeth at first sight,

but is soon enchanted by her 'fine eyes' a n d 'the liveliness of [her] m i n d ' ( 2 7 , 3 8 0 ) . Conventional himself, he admires her for defying c o n v e n t i o n . T h e first volume dramatizes Elizabeth's impatient divergences from the stock heroine of romantic

fiction

a n d the proper y o u n g lady of m o r a l i z i n g novelists.

When her sister J a n e falls ill a n d has to extend her visit to the Bingleys at Netherfield Park, just as her mother hoped, Elizabeth w a l k s to see her, 'crossing field after field at a quick pace, jumping o v e r stiles a n d springing over puddles with impatient activity, a n d finding herself at last within a view of the house, w i t h w e a r y ancles, dirty stockings, a n d a face g l o w i n g

51

RACHEL M.

BROWNSTEIN

w i t h the w a r m t h of exercise' ( 3 2 ) - a n d her petticoat deep in m u d . A t Netherfield, she takes issue with the c o m p a n y ' s conventional idea that refined y o u n g ladies are to be a d m i r e d for their v a r i o u s trivial 'accomplish­ ments'; w h i l e she agrees to join C a r o l i n e Bingley in w a l k i n g up and d o w n the r o o m s o that D a r c y can assess (and c o m p a r e ) their beauty, she dares to m a k e him the object of her gaze later, refusing to join him and the Bingley sisters in a w a l k . ' Y o u are charmingly g r o u p ' d , a n d a p p e a r to u n c o m m o n a d v a n t a g e ' , she s a y s . ' T h e picturesque w o u l d be spoilt by admitting

a

fourth' ( 5 3 ) . B y keeping a critical distance from both the ideal of w o m a n a n d D a r c y himself, she enchants him. F o r her part, Elizabeth is a n n o y e d by overbearing D a r c y ' s first, unkind r e m a r k a b o u t her a p p e a r a n c e , a n d dislikes him m o r e after hearing a story told her b y another, engaging y o u n g m a n . G e o r g e W i c k h a m turns out to be a liar, w h o s e entanglements w i t h D a r c y ' s sister in the past, a n d then with L y d i a Bennet, contribute intricacy of the characters;

the

to bringing the lovers together. T h e

plot echoes the

intricacy of Elizabeth's and

n o v e l itself is characterized

by the

interesting

beautiful Darcy's quality

discussed in a n important conversation in the first v o l u m e , w h e n Elizabeth character'

(like

D a r c y ' s ) , then satirically concedes that 'intricate characters are the

slyly praises Bingley for not h a v i n g 'a deep, intricate

most

a m u s i n g . T h e y h a v e at least that a d v a n t a g e . ' T h a t conversation, m e m o r a b l y cut short by M r s . Bennet's uncomprehending ' I assure y o u there is quite as m u c h of that g o i n g on in the country as in t o w n ' ( 4 2 - 3 ) , is one of several veiled private e x c h a n g e s in public that charge the relationship of Elizabeth a n d D a r c y w i t h erotic p o w e r . T h e i r implication in the w i d e r w o r l d enhances the l o v e r s ' intimacy. C o n t e m p l a t i n g the h a p p y couple at Pemberley in the end, the reader doesn't h a v e to be told that e v e r y o n e - M r . and M r s . Bennet, C h a r l o t t e L u c a s a n d M r . Collins a n d L a d y Catherine de B o u r g h , Bingley a n d his sisters a n d J a n e , W i c k h a m a n d G e o r g i a n a D a r c y and L y d i a - has been, like Elizabeth's a u n t a n d uncle, the G a r d i n e r s , 'the means of uniting them'. (There is surely a note of justifiable authorial complacency in the t r i u m p h a n t t w o w o r d s that end the b o o k . ) A s if to affirm the reality of r o m a n c e , the plot m o v e s from a dialogue between a long-married couple w h o c a n n o t understand one another - the first scene - to a m a r r i a g e that will ensure happiness, benevolence, and laughter, m o v i n g Elizabeth from the c l a m o u r of M e r y t o n a n d the instability of her father's entailed house t h r o u g h the v e x i n g discordance between great house a n d p a r s o n a g e at R o s i n g s , in v o l u m e 11, to end in the settled grandeur of Pemberley, w i t h its p a r k a n d w o o d s a n d river, its library a n d picture gallery. W h e n she first sees it o n the first p a g e of v o l u m e 111, Elizabeth feels 'that to be mistress of Pemberley might be something!' ( 2 4 5 ) . T o visit

5*

Northanger Abbey, Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice Pemberley as she does, as a tourist, w i t h her pleasant uncle a n d aunt, is to reverse the position of the heroine of gothic, w h o is o v e r c o m e by the influence of a haunted house with secret chambers a n d mysterious corridors that confine her while they a l s o , horrifyingly, mirror her, reflecting the unexplored recesses of her virgin b o d y a n d her intricate p s y c h e . Pemberley, a place where old a n d n e w d o n ' t clash, w h e r e 'natural beauty h a d been so little counteracted by an a w k w a r d taste' ( 2 4 5 ) , is g r a n d but not r o m a n t i c , as Northanger A b b e y - in spite of h a v i n g been renovated - is. E x p l o r i n g a house that is open to the public, Elizabeth discovers her lover's hidden dimensions rather than her o w n . Instead of a black veil concealing a terrifying picture or statue o r skeleton, she comes across a portrait of D a r c y which she examines at leisure from a position of strength, activating its gaze by her o w n as she 'fixed his eyes u p o n h e r s e l f ( 2 5 1 ) . W i l l i a m Gif ford must have relished the anti-gothicism of the heroine's decorous transit

through

the 'lofty and h a n d s o m e ' r o o m s of the house, w h e r e she takes in the 'real elegance' of the furnishings, a n d the 'respectable-looking, elderly w o m a n , much less fine, a n d m o r e civil, than [Elizabeth] h a d a n y notion of

finding

her' (246), w h o receives the party a n d tells them a b o u t the excellence of her master and his affability to the p o o r , a n d a b o u t the price of the furniture. A n d h o w he must h a v e s a v o u r e d the matter-of-fact

materialism of the

heroine, w h o unromantically sighs out her desire to h a v e the place! By the time she gets to Pemberley Elizabeth has turned d o w n

two

proposals of marriage from men w h o expect her to accept them simply because she is a w o m a n , a n d p o o r , a n d must w a n t a h u s b a n d a n d h o m e of her o w n . T h e first p r o p o s a l is from sanctimonious M r . C o l l i n s , w h o m e a n s to please his patroness by m a r r y i n g , a n d to indulge his o w n p o m p o s i t y by choosing a daughter of the house he is to inherit. Elizabeth has barely persuaded him that she is not an 'elegant female' refusing him so as to w h e t his appetite, but - she echoes M a r y Wollstonecraft - 'a rational creature speaking the truth from her heart' ( 1 0 8 - 9 ) , w h e n Charlotte L u c a s accepts him. Rejecting M r . Collins in the first v o l u m e , Elizabeth seems to be in her father's c a m p against her mother, the business of w h o s e life is to get her daughters married: she seems, that is, to rebel against the lot of w o m e n a n d the courtship plot. Refusing M r . D a r c y ' s first p r o p o s a l in the

second

volume, she seems to reaffirm that position. But the amusing parallel m a k e s the important difference clear. D a r c y ' s p r o p o s a l is quite as a r r o g a n t a n d overbearing and uncomprehending of its object as the stout y o u n g clergy­ man's ('In vain h a v e I struggled', he tactlessly begins. 'It will not d o . M y feelings will not be repressed. Y o u must a l l o w me to tell y o u h o w ardently I admire and love y o u ' [ 1 8 9 ] . ) After Elizabeth turns him d o w n , he e x p l a i n s his behaviour a n d clarifies his character a n d feelings in a letter, w h i c h she

53

RACHEL M.

BROWNSTEIN

reads a n d rereads at the d e a d centre of the novel, until she e x c l a i m s , 'Till this m o m e n t , I never k n e w m y s e l f ( 2 0 8 ) . D a r c y ' s letter tells her w h a t her family l o o k s like to others; it even persuades her to be critical of her father, preparing her to m o v e a w a y from him. L e a r n i n g that her first impressions of W i c k h a m , w h o flattered

her, a n d D a r c y , w h o did not, w e r e both

mistaken, Elizabeth begins to understand the extent to w h i c h her character a n d her actions are a function of her relation to her neighbours. Austen's critical distance from

the idea of a romantic

heroine, explicit in

narrator's condescension to the heroine of Northanger tized in the double heroines of Sense and Sensibility,

Abbey

the

and d r a m a ­

is located, in this novel,

in the protagonist's self-consciousness. Elizabeth's searching rereadings, first of D a r c y ' s letter and then of letters from J a n e , are matched b y her close attention to her o w n thoughts, her o w n story a n d character. After she has c o m e to admire D a r c y a n d to despair of m a r r y i n g him, she reflects ruefully, like a thwarted novelist, that ' n o such h a p p y m a r r i a g e could n o w teach the admiring multitude w h a t connubial felicity really w a s ' ( 3 1 2 ) . A n d at the very end, w h e n her spirits rise 'to playfulness a g a i n ' , a n d she asks D a r c y 'to account for his having ever fallen in love w i t h her', she observes that her thanking him for his kindness to L y d i a h a d perhaps t o o great an effect on her lover, 'for w h a t becomes of the m o r a l , if o u r comfort springs from a breach of promise, for I ought not to h a v e mentioned

the subject? T h i s will never d o . ' H a p p y a n d

amiable

M r . D a r c y soothingly replies that 'the m o r a l will be perfectly fair' ( 3 8 1 ) . R e a d e r s h a v e disagreed, a n d a r g u e d that Elizabeth is either a proto-feminist o r a fairy-tale heroine. J a n e A u s t e n ' s irony a l l o w s her to be both at once. A l t h o u g h Elizabeth's consciousness is at the centre of the novel, the narrative s h r e w d l y m a k e s us p r i v y to D a r c y ' s mind - as she is not. A s early as chapter 6, w e learn that ' n o sooner h a d he m a d e it clear to himself a n d his friends that she h a d h a r d l y a g o o d feature in her face, than he began to find it w a s rendered u n c o m m o n l y intelligent by the beautiful expression of her d a r k eyes'. W e k n o w before she does that he is 'caught' by the 'easy playfulness' of her m a n n e r s , being told explicitly that ' O f this she w a s perfectly u n a w a r e ; - to her he w a s only the m a n w h o made himself agreeable n o w h e r e , a n d w h o h a d not thought her h a n d s o m e enough to dance w i t h ' ( 2 3 ) . Elizabeth's blindness to D a r c y ' s feelings a n d merits a n d m a n y of his v e r y frequent blushes engages the reader in the love story. O n the other h a n d , Elizabeth engages us as a character because she resembles the witty narrator, w h o refers to M r . Bingley's sisters' maids as 'the t w o elegant ladies w h o w a i t e d o n ' them ( 4 1 ) , and describes the end of an evening at R o s i n g s as f o l l o w s : ' T h e party then gathered r o u n d the fire to hear L a d y Catherine determine w h a t weather they w e r e to h a v e on the

54

Northanger Abbey, Sense and Sensibility, Pride and

Prejudice

m o r r o w . F r o m these instructions they w e r e s u m m o n e d by the a r r i v a l of the coach' ( 1 6 6 ) . T r i c k s like the narrator's echo of the v e r y w o r d s Elizabeth has used ( ' M r . Collins w a s not a sensible m a n ' , chapter 1 5 begins) e n c o u r a g e the identification of the heroine with the novelist - a n d w i t h the reader, also outside the frame of the fiction. Elizabeth's infectious laughter does t o o . M r . Bennet a n d his favourite daughter d o not d o all the laughing in this comic novel: disdainful M i s s Bingley can ' h a r d l y k e e p [her] c o u n t e n a n c e ' (36) w h e n Elizabeth turns up at Netherfield w i t h m u d d y skirts, a n d L y d i a Bennet laughs t o o loudly and loosely a n d talks t o o m u c h a b o u t laughing: ' L o r d ! h o w I laughed! . . . I thought I should h a v e d i e d ' ( 2 2 1 ) , is h o w she finishes

a story a b o u t a v u l g a r p r a n k , a n d in the letter a n n o u n c i n g her

deplorable elopement she claims she can 'hardly write for l a u g h i n g ' ( 2 9 1 ) . T o observe Elizabeth's similarity to catty C a r o l i n e Bingley a n d the sluttish younger sister w h o marries the m a n she herself once f o u n d attractive is to begin to understand the m o r a l point of A u s t e n ' s n o v e l s , that o n the one hand w e are not so v e r y different from o u r n e i g h b o u r s , a n d that o n the other w e must tirelessly discriminate a m o n g o u r c o m m o n traits in order to understand

the extreme importance - a n d m o r a l implications - of the

differences. Unlike M i s s Bingley a n d L y d i a , Elizabeth is not m o v e d to laughter by gross deviations from arbitrary standards o r n o r m s . 'Follies a n d nonsense, w h i m s a n d inconsistencies' ( 5 7 ) , are w h a t delight her - character­ istics like the ones J a n e Austen, t o w a r d s the end of her life, w a s delighted to observe in her niece F a n n y Knight, to w h o m she w r o t e , ' Y o u are so o d d ! & all the time, so perfectly natural - so peculiar in yourself, & yet so like everybody else!' (L 3 2 9 ) . Early in Pride

and

Prejudice,

w h e n Elizabeth

professes to be startled by the notion that ' M r . D a r c y is not to be laughed at!' she s a y s pointedly, ' T h a t is an u n c o m m o n a d v a n t a g e , a n d u n c o m m o n I hope it will continue, for it w o u l d be a great loss to me to h a v e m a n y such acquaintance. I dearly love a l a u g h ' ( 5 7 ) . M a n y chapters later, w h e n she agrees to m a r r y him, w e are assured that the m a r r i a g e will be h a p p y since he will continue to a m u s e her: on the verge of m a k i n g a m o c k i n g o b s e r v a ­ tion, 'she checked h e r s e l f . Eventually, married to D a r c y , she will a m a z e her young sister-in-law by m a k i n g him 'the object of open p l e a s a n t r y ' ( 3 8 8 ) , but the clever bride-to-be bides her time a n d bites her tongue: 'She r e m e m b e r e d that he h a d yet to learn to be laught at, and it w a s rather t o o early to b e g i n ' ( 3 7 1 ) . In the act of getting w h a t she deserves, fulfilling the c o m i c heroine's destiny by m a k i n g precisely the m a r r i a g e that w o u l d 'teach the a d m i r i n g multitude', Elizabeth remains sufficiently outside her situation to recognize her m a n ' s limitations, keeps her wits a b o u t her even in the clinch. H e r greatest c h a r m , w h i c h the reader must take even m o r e seriously than her care in rereading, is her gift of disengaging herself. T h e shifting b a c k 55

RACHEL M.

BROWNSTEIN

and-forth between the n a r r a t o r ' s m i n d a n d hers identifies the heroine with the text. W h e n she first tells her sister she is engaged to D a r c y , J a n e thinks she is j o k i n g ; not only M r . Bennet has been convinced of her dislike of the m a n . Elizabeth insists, urgently but c o m i c a l l y , 'I must confess, that I love him better than I d o B i n g l e y ' , so s o b e r J a n e begins to doubt herself, and s a y s , 'do be serious. I w a n t to talk v e r y seriously . . . Will y o u tell me h o w long y o u h a v e loved h i m ? ' W h e n Elizabeth replies, 'I must date it from m y first seeing his beautiful g r o u n d s at P e m b e r l e y ' , the admission, w h i c h the reader recognizes as witty but also perfectly serious, p r o v o k e s

another

'intreaty that she w o u l d be serious' from her serious sister ( 3 7 3 ) . C o u r t e s y a n d caution m a r the intimacy of the D a s h w o o d sisters; playful Elizabeth a n d c a n d i d J a n e h a v e a n easier time. Elizabeth's joking is a habit of mind: o n the parallel o c c a s i o n of J a n e ' s engagement, she carries on a similar d i a l o g u e all by herself, w h i c h the narrative modulates into free indirect speech to render:

' N o t a w o r d p a s s e d between the sisters

concerning

Bingley; but Elizabeth w e n t to bed in the h a p p y belief that all must speedily be concluded, unless M r . D a r c y returned w i t h i n the stated time. Seriously, h o w e v e r , she felt tolerably p e r s u a d e d that all this must have taken place w i t h that gentleman's c o n c u r r e n c e ' ( 3 4 6 ) . U n w i l l i n g to tease her sister, Elizabeth pleases by teasing herself, professing - silently, but as if to an audience - an o p i n i o n that is not seriously, not in fact, her o w n . T a k i n g herself not quite seriously, she is m a k i n g sport for herself quite as if she w e r e one of her n e i g h b o u r s . 'I a m happier even than J a n e ' , she writes to M r s . G a r d i n e r , w h e n she announces her e n g a g e m e n t to M r . D a r c y ; 'she only smiles, I laugh' ( 3 8 3 ) . T h i s is j o y o u s , not satirical laughter; nevertheless, laughing a little at J a n e , w h o smiles t o o m u c h a n d doesn't get j o k e s , is part of the strenuous j o y . D o e s Elizabeth laugh t o o m u c h ? She is punished, perhaps, for doing s o , w h e n M r . Bennet mortifies her pride by assuring her of D a r c y ' s indifference, a n d she finds it 'necessary to l a u g h , w h e n she w o u l d rather have cried' ( 3 6 4 ) . H e r laughter is n e r v o u s ; the m o r a l is not quite fair; but neither is life, a n d substituting laughter for tears is n o small p a r t of Austen's w i s d o m . A clear c h r o n o l o g y of her early novels w o u l d generate one likely story or another, a b o u t J a n e A u s t e n - that she learned romance, or restraint,

or

prudence, as she g r e w older. B u t w e l a c k the g r o u n d s for such a narrative of development, and A u s t e n ' s consistent elasticity of mind is more striking, a n y w a y , than a n y transformative c h a n g e o v e r time. F r o m her youth J a n e A u s t e n w a s committed to a clear m o r a l vision a n d a stern m o r a l code; she w a s a l w a y s concerned w i t h the s a m e themes a n d issues and variations on the s a m e plot. A n d from the beginning she w a s able to seize and enjoy an astonishing freedom to m o v e from one to another level of her

56

fictions,

Northanger Abbey, Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice shifting easily from the r o m a n t i c point of v i e w to a place w h e r e

romance

can only be v i e w e d ironically. M o r e than anything else, these shifts c o n v e y the contagious pleasures of a free play of mind - w h i l e they signal that the turns and tones and surprising conjunctions, the differences between w a y s of seeing, are w h a t matter most.

NOTES 1

2 3 4 5

Charlotte Maria Beckford, quoted in William Austen-Leigh, Richard Arthur Austen-Leigh, and Deirdre Le Faye, Jane Austen: A Family Record (London: The British Library, 1989), p. 1 7 8 . Simone de Beauvoir, The Second Sex, trans. H . M . Parshley (New York: Vintage, 1974), P- 3 0 1 • See, on Henrys in fiction, J . M . S. Tompkins, The Popular Novel in England 17y0-1800 (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1 9 6 1 ) , pp. 5 7 - 8 . Marilyn Butler, Jane Austen and the War of Ideas (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1 9 7 5 ) , p. 1 8 2 . Samuel Smiles, A Publisher and his Friends: Memoir and Correspondence of the Late John Murray (London: J . Murray, 1 8 9 1 ) , 1:282.

57

4 JOHN WILTSHIRE

Mansfield Park, Emma, Persuasion

W h e n J a n e A u s t e n m o v e d to C h a w t o n cottage in 1 8 0 9 she sent off a poem to her brother Francis that celebrates the occasion: Our Chawton home - how much we find Already in it, to our mind, And how convinced, that when complete, It will all other Houses beat, That ever have been made or mended, With rooms concise or rooms distended. 1

(L 1 7 6 )

It w a s at C h a w t o n that J a n e A u s t e n , settled with her mother, sister, and friend, found the conditions that fostered the writing of three of her greatest novels. Mansfield Persuasion,

Park,

published in 1 8 1 4 , Emma,

published in 1 8 1 6 , and

published after A u s t e n ' s death, in 1 8 1 8 , develop that compli­

cating of a r o m a n t i c narrative w i t h social satire and psychological insight so characteristic of her earlier w o r k . T h e s e novels also display a

more

intensified sense of the influence of place a n d environment on personality a n d action, a b r o a d e r a n d m o r e thoughtful social critique, and a much greater p o w e r of imagining her figures within the social and geographical spaces they inhabit. In the action of the novels that J a n e Austen w r o t e at C h a w t o n , c o m m u n a l , family, a n d physical settings - homes, houses, and, indeed, ' r o o m s concise o r r o o m s distended' - play an important role. W h e n A n n e Elliot, in the last completed b o o k , m o v e s from one house to another,

she reflects that each is a 'little social c o m m o n w e a l t h ' ,

that

manners a n d topics v a r y w i t h place, a n d this observation, too, is pertinent to a reading of these major texts. A n n e comments to herself that it is incumbent o n her to 'clothe her i m a g i n a t i o n ' in her setting as m u c h as possible (P 4 3 ) . In this discussion of the three texts I shall take her lead a n d suggest h o w each of the n o v e l ' s distinct physical a n d social w o r l d s is a conceptual w o r l d t o o . I shall clothe m y account as m u c h as possible in each n o v e l ' s particular qualities, a n d in discussing their distinctive w o r l d s , I shall 58

Mansfield Park, Emma,

Persuasion

relate these to the specific narrative techniques through w h i c h A u s t e n brings these 'social c o m m o n w e a l t h s ' into being.

MANSFIELD Mansfield

Park

PARK

w a s published only a y e a r after Pride

and Prejudice,

but

moving from one novel to the other the reader is keenly a w a r e of a change of tone a n d atmosphere. Partly it is that Mansfield w o r k of an older, maturer,

w o m a n . The narrator

Park

is evidently the

is not a n

intrusive

presence, by a n y m e a n s , but one w h o , while an insider of the w o r l d she depicts, can a l s o see b e y o n d it. ' P o o r w o m a n ! she p r o b a b l y t h o u g h t change of air might

agree with m a n y

of her children',

she r e m a r k s

of

the

beleaguered M r s . Price at the conclusion of chapter i [MP n ) . It is a voice with a range of s y m p a t h y b e y o n d the social c o m m o n w e a l t h of rich families that is the milieu of Mansfield

Park.

A l m o s t everyone in this novel is w e a l t h y . Sir T h o m a s B e r t r a m is a M e m b e r of Parliament w i t h a large estate a n d property in the W e s t Indies; H e n r y C r a w f o r d also has an estate, and enough income easily to afford to h a v e it totally ' i m p r o v e d ' as s o o n as he comes of a g e . H i s sister M a r y has twenty thousand. M r . R u s h w o r t h has a p a r k five miles r o u n d and a T u d o r m a n s i o n . T o l d that H e n r y C r a w f o r d has 'four t h o u s a n d a y e a r ' , M r s . R u s h w o r t h senior seems to feel that this is just e n o u g h to get by: ' V e r y well. - T h o s e w h o have not m o r e , must be satisfied w i t h w h a t they h a v e ' ( 1 1 8 ) . T h e s e are ' y o u n g people of fortune', far better off than those in a n y other A u s t e n novel, a n d untroubled,

despite Sir T h o m a s ' need to see to his A n t i g u a

estates, by a n y sense of financial insecurity. O n l y M r s . N o r r i s is obsessed with saving, a neurotic compensation for her inferior family position w h o s e other manifestation is her remorseless bullying of her even p o o r e r niece, Fanny Price. In p a r t the novel is a study in the assumptions a n d manners of the very rich, in the manners of 'society', as the initial c o n v e r s a t i o n between the C r a w f o r d s a n d the Bertrams, a b o u t 'coming out' ( 4 8 - 5 1 ) , indicates. Spoilt, full of self-consequence, g o o d - l o o k i n g , healthy, the B e r t r a m s d o not need to be p r o u d like L a d y Catherine de B o u r g h o r Sir W a l t e r Elliot. T h e i r vanity is in such g o o d order that they c a n a p p e a r free of it. L o r d l y , careless, insouciant, a n d selfish, T o m Bertram at least has s o m e sense of h u m o u r . In Pride and Prejudice,

the great estate of Pemberley is v i e w e d by a visitor

and outsider, a n d Elizabeth Bennet gives it all the a w e a n d respect of one w h o can say only that she is 'a gentleman's daughter'. B u t in

Mansfield

Park, the reader is, s o to speak, a resident, s h o w n w h a t it is like to live from d a y to d a y in such a place. T h e spaciousness of the house is a n important factor in the lives a n d events that the novel traces, a n d m u c h of A u s t e n ' s

59

JOHN

WILTSHIRE

n a r r a t i o n a l skill in the brilliant first v o l u m e consists in the manipulation a n d i n t e r w e a v i n g of a large n u m b e r of characters a n d destinies within one locale that is also a g r o u p of distinct spaces. F o r F a n n y , the novel's uprooted heroine, '[t]he g r a n d e u r of the h o u s e astonished, but could not console her. T h e r o o m s w e r e t o o large for her to m o v e in w i t h ease. Whatever she touched she expected to injure, a n d she crept a b o u t in constant terror of something o r other' ( 1 4 - 1 5 ) . J u s t taken a w a y from her mother and her family, F a n n y projects o n t o the furniture her o w n sense of the potential injuriousness of this space, felt to be b o t h empty a n d hostile. Mansfield is not, o n the w h o l e , a g l a m o r o u s or idyllic h o m e (until it becomes such in F a n n y ' s eyes at the end of the n o v e l ) . H a r a s s e d a n d disregarded, F a n n y g r a d u a l l y constructs

a substitutively maternal

space where she can be

h a p p y ; furnishing the E a s t r o o m w i t h discarded bric-à-brac and carelessly d o n a t e d gifts, she m a k e s a fragile 'nest of c o m f o r t s ' that is an emotional as well as p h y s i c a l i m p r o v i s a t i o n . B u t this r o o m w h i c h F a n n y thinks of as 'her o w n ' , that she has m a d e her o w n , is a l w a y s actually m a r k e d as the r o o m of a dependent, a transient, by the absence of a fire in the grate. J a n e A u s t e n ' s ability to m a k e the setting integral to her development of c h a r a c t e r c a n be illustrated t o o , by the early scene w h e r e the youthful F a n n y is w a i t i n g for M a r y C r a w f o r d to return w i t h the mare that she has b o r r o w e d . She is scolded out of the house b y M r s . N o r r i s and discerns the p a r t y of E d m u n d , M a r y , a n d the g r o o m s m e n across the valley. ' T h e sound of m e r r i m e n t ascended even to her' ( 6 7 ) : the phrasing subtly makes F a n n y ' s g e o g r a p h i c a l distance from the g r o u p a simultaneous index of her emotional isolation. 'After a few minutes, they stopt entirely, E d m u n d w a s close to her, he w a s speaking to her, he w a s evidently directing her management of the bridle, he h a d hold of her hand; she s a w it, o r the imagination supplied w h a t the eye c o u l d not r e a c h ' ( 6 7 ) ; a n d the r h y t h m supplies the under­ current of F a n n y ' s j e a l o u s y . N o t 'see' but ' r e a c h ' . H o w that suggests the distance across w h i c h F a n n y ' s eyes are straining! F r o m o n e point of v i e w , F a n n y Price is an interesting psychological study in the manners

a n d attitudes of a radically insecure and

traumatized

personality. T h e impatience that one inevitably feels w i t h some of her more censorious o r prim judgments m a y be m o d e r a t e d by the careful history of displacement A u s t e n has p r o v i d e d for her, her years of unremitting intimi­ dation by M r s . N o r r i s , a n d her youthful dependence on an E d m u n d w h o s e kindness c o m e s a l o n g w i t h a g o o d deal of tutorly instruction. H e r disap­ p r o v i n g attitude t o w a r d s

M a r y is a l w a y s complicated

by its jealous

c o l o u r i n g as well as an even m o r e disqualifying trait, envy. F a n n y ' s moral attitudes in general are overdetermined - p a r t the result of Edmund's c o a c h i n g , p a r t the result of her o w n nature a n d insecurities - and so it is a

60

Mansfield Park, Emma, Persuasion great simplification to see her as modelling a 'conduct b o o k ' , a C h r i s t i a n , o r an evangelical heroine. D o e s she refuse to act in Lovers'

Vows out of fear of

acting, or out of d i s a p p r o v a l of the p l a y ? She certainly offers her timidity as her excuse, thereby displaying that timidity rather than m o r a l righteousness. Mansfield

Park is a novel in the m o d e of the omniscient n a r r a t o r , a n d for

the first and only time in her novels, J a n e Austen continuously a l l o w s the narrative to m o v e freely in a n d out of the consciousnesses of a w h o l e r a n g e of characters. In Pride and Prejudice,

there are m o m e n t s , especially early in

the novel, w h e n D a r c y ' s a n d Charlotte L u c a s ' thoughts are presented. In Persuasion,

the

reader

is

shown

at

one

crucial

moment

Wentworth's still-burning anger against A n n e . B u t in Mansfield

Captain Park

the

independence of the narrator from a n y one controlling consciousness is a structural principle. This text at v a r i o u s times represents the

thinking

processes or picks up the internal speech-cadences of M a r i a B e r t r a m , E d m u n d B e r t r a m , Sir T h o m a s , M a r y C r a w f o r d , a n d several others, besides Fanny Price. W h e n Sir T h o m a s o v e r h e a r s M r . Y a t e s in full ranting flight o n the improvised stage at M a n s f i e l d the narrative b o r r o w s his point of v i e w at the beginning of the p a r a g r a p h , a n d , to heighten the c o m i c effect, T o m Bertram's at the close ( 1 8 2 - 3 ) . Perhaps most significantly, this novel presents w h o l e scenes a n d dialogues from w h i c h the heroine is absent. T h e scenes at the P a r s o n a g e between M a r y and H e n r y C r a w f o r d (and sometimes w i t h M r s . G r a n t ) are quite freestanding. T h e y depict the relationship between the C r a w f o r d s at first without reference to F a n n y . T h u s the novel is structured w i t h t w o different centres o r foci of interest. In the m o d e of 'free indirect speech', M a r y ' s thoughts a b o u t her prospects on entering a n e w place a n d a b o u t older brothers, for e x a m p l e , are a l l o w e d to enter the text w i t h o u t

authorial

commentary. F o l l o w i n g from these g a y a n d brilliant introductory scenes (volume 1, chapters 4 a n d 5) the narrator naturally keeps the reader in touch with M a r y C r a w f o r d ' s private thoughts - she has been given the representa­ tional treatment of a m a j o r figure, a n d her projects a c c o r d i n g l y d r a w from one a certain sympathetic attention. It is not the fact that M a r y is v i v a c i o u s , while the supposed heroine F a n n y is timid a n d n e r v o u s , that m a k e s for this novel's m o r a l complications: it is that the rival figures are each a c c o r d e d an almost equivalent narrative stature until F a n n y ' s r e m o v a l to P o r t s m o u t h in the last v o l u m e . T h e reporting of M a r y ' s thoughts m o v e s fluidly between the m e d i u m of indirect speech, the dramatic representation of her b e h a v i o u r , a n d direct commentary on both. Different m o d e s , o r rather dimensions o r aspects, of presentation throughout the novel tend to suggest different m o r a l a g e n d a s . When Sir T h o m a s B e r t r a m interviews M a r i a a n d asks her w h e t h e r she 61

JOHN

WILTSHIRE

w a n t s to press o n w i t h the engagement to R u s h w o r t h ( 2 0 0 - 1 ) his thoughts are outlined like a n internal m o n o l o g u e w i t h o u t quotation m a r k s . T h e reader is expected to see t h r o u g h the self-deceptions a n d convenient blindnesses of his reasonings, but to retain the vestigial s y m p a t h y one conventionally has for a figure w h o s e thought-processes, w h o s e capacity to reflect, one has intimately f o l l o w e d . (This is one of the reasons w h y Sir T h o m a s , for all his failures - a n d he n e v e r fails in his kindness to his wife - is a fundamentally respectable figure.) T h e caustic comments that f o l l o w - 'Such and such-like w e r e the reasonings of Sir T h o m a s ' -

are an abrupt shift of address, and

require a c h a n g e of attitude from the reader from participatory leniency to dismissive contempt. T h e s e abutments of aspect (not a l w a y s as abrupt as here) are one source of the novel's scintillating life, but they sometimes cause ethical a n x i e t y in the reader that is not entirely resolved. T h e presentation

of M a r y a n d

Henry

C r a w f o r d , freestanding,

but

d o u b l e d t h r o u g h the perspective of the heroine, is the m a j o r instance of this challenge. M a r y has lived in L o n d o n a n d has a range of social skills that are a p p a r e n t l y w o r l d l y a n d sophisticated, but v i e w e d from F a n n y ' s position, she often seems s a d l y m a l a d r o i t . One complication of her tone - her 'sweet peculiarity of m a n n e r ' as E d m u n d describes it - is a tincture of disillusion­ ment that is not quite as cynical as she imagines. T h e sketch of M a r y ' s years at the A d m i r a l ' s h o u s e that emerges from her allusions, h o w e v e r witty and professedly u n c o n c e r n e d , indicates a history that invites s y m p a t h y for a d a m a g e d life. W h e n she is married, she tells M r s . G r a n t , she will be a staunch defender of the m a r r i a g e state, and adds ' I w i s h m y friends in general w o u l d be s o t o o . It w o u l d save me m a n y a heart-ache' ( 4 7 ) . H e r disrespectful description of her uncle's household - 'of Rears

and Vices, I

s a w e n o u g h ' - is w i t t y , but the crudity of the w i t laughs off an enormity she feels but has n o w a y of a p p r o a c h i n g directly. (Her assessment is not in doubt: the n a r r a t o r h a s said previously that the A d m i r a l w a s a m a n of 'vicious habits'.) 'In short, it is not a favourite profession of mine. It has never w o r n an a m i a b l e f o r m to me' (60). T h e r e m a r k s scandalize F a n n y a n d E d m u n d , but their intensity, w h i c h is replicated w h e n e v e r M a r y brings up the topic of life at the A d m i r a l ' s , betrays a n u n h a p p y experience that is clearly formative. M a r y ' s history, b r o u g h t u p in the charge of her aunt and uncle, mirrors F a n n y ' s , a n d one might justly suppose that the traumatic effects of her a d o p t i v e h o m e o n one personality are as relevant to the author's purpose as they are o n the other. In other w o r d s , though M a r y ' s worldliness is viewed critically (through the eyes of F a n n y a n d E d m u n d especially) it is also r e a d a b l e as a c o p i n g strategy, a sign of an insecurity m u c h less manifest than F a n n y ' s , but nonetheless, critical. 62

Mansfield Park, Emma,

Persuasion

The complications of feeling a n d j u d g m e n t these different dimensions of narration give rise to c a n be exemplified by the f a m o u s scene w h e n M r s . N o r r i s turns on F a n n y a n d accuses her of being 'a v e r y obstinate, ungrateful g i r l . . . very ungrateful indeed, considering w h o a n d w h a t she is' ( 1 4 7 ) . T h e setting is the d r a w i n g r o o m , w h e r e T o m , M a r i a , H e n r y C r a w f o r d , a n d M r . Y a t e s are at a table w i t h the p l a y in front of them, w h i l e L a d y B e r t r a m on her sofa, E d m u n d , F a n n y , a n d M r s . N o r r i s are g r o u p e d nearer the fire. The separation is political. M a r y C r a w f o r d ' s predicament a n d nervousness (she w a n t s E d m u n d to act the A n h a l t role but does not k n o w h o w to a p p r o a c h the question) is defined by her m o v e m e n t between one a n d the other set of people within the r o o m . She shifts from g r o u p to g r o u p , in response to different promptings, her freedom a sign not of independence but of her need to attach herself, to find a centre for her emotional life almost, one might say, to find a h o m e . W h e n E d m u n d snubs her, she ' w a s silenced; and with some feelings of resentment a n d mortification', the reader is told, ' m o v e d her chair' t o w a r d s M r s . N o r r i s at the tea-table. The reader's main focus is on F a n n y , w h o is the target of T o m ' s plans, so that the little d r a m a of M a r y ' s m a n o e u v r e s interweaves it only as a subsidary theme. T h e c l i m a x is T o m ' s repeated 'attack' on F a n n y a n d M r s . N o r r i s ' a n g r y speech. M a r y ' s immediate response is 'I d o not like m y situation; this place

is too hot for m e ' a n d her m o v i n g of her chair once

again to the opposite side of the table. M a r y ' s action, the completion of her series of movements, is sympathetically described as she continues to talk to Fanny and to try 'to raise her spirits, in spite of being out of spirits h e r s e l f . But in a m o m e n t one's admiration for her c o u r a g e a n d kindness becomes undermined: ' B y a look to her brother, she prevented a n y farther entreaty from the theatrical b o a r d , a n d the really g o o d feelings by w h i c h she w a s almost purely governed, w e r e rapidly restoring her to all the little she h a d lost in E d m u n d ' s f a v o u r ' ( 1 4 7 ) . T h i s o d d sentence, beginning w i t h M a r y ' s (or the narrator's) point of v i e w a n d ending w i t h E d m u n d ' s , seems to attribute to him an u n w a r r a n t e d

insight into M a r y ' s motives, a n d

the

upshot is a carping note all-too-consonant w i t h the suspiciousness of F a n n y . The dramas of the t w o y o u n g w o m e n h a v e been presented contrapuntally, but at this point w h e r e their projects actually clash the task of keeping sympathy for both figures alive in the narrative p r o v e s just too m u c h . T h i s episode presents a miniature version of the narrative k n o t that A u s t e n cuts in the last section of the novel by r e m o v i n g F a n n y to Portsmouth

and

allowing only her consciousness to preside. ' B y a look to her brother': the reader's responses to M a r y C r a w f o r d are also complicated by the fact that the dialogues between M a r y a n d H e n r y emphasize their mutual r a p p o r t . T h e y seem to h a v e a family style, teasing, 63

JOHN

WILTSHIRE

h u m o r o u s , generous, that contrasts w i t h the absence of anything like w i t or style a m o n g the B e r t r a m s . O n e never sees J u l i a a n d M a r i a , w h o are said to get o n well, for e x a m p l e , in c o n v e r s a t i o n , a n d T o m only speaks to E d m u n d in order crudely to m a k e clear w h o is boss. H e n r y , as M a r y declares, 'loves m e , consults m e , confides in m e ' ( 5 9 ) . H e n r y ' s regard for M a r y invites the reader to see his flirtations with M a r i a a n d J u l i a in a light that is perhaps a shade different from the youthful F a n n y ' s abhorrence. ( M a r y ' s resolve to keep her affections under control a l s o c a n n o t but m a k e one despise M a r i a ' s sulky disregard of consequences.) T h u s the

C r a w f o r d s ' worldliness is

a c c o m p a n i e d b y a complicating un-Bertramesque mutuality, kindness, and a d u l t h o o d . T h e y exemplify that 'fraternal' tie ( 2 3 5 ) the n a r r a t o r celebrates explicitly in reference to F a n n y a n d W i l l i a m . H e n r y C r a w f o r d is as m a r k e d as his sister by the arrangements in his uncle's h o u s e h o l d . Fatherless a n d a l l o w e d a free rein b y the A d m i r a l , H e n r y does not require the a p p r o v a l of others to feel justified in w h a t he does: in fact he rather relishes opposition than the reverse, w h i c h perhaps explains his persistence in the courtship of the anything but graciously reluctant F a n n y . H e n r y ' s pursuit of his s e x u a l objects, in this instance M a r i a , is a c c o m p a n i e d by c o n t e m p t for those objects. A u s t e n implies that he has picked up such attitudes from his uncle. But she also succeeds in suggesting h o w his spoilt a n d liberal upbringing can result in fascination w h e n the beloved offers the challenge, but also the comfort, of inflexible resistance. ' " I could so w h o l l y a n d absolutely confide in her," said he; " a n d that is what I w a n t " ' (294). H e n r y ' s courtship of F a n n y is a c c o m p a n i e d by conversations in which he discusses it w i t h M a r y , a n d his love for F a n n y by her endorsement,

or,

perhaps, collusion. T h e dual focus is m o s t brilliantly exploited in chapters 1 1 a n d 1 2 of the second v o l u m e . F o r m a n y chapters, the novel has seen events m a i n l y from the standpoint of F a n n y Price. It is her v i e w of H e n r y ' s flirtations that has been given, her mistrust, resentment, a n d reluctance have been highlighted, even while it is counterpointed a n d ironically at odds with the excitements a n d delights of the C r a w f o r d s . After the ball, w h i c h Sir T h o m a s has organized from the h a r d l y conscious w i s h to p r o m o t e F a n n y ' s chances with H e n r y , E d m u n d goes a w a y to be ordained. In chapter

11,

F a n n y ' s state of m i n d is described, but then the narrative shifts its focus on to M a r y at the P a r s o n a g e . It is n o w she w h o s e thoughts are filled with a n x i e t y a n d self-mistrust, a n d w h o n o w contends 'with one disagreeable emotion entirely n e w to her - j e a l o u s y ' ( 2 8 6 ) . T h e positions of the t w o y o u n g w o m e n h a v e been reversed as M a r y tries to extract some reassurance of her p o w e r o v e r E d m u n d from the unbending M i s s Price. In chapter 1 2 , H e n r y returns a n d a n n o u n c e s , to M a r y ' s astonishment, 64

Mansfield Park, Emma, Persuasion that he intends to m a r r y F a n n y Price. T h e genius of this a l m o s t entirely dramatic scene is that it gives full recognition to the excitement, gaiety, a n d exhilaration of the t w o figures w h o challenge the narrative a n d m o r a l status of the hero a n d heroine. T h e reader's responses are n o t inhibited

by

reservations from the narrator. W h a t also m a k e s it s o telling is that it is not merely a scene of mutual delight a n d congratulation, but that it touches once more on the painful family history that has m a d e these t w o , a n d their needs, w h a t they are. H e n r y , even w h i l e he a c k n o w l e d g e s the grossness of his uncle, says of him ' F e w fathers w o u l d h a v e let m e h a v e m y w a y half so much.' In the midst of her delight, with her mind racing a h e a d to w h a t this means for her o w n prospects, M a r y is stopped a n d s o u n d s a s o m b r e note: 'Henry, I think so highly of F a n n y Price, that if I c o u l d s u p p o s e the n e x t M r s . C r a w f o r d w o u l d h a v e half the reason w h i c h m y p o o r ill used a u n t h a d to a b h o r the very n a m e , I w o u l d prevent the m a r r i a g e , if p o s s i b l e ' ( 2 9 6 ) . The gravity of this declaration suggests once a g a i n the u n h a p p y p s y c h o l o ­ gical b a c k g r o u n d that leads M a r y , in this v e r y d i a l o g u e , to fantasize a reconstituted

family -

cousins a n d

brother

and

sister -

together

in

N o r t h a m p t o n s h i r e , a fantasy that ironically duplicates s o m e of F a n n y ' s o w n longings. It is not only p s y c h o l o g i c a l depth a n d narrative orchestration that m a k e Mansfield

Park a milestone in the English n o v e l . T h e novelist imagines the

physical w o r l d in w h i c h her figures m o v e to h a v e a p a l p a b l e presence, an effective bearing on their lives. A t one point in Pride narrator

r e m a r k s casually o n

'the

shrubbery

and Prejudice,

w h e r e this

the

conversation

passed' (PP 86). Settings are never neutral b a c k g r o u n d s in Mansfield

Park,

and the gardens at Sotherton, famously, are m a d e to p l a y a n integral, even determinative part in the action. It is not only that one c a n r e a d them in allegorical terms, as the punning e x c h a n g e of H e n r y a n d M a r i a a b o u t her 'prospects' invites one to d o . It is rather as if e m o t i o n a l pressures a n d urgencies w e r e felt, a n d c o n v e y e d to the reader, in spatial terms, as w h e n M a r i a declares s o intensely ' I cannot get out, as the starling s a i d ' ( M P 9 9 ) . A s the figures m o v e , disperse, a n d reassemble within the v a r i o u s venues Sotherton a n d M a n s f i e l d a n d Portsmouth offer them, one is m a d e vividly conscious not o n l y of the opportunities and inhibitions of these spaces, but of their being at issue - contested over, claimed, a n d o w n e d . M a r i a ' s disregard of the l o c k e d gate is to be echoed in T o m ' s overturning

the

arrangements of his father's r o o m s : both express their egotistical drives as the usurpation of territory. F a n n y seeks to keep E d m u n d at the w i n d o w looking at the stars, M a r y lures him indoors w i t h her m u s i c . C h a r a c t e r s a n d their bodies are imagined precisely within settings that are d r a w n into the narrative and act as p r o v o c a t i o n s to conversation a n d action.

65

JOHN

WILTSHIRE

T h i s capacity to dramatize space a n d to m a k e the h u m a n d r a m a insepar­ able from its physical location reaches its p e a k in the scenes at Portsmouth. A s E d w a r d Said observes, for e x a m p l e , the 'solitary candle' that F a n n y ' s father holds 'between himself a n d the p a p e r , w i t h o u t a n y reference to her possible c o n v e n i e n c e ' ( 3 8 2 ) 'renders v e r y precisely the dangers of unsocia­ bility, of lonely insularity, of diminished a w a r e n e s s that are rectified in larger a n d

better administered

spaces'.

2

It is this evening that F a n n y

r e m e m b e r s three months later w h e n her depression is deepened by the sun that brings its glare to illuminate the dirt a n d disorder of her parents' p a r l o u r . W h e n she returns to M a n s f i e l d w i t h E d m u n d in early spring an affiliation between emotional state, narrative purpose, and landscape setting - the trees in 'that delightful state . . . while m u c h is actually given to the sight, m o r e yet remains

for the

imagination'

possibilities that are to be e x p l o r e d further in Emma

(446-7) and

suggests the

Persuasion.

EMMA Emma

is a novel w i t h a quite different social setting a n d

conceptual

structure. F r o m the v i g o r o u s l y trochaic r h y t h m of the opening w o r d s ' E m m a W o o d h o u s e , h a n d s o m e , clever a n d rich . . . ' - a confident, energetic, a n d c o m m a n d i n g voice carries this narrative f o r w a r d s . T h i s is an optimistic b o o k , c o l o u r e d by E m m a ' s 'eager laughing w a r m t h ' , very much conceived of as a c o m e d y , w i t h the cross-purposes, misunderstandings,

mistaken

identities, tricking, a n d teasing that are definitive of c o m e d y as a genre. In the vicinity of E m m a , the narrative picks up her tone, her expressions, her phrasing, even w h e n it is not formally committed to rendering her speech or thought-patterns. O c c a s i o n a l l y , there is a note that does not belong to her, as in the description of M r s . W e s t o n ' s thoughts on her marriage: 'She felt herself a m o s t fortunate w o m a n ; a n d she h a d lived long enough to k n o w h o w fortunate she might well be thought, w h e r e the only regret w a s for a partial separation from friends, w h o s e friendship for her h a d never cooled, a n d w h o c o u l d ill bear to part w i t h her!' (E 1 8 ) - the voice of an older, sadder w o m a n than E m m a , that might not be out of place in Mansfield or

Park

Persuasion. B u t for the m o s t part the narrative voice of Emma,

while flexible, and

c a p a b l e even of picking up M r . Elton's v u l g a r i s m s w h e n in his vicinity, is o v e r w h e l m i n g l y the style of E m m a , youthful, confident, presumptive, witty, d o g m a t i c , c o m m a n d i n g , assured. ' H a r r i e t w a s to sit again the next d a y ; and M r . Elton, just as he ought, entreated for the permission of attending and reading to them a g a i n ' ( 4 7 ) : though this is formally information given by the n a r r a t o r , the phrase 'just as he o u g h t ' construes his motives according to 66

Mansfield Park, Emma,

Persuasion

E m m a ' s point of v i e w . Sometimes one can catch the n a r r a t o r a s s u m i n g E m m a ' s viewpoint deliberately to trick the reader. A few m o m e n t s

later

M r s . Weston is said to talk to M r . E l t o n of M i s s Smith 'not in the least suspecting she w a s addressing a l o v e r ' ; F r a n k Churchill, pressed to visit the Bates', is said to consent only 'with the h o p e of Hartfield to r e w a r d h i m ' ( 2 3 5 ) . In each of these cases, E m m a ' s v i e w of motives is a l l o w e d to tease the reader, to a p p e a r as if it is the b o o k ' s . So everything - m o r e o r less - is s h o w n through E m m a W o o d h o u s e ' s eyes. C h a r g e d with her o w n spirits a n d energy a n d self-consequence, she shapes the narrated w o r l d a c c o r d i n g to her presumptions,

preconceptions,

and demands. T h e structural principle of the novel, this is formally b r o k e n with only twice. T h e scene in chapter 5 , v o l u m e 1, in w h i c h M r . K n i g h t l e y and M r s . Weston discuss E m m a in her absence, is matched by chapter 5 in volume i n , in w h i c h M r . K n i g h t l e y ' s suspicions of a liaison between J a n e Fairfax and F r a n k Churchill seem to be confirmed by their b e h a v i o u r o v e r the w o r d g a m e . A s M r . Knightley w a t c h e s them in the gathering d a r k n e s s of the r o o m , he questions his o b s e r v a t i o n s - as E m m a never d o e s . L a t e r a looser style of narrative takes o v e r , but in the first t w o v o l u m e s

the

tunnelling of vision produces s o m e of its m o s t amusing a n d delicious effects. But if the novel is b o u n d e d by this rule (a flexible rule) it is also b o u n d e d spatially. Emma

is a novel in w h i c h circumscribed settings, limited s p a c e s ,

and confinement (comforting a n d enabling, but at the same time impri­ soning and suffocating) are crucially important. H i g h b u r y , the

country

village almost the size of a t o w n , in w h i c h the novel is set, is conceptually, if not geographically, isolated from the rest of the w o r l d . A u g u s t a E l t o n lets it be k n o w n that M r . Elton has expressed fears 'lest the retirement' of H i g h b u r y be disagreeable to his bride ( 2 7 6 ) , and, r e c o m m e n d i n g B a t h to E m m a , comments that 'it w o u l d be a charming introduction for y o u , w h o have lived so secluded a life'. She also thinks that J a n e F a i r f a x is w a s t i n g her sweetness on the desert air. H i g h b u r y is provincial a n d confined -

a city-

state, a c o m m o n w e a l t h , that F r a n k Churchill takes out his freedom in by purchasing gloves at F o r d ' s a n d declaring his amor patriae

( 2 0 0 ) . (The true

freedom of H i g h b u r y , of course, is w o n by the hard w o r k of parish meetings and neighbourly concern that M r . Knightley puts in.) Y e t to speak of H i g h b u r y ' s isolation a n d limitedness is to put

the

emphasis mistakenly. ' " O u r lot is cast in a g o o d l y h e r i t a g e " ', effuses M i s s Bates, and H i g h b u r y is depicted as a cheerfully functioning c o m m u n i t y (it is 'reckoned a particularly healthy spot'). F o r despite E m m a ' s w a r i n e s s - her wish not quite to define her identity in terms of the place - H i g h b u r y is not seen from the position of an a m u s e d or superior outside o b s e r v e r (as Elizabeth G a s k e l l ' s C r a n f o r d is). T h o u g h the reader sees from one point of

67

JOHN

WILTSHIRE

v i e w , a n d that rather one given to snobbery, the novel generates, especially in v o l u m e n , a sense of busy interplay between characters a n d between social classes, a n e t w o r k of visiting, gossip, charitable acts, a n d neighbourly concern. O n e of the achievements of the novel is to populate 'the H i g h b u r y w o r l d ' ( 3 5 2 ) a n d give it a p p a r e n t depth. T h e loose ends a n d superfluous names that figure s o m u c h in M i s s B a t e s ' gossip d o not just serve to camouflage the essential bits of information that she is feeding into the plot, they are a technically adroit m e a n s of c o n v e y i n g - especially in the H i g h b u r y ball scene - this sense of a social c o m m o n w e a l t h . It is not o n l y in M i s s Bates' speeches that characters are s p o k e n of familiarly w h o are never formally presented. M r . Perry, the doctor w h o m a y or m a y not be setting up his c a r r i a g e , is o n l y the m o s t frequently mentioned of a host of figures w h o pass in a n d out of the narrative a n d acquire a kind of familiarity b y p r o x y . It is as if by h a v i n g W i l l i a m L a r k i n s , R o b e r t M a r t i n , M r s . G o d d a r d , a n d m a n y others - M r s . H o d g e s , J o h n A b d y , Patty, J a m e s , the C o x e s , even the Coles partially within o u r field of vision, the novel persuades us of their richly extended existence b e y o n d it. T h e novelist m a k e s sure that the reader grasps that the curtailment of space - this d r a w i n g of strict boundaries - has social a n d ethical dimensions t o o . She introduces a scene in w h i c h E m m a and H a r r i e t visit a p o o r cottage (volume 1, chapter 1 0 ) . T h e w a l k on the w a y offers o p p o r t u n i t y for some of E m m a ' s m o r e preposterous pronouncements a b o u t herself but it also serves to define the p a r a m e t e r s of the novel's scheme. T h i s is a p a r t of H i g h b u r y that is not p a r t of E m m a ' s H i g h b u r y , a n d E m m a ' s w o r d s o n surveying the cottage define the limitations of the conceptual w o r l d of the novel (not to be confused w i t h the historical social w o r l d of R e g e n c y E n g l a n d ) . E m m a a n d H a r r i e t cross 'the l o w hedge, a n d tottering footstep w h i c h ended

the

n a r r o w , slippery p a t h t h r o u g h the cottage garden, a n d b r o u g h t them into the lane a g a i n ' . E m m a tells H a r r i e t that her impression of the misery in the cottage will not s o o n be o v e r . ' I d o not think it w i l l ' , she s a y s , 'stopping to l o o k once m o r e at all the o u t w a r d wretchedness of the p l a c e , a n d recal the still greater w i t h i n ' ( 8 7 ) . T h e n , 'the lane m a d e a slight bend; a n d w h e n that bend w a s p a s s e d , M r . Elton w a s immediately in sight' a n d the novel resumes its c o m i c intrigue: a n elegant w a y for the novelist to put out of sight, out of the n o v e l ' s focus, a w h o l e aspect of H i g h b u r y life. T h e episode is relevant to the n o v e l ' s concern w i t h charity in all its forms, but w h a t it a l s o does is persuade the reader to see h o w g e o g r a p h i c a l s p a c e , m o r a l focus, a n d conceptual scheme c a n be identified. E m m a a n d H a r r i e t ' s w a l k is an interruption to the sequence of Hartfield scenes in the first v o l u m e of Emma.

W o m e n in this novel are m o r e or less 68

Mansfield Park, Emma,

Persuasion

limited to d r a w i n g r o o m s , but men can w a l k in at all h o u r s , a n d even g o off to L o n d o n for a haircut. J a n e F a i r f a x is subject to a n e i g h b o u r l y inquisition w h e n she is caught w a l k i n g in the rain to the local p o s t office on the chance of hearing from her b e l o v e d , but M r . Knightley is free to ride t h r o u g h the rain all the w a y from L o n d o n to attend to the needs of his. S p a c e is thus gendered: a n d the v a r i o u s dimensions of confinement interrelated: confine­ ment to the indoors, to a restricted sphere of influence, to a small c o m m u ­ nity; and on the other hand, freedom to enjoy the o u t d o o r s , freedom to exercise choice, to travel. T h e reader is a s k e d to see a correlation, or correspondence, between being shut in a n d the possibilities of the m o r a l life, as w h e n E m m a , p r o n o u n c i n g w i t h ineffable c o m p l a c e n c y to H a r r i e t that she will never get married, says 'those w h o live perforce in a very small, a n d generally very inferior, society, m a y w e l l be illiberal a n d c r o s s ' ( 8 5 ) . In Emma

w o m e n ' s imprisonment is associated w i t h deprivation, w i t h

energies and p o w e r s perverted in their application, a n d events, balls, a n d outings are linked w i t h the a r o u s a l a n d satisfaction of desire. B u t the presentation is not b l a c k and white: structure is perceived to be essential to the fulfilment of desire, a n d the freedom of the o u t d o o r s is depicted as potentially treacherous o r empty. T h e n o v e l ' s o w n m o m e n t u m

harnesses

E m m a ' s a n d the reader's desire for e x p a n s i o n a n d the release of energies. Confined to Hartfield for most of the first v o l u m e , the narrative then gradually e x p a n d s its horizons w i t h an increasingly far-flung series of outings, visits, a n d the ball at the C r o w n , until it c l i m a x e s in the t w o excursions, one a d a y after the other, a chapter after the other, to D o n w e l l and to B o x H i l l . T h e n , w h e n E m m a learns of H a r r i e t ' s great expectations of M r . Knightley, there is a scene set in her father's d r a w i n g r o o m in w h i c h the term 'prospect' ( 4 2 2 ) , as in Mansfield

Park, requires us to read the confined

r o o m , the miserable weather outside included, as both the material condi­ tion of E m m a ' s m e l a n c h o l y , a n d a m e t a p h o r . But E m m a , like other ladies, does m a k e visits. O n e particularly skilful exploitation of her point of v i e w is the p a s s a g e (literally) between chapter 9 and chapter 1 0 of v o l u m e 11 in w h i c h the reader, a c c o m p a n y i n g E m m a a n d pursued ' b y the sounds of [Miss Bates'] desultory g o o d w i l l ' climbs the stairs to the B a t e s ' a p a r t m e n t a n d (over the p a g e , opening the n e x t chapter) sees the r o o m as if the curtain has g o n e up on a stage set: ' T h e a p p e a r a n c e of the little sitting-room as they entered, w a s tranquillity itself; M r s . B a t e s , deprived of her usual e m p l o y m e n t , slumbering o n one side of the fire, F r a n k Churchill, at a table near her, most deedily o c c u p i e d a b o u t her spectacles, and J a n e F a i r f a x , standing w i t h her b a c k to them, intent on her p i a n o f o r t e ' (240). T h i s is w h a t E m m a sees, a n d the f o l l o w i n g sequence in w h i c h F r a n k encourages her suspicions of J a n e w h i l e at the s a m e time speaking otherwise

69

JOHN

WILTSHIRE

to his fiancée is a particularly delicious e x a m p l e of his skill, or damning evidence of his duplicity (depending o n h o w one's sympathies lie). While w e r e a d the following scene from E m m a ' s point of v i e w , and are involved in E m m a ' s responses - a m o n g them that characteristic shading of her hostility to J a n e into pity a n d b a c k a g a i n - the novelist is inviting the reader to step b e y o n d her a n d to see it quite differently. T h a t 'deedily occupied' raises the suspicion that the y o u n g occupants h a v e just sprung into these innocent positions. P o o r old M r s . Bates has been as effectually blinded as E m m a . Because of the confinement

3

of focus to E m m a , F r a n k Churchill is

presented entirely d r a m a t i c a l l y a n d therefore enigmatically: is he appeasing o r teasing E m m a w h e n he professes to take up all her suspicions regarding J a n e F a i r f a x ? H o w m u c h is he being ironic at her expense w h e n he says 'but I, simple I, s a w nothing but the f a c t . . . I d o not mean to say, h o w e v e r , that y o u might not h a v e m a d e discoveries' ( 2 1 8 ) ? W h e n he m u r m u r s 'conjecture'

about

- ' a y e , sometimes one conjectures right a n d sometimes one

conjectures w r o n g ' - w h a t kind of adroit act is he performing? In retrospect, one might be sure that he's slyly implying the same criticisms of E m m a that M r . K n i g h t l e y m a k e s so forthrightly, but the reader, listening with E m m a ' s ears, laps up the flattery that his w o r d s a p p e a r to proffer. F r a n k is not merely a m a n i p u l a t o r :

A u s t e n ' s presentation

a l l o w s one to detect

his

m o m e n t s of b a d conscience, of uneasiness at the g a m e he is forced into, as well as his enjoyment of the g a m e itself - ' T h e n I will speak the truth, and nothing suits me so w e l l ' ( 2 0 0 ) . T h e reader is free to imagine that F r a n k is both sly a n d impetuous - that he is a l w a y s straining against the restrictions of secrecy a n d at the s a m e time enjoying the opportunities for mischief it presents. T h e enigmatic a n d m e r c u r i a l nature of the character is a product of the technique

of presentation

a d o p t e d . F o r reasons best k n o w n

to

himself, M r . K n i g h t l e y does not think m u c h of him. Neither does M r . W o o d h o u s e . ' T h a t y o u n g m a n is not quite the thing' (or: 'not w h a t he o u g h t to b e ' ) . F r a n k dares to break the H i g h b u r y habit of deference to M r . Perry, a n d , even m o r e scandalously, p r o v o k e s M r . W o o d h o u s e into panic o v e r o p e n w i n d o w s at the ball. ' O p e n the w i n d o w s ! . . . N o b o d y c o u l d be so imprudent! I never heard of such a thing. Dancing with o p e n w i n d o w s ! I a m sure neither y o u r father nor M r s Weston (poor M i s s T a y l o r that w a s ) w o u l d suffer it.' A n d F r a n k replies, ' A h ! sir - but a thoughtless y o u n g person will sometimes step behind a w i n d o w - c u r t a i n , a n d t h r o w up a sash w i t h o u t its being suspected. I h a v e often k n o w n it done m y s e l f ( 2 5 1 - 2 ) . T h e reader m a y w e l l enjoy this teasing, as with M r . J o h n K n i g h t l e y ' s earlier a n d m u c h less good-tempered taunts a b o u t the s n o w thick o n the g r o u n d at R a n d a l l s . F r a n k t h r o w s o p e n w i n d o w s in the novel in a m o r e modern sense - the 70

Mansfield Park, Emma, Persuasion opportunity of v i e w i n g the characters a n d events w i t h i n a different ethic. If w e laugh w i t h him, w e enjoy a t e m p o r a r y truancy from the official m o r a l i t y of the novel's conceptual w o r l d . F r a n k presents the possibility of seeing things another w a y

- one that a l l o w s m u c h m o r e to impetuosity a n d

surprise, to passion a n d risk-taking. In this v i e w M r . W o o d h o u s e w o u l d be seen as blocking the w a y , a m a n w h o s e depressive fussiness inhibits a n d shuts d o w n opportunities

a n d possibilities of life, a n d M r . K n i g h t l e y ' s

masculine rationality a n d rule-giving an attempt to contain a n d organize a w o r l d that is actually m u c h m o r e volatile. Y e t since E m m a ' s perspective is so much the n o v e l ' s , the reader w h o takes out his o r her freedom in H i g h b u r y undertakes to accept its consensus a n d thus declines to pursue these options or doubts. E m m a , of course, is completely u n a w a r e of the relationship

between

Frank and J a n e . B u t her misunderstanding is deeper than this. W h a t she misses in F r a n k a n d J a n e ' s situation is a romantic element that simply is foreign to her sensibility. F o r E m m a the arrival of the p i a n o is simply a stimulus for further speculation a b o u t M r . D i x o n : the gift might h a v e been a piece of jewellery (an a m b e r cross?) for all the difference it m a k e s . B u t the choice of the p i a n o as a gift is not accidental. It becomes clear that J a n e a n d Frank fell in love o v e r music, and that music is important to J a n e in a w a y that E m m a cannot fully conceive. In this very scene F r a n k m a n a g e s to s a y to Jane: 'I believe you were glad we danced no longer; but I would have given worlds all the worlds one ever has to give - for another half hour.' She played. (242) J a n e speaks, in effect, through the p i a n o . H e r eloquence passes u n h e a r d by E m m a . L a t e r , preoccupied by thoughts a b o u t M r . K n i g h t l e y , she scarcely notices 'the s w e e t sounds of the united voices' of F r a n k a n d J a n e singing in the b a c k g r o u n d . O n l y through music does the c o m m u n i t y

unwittingly

sanction their intimacy. O n e is left to speculate that p e r h a p s it is a n insight into her confined circumstances a n d the need for an outlet that

has

motivated the gift of the p i a n o , a gift 'thoroughly from the heart', attuned to the needs of the b e l o v e d , as F r a n k contrives to declare. M o r e o v e r , a p i a n o is a symbol of culture a n d gentility - as the discussion at M r s . C o l e ' s brings out - and the present is a pledge on F r a n k ' s part of a future larger, m o r e comprehensive in its cultural horizons, than the B a t e s ' t w o r o o m s . W h e n the engagement is b r o k e n off, and J a n e faces a future as g o v e r n e s s , M i s s Bates reports her addressing the p i a n o directly: ' P o o r dear J a n e w a s talking of it just n o w . " Y o u must g o " , said she. " Y o u a n d I must part. Y o u will have no business h e r e " ' ( 3 8 4 ) .

71

JOHN

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F r a n k ' s gift of the p i a n o is therefore l o a d e d w i t h implications - cultural, social, a n d erotic - that E m m a c a n n o t see. B u t mostly it is that the piano signifies p a s s i o n . S o that while E m m a is busily constructing a t a w d r y r o m a n t i c narrative a r o u n d J a n e , a n d taking F r a n k to be confirming her speculations, the reader is at the s a m e time being given the material to substantiate a conception of love that is, indeed, r o m a n t i c - a love that seems to h a v e been m o r e o r less at first sight, that is expressed by both in passionate terms, a n d that is carried o n in defiance of social proprieties. ' H a d she refused', to become e n g a g e d , F r a n k later writes, ' I should h a v e gone m a d ' ( 4 3 7 ) . T h i s intensity - J a n e herself, not given to g u s h , speaks of F r a n k ' s ' b e w i t c h i n g ' qualities - is all the m o r e r e m a r k a b l e because it conflicts with, o r is set up in opposition to, the notion of c o m p a n i o n a t e love that is d e v e l o p e d through the n o v e l ' s focus on E m m a . F o r Emma,

w h i c h celebrates

rational m a r r i a g e , a l s o offers credence to passionate a n d reckless love. A u s t e n ' s interweaving of the suggestions of a deeply romantic narrative w i t h i n the novel is the m o r e telling because its ' l o v e story' is such a fundamental revision of the convention. T h o u g h superficially the relation­ ship of E m m a W o o d h o u s e a n d M r . Knightley resembles the

pupil/tutor

pattern that is discernible in Catherine M o r l a n d a n d H e n r y Tilney, F a n n y a n d E d m u n d , a n d even Elizabeth a n d D a r c y - he is so m u c h older than she, for e x a m p l e - it is far m o r e than these a relationship of equals, even though E m m a is a w o m a n a n d thus severely restricted in the w a y s she can exercise p o w e r , a n d in the forms her intelligence can take. Theirs are contests between equals in confidence, w i t , a n d capacity for strong and sympathetic feeling. B o t h love everything that is decided a n d open. W h e n they fight over H a r r i e t Smith a n d R o b e r t M a r t i n , E m m a m a y ' a b u s e her reason' but it is as if, underlying the real anger a n d indignation on both sides, there is a reciprocation of energy, a love of the other's strength of mind. T h e real identity of E m m a a n d K n i g h t l e y ' s v i e w s is defined in their next quarrel w h e n E m m a 'to her great amusement, perceived that she w a s taking the other side of the question from her real o p i n i o n ' ( 1 4 5 ) : the underlying a n d unconscious

motive

is

clearly

pleasure

in

crossing

swords

with

M r . Knightley. E m m a finds M r . K n i g h t l e y such a stimulus to her ingenuity that the reader m a y well feel s w a y e d by her arguments. ' Y o u are very fond of bending

little minds; but w h e n little minds

belong to rich people in

authority, I think they h a v e a k n a c k of swelling out, till they are quite as u n m a n e a g e a b l e as great o n e s ' ( 1 4 7 ) . L i k e so m u c h of w h a t E m m a says, this has the ring of intuitive truth. S o m e readers think that M r . Knightley is never w r o n g , a n d , in the sense that the outcomes of E m m a ' s meddling with H a r r i e t ' s life are m u c h as he predicts, they are correct: but dramatically,

72

Mansfield Park, Emma,

Persuasion

E m m a ' s ideas - just because they capture something of a w o r l d that is less tractable, m o r e r a n d o m a n d u n g o v e r n a b l e than M r . K n i g h t l e y ' s o w n g o o d sense and rationality a l l o w - h a v e a g o o d deal of v a l u e , a n d w h a t the reader watches, as a spectacle, is E m m a ' s w i t a n d fire in M r . K n i g h t l e y ' s presence. A n d in a later dispute, w h e n M r . Knightley says that M r s . Elton w o u l d be subdued by M i s s F a i r f a x into deference, and E m m a doubts it, her m o r e open sense of unpredictability a n d volatility in h u m a n relations certainly scores over him. This is a relation in w h i c h , then, the erotic content is a l w a y s implicit, a l w a y s transmuted or sublimated. M r . Knightley only learns h o w he feels about E m m a from his o w n h o m o s o c i a l jealousy of F r a n k . E m m a ' s desire for M r . Knightley (as distinct from her admiration a n d r e g a r d for him) is o u t of her o w n a w a r e n e s s - impeded by her devotion to her father. S o the n o v e l needs to find w a y s to c o n v e y to the reader that the m a r r i a g e w i t h w h i c h it will inevitably close is plausible - has to m a k e the reader desire E m m a ' s union with M r . Knightley, has to find w a y s of c o n v e y i n g her u n c o n s c i o u s erotic or desiring attachment to him. 'She a l w a y s declares she will never marry, w h i c h , of course, means just nothing at all' ( 4 1 ) , M r . K n i g h t l e y has said: E m m a declares as m u c h to H a r r i e t , a n d a g o o d deal of the c o m e d y of the novel concerns, of course, E m m a ' s o w n pursuit of r o m a n t i c matters b y p r o x y . Austen s h o w s , t o o , that Knightley is constantly in E m m a ' s thoughts, but cumulatively these, a n d even the telling m o m e n t at the ball w h e n she registers his 'tall, firm, upright figure' ( 3 2 6 ) , d o not quite a m o u n t c o n v i n ­ cingly to a demonstration of hidden desire. B u t perhaps the m o s t effective technique for persuading the reader of the necessity of the m a r r i a g e is the interlude of description of D o n w e l l A b b e y . In this, as in so much else, Emma

is a rewriting of Pride

and

Prejudice.

T h e crucial point in the evolution of Elizabeth's feelings t o w a r d s M r . D a r c y is her visit to Pemberley, w h e r e she sees him at h o m e , at ease in his o w n setting, a n d given a g l o w i n g p e r s o n a l reference by his o w n housekeeper. It is evident that Pemberley, the estate, has a m é t o n y m i e relation to its o w n e r : it not only symbolizes or represents his social a n d financial status, but gives material presence to less definable qualities like his taste a n d his j u d g m e n t . Even more than this: the stream a b o u n d s with fish, a n d the table, w h e n Elizabeth visits M i s s D a r c y , is piled with 'beautiful p y r a m i d s of g r a p e s , nectarines a n d peaches' (PP 2 6 8 ) . D o n w e l l A b b e y is introduced into the narrative at a b o u t the s a m e point, and is a set-piece of a similiar kind. B o t h houses represent, o r figure forth, their o w n e r s . Pemberley is manifestly an i m a g e of social p o w e r a n d w e a l t h . D o n w e l l A b b e y is m o r e c o m p l e x ; less idealized, less in the i m a g e of houses and their g r o u n d s ' i m p r o v e d ' by R e p t o n o r C a p a b i l i t y B r o w n . 'It w a s just

73

JOHN

WILTSHIRE

w h a t it ought to be, a n d it l o o k e d w h a t it w a s ' (E 3 5 8 ) : D o n w e l l A b b e y , as E m m a v i e w s it, has its limitations - the disputable taste of the w a l k , its neglect of prospect - it is w i t h o u t fashionable smoothness a n d thus presents or incarnates the blunt honesty, the m o r a l integrity, even w h a t Austen presents as the characteristic Englishness, of its o w n e r . ' E a g e r to refresh and correct her m e m o r y w i t h m o r e particular observation, m o r e e x a c t under­ standing' E m m a seizes the chance to e x p l o r e alone (her father

being

temporarily taken care of) a n d l o o k a b o u t her. She w a r m s to 'its suitable, becoming, characteristic situation, l o w a n d sheltered - its ample gardens stretching d o w n to m e a d o w s w a s h e d by a stream . . . its a b u n d a n c e of timber in r o w s a n d a v e n u e s ' ( 3 5 7 - 8 ) . E m m a feels a sense of propriety, of possession a n d affiliation. T h i s is a spectacle of plenitude and comfort, richness, prosperity, a n d containment. V i e w i n g it - and E m m a slips off once a g a i n 'for a few m o m e n t s ' free observation of the entrance a n d ground-plot of the h o u s e ' ( 3 6 2 ) - gives her peculiar relish. O n e difference between D o n w e l l a n d Pemberley is that Elizabeth Bennet is perfectly c o n s c i o u s that in seeing o v e r it she is revising her v i e w of D a r c y . E m m a is unconscious of the fact that the place is identified for her with its proprietor, that in being there -

indeed in luxuriating in it -

she is

unconsciously imagining union w i t h M r . Knightley. She never thinks: ' T o be mistress of D o n w e l l might be something!' Y e t the w a r m t h of her response (here indistinguishable from the narrator's) is important for m o v i n g the narrative impetus f o r w a r d . It suggests that D o n w e l l is a place that, while realistic o n the surface - the planning of its gardens is almost as a w k w a r d as Sotherton - offers a resting place for d r e a m s . T h e house a n d its surround­ ings - the f a r m , the o r c h a r d , even the a b u n d a n c e of strawberries - augur satisfaction, fulfilment, amplitude. Seeing Harriet a n d M r . Knightley ad­ miring the v i e w of the f a r m , E m m a ' s description w a r m s to 'all its appen­ dages of prosperity a n d beauty, its rich pastures, spreading flocks, orchard in b l o s s o m , a n d light c o l u m n of s m o k e ascending' ( 3 6 0 ) . In his notes to Emma,

R . W . C h a p m a n points out that 'the o r c h a r d in

b l o s s o m ' w h e n the season is said to be ' a b o u t M i d s u m m e r ' is 'one of M i s s A u s t e n ' s very rare mistakes of this k i n d ' ( 4 9 3 ) . T h e 'light column of s m o k e ascending' is also o d d l y u n s e a s o n a l . B u t perhaps 'mistake' is t o o simple an e x p l a n a t i o n for these effects: w h a t is being presented here is not a place but an idyll, the fantasy of the p a s t o r a l p a r a d i s e . T h e r e is an enthusiasm that seeks to represent D o n w e l l a n d its estate, not just as a d m i r a b l e a n d august, but as h a v i n g everything

- strawberries at their peak of ripeness, sunshine,

'spreading flocks', ' a m p l e gardens w a s h e d by a stream', prosperous farm­ land, a n d the domestic hearth: a rich constatation encompasses.

74

of all that desire

Mansfield Park, Emma,

Persuasion

But by representing E m m a ' s desire in the i m a g e of, as contained b y , the house, garden, and estate, J a n e A u s t e n performs a narrative and ideological hat-trick. Erotic longing is united with a c o n s e r v a t i v e political a n d social agenda. E m m a ' s desire is not to possess the h o u s e , but rather the house is made an eloquent e m b o d i m e n t or vessel for that desire, w h i c h is thenceforth seen to be inseparable from the social institutions that m a y contain it. It is D o n w e l l , thus, that persuades the reader that E m m a ' s destiny is to be w i t h M r . Knightley - persuades one both of the social propriety (in the largest sense of fitness a n d likelihood of happiness) of the u n i o n , but a l s o , m o r e subtly, that M r . Knightley will a n s w e r to E m m a ' s needs just as m u c h as to her desires: permanence, strength, a n d that stability that is also ' a b u n d a n c e ' , and g r o w t h w h i c h is an implicit w a r r a n t y of s e x u a l amplitude. All this can be accomplished because D o n w e l l is ' l o w a n d sheltered': this is an outdoor scene in w h i c h freedom is liberty, structured

within

an

ordered, established, social w o r l d . A t B o x H i l l , in the n e x t chapter, the o p e n air is an empty space, people w a n d e r off in all directions, social relations are unstructured, and the limitations of i n n o v a t i o n a n d freedom are manifest. Soon follows the scene w h e r e E m m a , confined to the Hartfield d r a w i n g r o o m and with nothing to l o o k f o r w a r d to but a string of similiar evenings with her father, revisits the past: a n i n d o o r s that encapsulates b o r e d o m a n d deprivation. W h e n , next d a y , the p r o p o s a l takes p l a c e , it is in the g a r d e n . Here, in this wonderful p r o p o s a l scene, t w o intelligent people, each fearing that the other is devoted to another person, try their best to hold b a c k their o w n emotions, a n d to give all their energy, their attention, their care, to further the other's happiness. W h a t E m m a learns in this novel is not to think like M r . Knightley, but that she has a l w a y s , in fact, thought like him. T h e r e is n o element of capitulation in the novel's ending, rather one of celebratory recognition. Their reconciliation w o u l d be the conclusion of a conventional

romantic

narrative, but E m m a a n d M r . Knightley c o n v e r s e a g o o d deal after their private engagement. Unlike Elizabeth a n d D a r c y w h o , in a similiar situation, educate each other into the intimacy of equals, E m m a and M r . K n i g h t l e y enjoy already their reciprocal k n o w l e d g e . T h e y chafe a n d tease each other, w o r k i n g through the past, replaying their relationship in different terms: it is almost as if Austen w e r e presenting E m m a a n d M r . Knightley as an already married couple. T h e s e scenes are by n o m e a n s simply occasions for E m m a to confess to being ' w r o n g ' . ' W h a t h a d she to w i s h for? N o t h i n g , but to g r o w more w o r t h y of him, w h o s e intentions a n d j u d g m e n t h a d been ever so superior to her o w n . N o t h i n g , but that the lessons of her past folly might teach her humility and circumspection in future'

( 4 7 5 ) . T h i s is E m m a

thinking - vivaciously, but also e x t r a v a g a n t l y - as u s u a l .

75

JOHN

WILTSHIRE

PERSUASION E m m a occupies her w o r l d so vividly that its sparseness - that there has been n o ball at the C r o w n for m a n y y e a r s - is hardly noticed. A n n e Elliot is mentioned v e r y early in Persuasion,

but several chapters pass before this

possible o r potential heroine comes into her o w n in its pages. Instead this novel foregrounds the unnourishing w o r l d of her father and sister and those people, L a d y Russell a n d M r . S h e p h e r d , w h o d o duty as their 'friends'. Elizabeth 'did not quite equal her father in personal contentment', the n a r r a t o r c o m m e n t s dryly: For thirteen years had she been doing the honours, and laying down the domestic law at home, and leading the way to the chaise and four, and walking immediately after Lady Russell out of all the drawing-rooms and dining rooms in the country. Thirteen winters' revolving frosts had seen her opening every ball of credit which a scanty neighbourhood afforded; and thirteen springs shewn their blossoms, as she travelled up to London for a few weeks annual enjoyment of the great world. (? 6-7) Elizabeth ' w o u l d h a v e rejoiced to be certain of being properly solicited by b a r o n e t - b l o o d within the n e x t t w e l v e m o n t h or t w o ' . T h i s is E m m a ' s ' w h a t o u g h t to b e ' seen as self-destructive presumption, pride n o w examined as self-immolation. W h i l e Elizabeth insists o n her prerogatives and rights, the seasons p e r f o r m in m e c h a n i c a l rotation a b o u t her, and springs only return to suggest a f o r m a l p a r o d y of r e n e w e d a n d replenished life. 'Fulfilment' is a R o m a n t i c w o r d , but such a term is needed to suggest h o w J a n e Austen associates Elizabeth's spiritual impoverishment, w h a t the narrator calls later 'the sameness . . . a n d the nothingness' (9) of her life, w i t h the absence of love a n d erotic satisfaction. Instead she clutches, as does her sister M a r y , at every sign of precedence the social w o r l d hands her. Persuasion

is, then, a novel a b o u t the inner and the outer life. This

e v o c a t i o n of the sterility of Elizabeth's social space is a preface to its concern w i t h the o u t w a r d capability a n d inner turbulence of the quiet, recessive, a n d only g r a d u a l l y introduced heroine. A n n e is without p o w e r in her family circle as she is at first w i t h o u t dramatic prominence in the text, but the narrative becomes g r a d u a l l y suffused w i t h her presence, idioms, a n d a p p r o a c h . Y e t it is through negatives, absences, understatements, merely the cadences a n d phrasing that s h a p e her introspections, not through

an

assertive o r d r a m a t i c voice, that A n n e Elliot becomes for the reader a presence in her w o r l d . 'Nobody'

in her

immediate

family, she is at

least 'useful' in

the

n e i g h b o u r i n g M u s g r o v e circle. T h e r e , others talk while she plays the p i a n o . 76

Mansfield Park, Emma,

Persuasion

'She k n e w that w h e n she p l a y e d she w a s giving pleasure only to herself; but this w a s n o n e w sensation: excepting one short period of her life, she h a d never, since the a g e of fourteen, never since the loss of her d e a r mother, k n o w n the happiness of being listened to, o r e n c o u r a g e d by a n y just appreciation or real taste' ( 4 7 ) . Such sentences exemplify the w a y A n n e ' s consciousness is represented in this novel. Defining her solitariness, the sentence, by mentioning

the death

of her mother,

and

alluding

more

indistinctly to the forfeit of W e n t w o r t h , m a n a g e s to suggest the enduring painfulness of both, a n d h o w that second loss inscribed the first yet m o r e deeply. T h e plangent chords of these losses are dwelt o n m o m e n t a r i l y , but by enclosing, a n d holding, them within an assertion of A n n e ' s c o m p e t e n c e , the phrasing also suggests h o w she has proceeded to a m a t u r e , if tenuous, accommodation. A n n e ' s inner life is rendered in touches like this, w h i c h open brief perspectives on her emotional a n d p s y c h o l o g i c a l history, o n the painful underpinnings of her present condition, but w h i c h never d w e l l o n them. A n n e ' s consciousness is imbued with m e m o r y a n d reflection, a n d the style which evokes it is at once suggestive a n d understated. When C a p t a i n W e n t w o r t h once again enters A n n e ' s life, he thus b r o a c h e s a tentatively achieved stability. A n n e ' s struggles to c o m e to terms w i t h the momentary encounters a n d challenges of his presence are represented

as

moral or ethical struggles to be 'rational' o r 'sensible' but a l s o as ' n e r v o u s ' excitements, p h y s i o l o g i c a l responses of energies half repressed but

now

aroused a n d heightened, in blushes a n d agitations. A n n e Elliot is thus a kind of moral-physiological entity,

and

the

account

of her

'reasonings'

is

accompanied by the continuous registration of a physical state, c a p t u r e d in a freer, m o r e agitated prose than Austen has previously d e v e l o p e d . A n n e ' s thoughts after their first encounter

are presented

as a battle, as in a

Shakespearian s o l i l o q u y , between the countervailing forces of desire a n d self-command, w i t h desire repeatedly infiltrating the pitiful strategems of the stoic will that are marshalled to quell it ( 6 0 - 1 ) . B u t since A n n e ' s emotional needs are legitimate, the effect of her struggles is to p r o d u c e a kind of ironic p a t h o s , a n d the desire of the reader can only be to a w a i t their expression a n d fulfilment. This sense of the intricacy of A n n e ' s p s y c h o l o g y - the pull of e m o t i o n imperfectly coinciding w i t h conduct; the b o d y , so to s p e a k , h a v i n g a will of its o w n (unexpectedly discerning W e n t w o r t h w a l k i n g d o w n the street 'She n o w felt a great inclination to g o to the outer d o o r ; she w a n t e d to see if it rained' ( 1 7 5 ) , is one of A u s t e n ' s main achievements. C a p a b i l i t i e s , action, social life: these are o n l y partially adequate vessels for, o r e x p r e s s i o n s of, inner life, a n d A n n e ' s v a r i o u s roles, until the novel's close, are never quite congruent with her nature. W e n t w o r t h ' s will is largely exercised in the

77

JOHN

WILTSHIRE

d o m a i n of conduct, but just as m u c h as A n n e ' s , w h i c h addresses her e m o t i o n s , it is out of h a r m o n y w i t h desire. T h e depth of A n n e ' s solitary consciousness is contrasted with the absence of reflection (for Sir W a l t e r picks u p n o b o o k s but the Baronetage) in the life of the s u r r o u n d i n g small-time country gentry. T h e M u s g r o v e s are w a r m ­ hearted a n d unaffected, unlike the Elliots, but the w h o l e family share an unreflecting philistinism. Finding C h a r l e s H a y t e r w i t h b o o k s before him the M u s g r o v e s ' w e r e sure all c o u l d not be right, a n d talked, with g r a v e faces, of his studying himself to death' ( 8 2 ) . T h e y inhabit a taken-for-granted w o r l d , w i t h o u t a n inkling that people are not entirely to be k n o w n by their appearances,

without

a glimpse of the

pain

behind

Anne's

apparent

capability, a n d quite w i t h o u t insight into their o w n motives, as for e x a m p l e w h e n Henrietta expresses so m u c h concern for D r . Shirley's health ( 1 0 2 - 3 ) . W h e n a m a n she likes talks to her a b o u t the v a l u e of firmness L o u i s a M u s g r o v e takes him w i t h her family's literal-mindedness a n d is resolute at every opportunity, b e c o m i n g impulsive by rule. N o t even W e n t w o r t h

a n d L a d y Russell check their o w n feelings, or

distance themselves from them. T h e r e is n o hint that L a d y Russell has felt guilt a b o u t the persuasion exerted o v e r A n n e in the past - indeed 'her heart revelled in a n g r y pleasure, in pleased contempt' ( 1 2 5 ) w h e n it appears that her original prejudice is being confirmed -

for all the sadness of its

consequences. T h e vehemence of W e n t w o r t h ' s protestation to himself that A n n e ' s ' p o w e r w i t h him w a s g o n e for e v e r ' ( 6 1 ) suggests, of course, the o p p o s i t e . B u t he does not consider this. H e is a m a n of action and energy, trenchant convictions, strong a n d impulsive feelings that often take him to the verge of tactlessness, but little self-questioning or self-doubt. A n n e Elliot, then, is initially the only reflective consciousness of the novel. (The late-introduced

invalid M r s . Smith is p e r h a p s a second.) Isolated

within her family, she naturally takes the position of silent observer and is often privately a m u s e d at w h a t she sees. H e r o w n perception that she must accommodate

to w h a t e v e r social c o m m o n w e a l t h

she inhabits sets her

a l w a y s at a slight distance. L i k e the n a r r a t o r w h o s e interpretive role she g r a d u a l l y takes o v e r , she is acutely alive to others' self-deceptions, but unlike the n a r r a t o r - in this b o o k a n o t a b l y impatient voice - her response is usually k i n d l y . T h u s w h e n she p l a y s the p i a n o for the M u s g r o v e s she is presented as being h a p p y in their partiality for their daughters' performance o v e r her o w n , while the writer, o n the other h a n d , caustically suggests that they are 'fond parents' w h o o n l y 'fancy themselves delighted' ( 4 7 ) . A n n e ' s k e y interpretive role in the narrative is in sharp contrast to w h a t is at first her peripheral place in her social circle. T h e novel is shaped, indeed, b y the w a y this m a r g i n a l o b s e r v e r g r a d u a l l y comes to take up a more 78

Mansfield Park, Emma,

Persuasion

central position, till in the climactic scene she is the focus of attention in the r o o m . This is paralleled by the w a y A n n e ' s inner life g r a d u a l l y comes to correspond to, m a k e contact with, a n d be declared t h r o u g h , the outer life that surrounds

her. These processes can be traced

in her

developing

articulacy, for A n n e is at first a notably silent observer. O n l y in chapter 4 does she become the subject of the narrative, a n d even then, she does not speak throughout. ' H o w eloquent could A n n e Elliot h a v e been . . . ! ' declares the author, t o w a r d s its close ( 3 0 ) . B u t within the text, A n n e is usually eloquent only by indirection or implication. It is w i t h A n n e ' s ears that the reader listens to the m a n y m o n o l o g u e s w i t h w h i c h this n o v e l characters -

defines

speeches from Elizabeth, Sir W a l t e r , M r . S h e p h e r d , M r s .

M u s g r o v e , Henrietta M u s g r o v e , even M r s . C l a y - but w h a t A n n e herself says is often omitted. In dialogue, her responses tend to be a b s o r b e d into the meditative c o m m e n t a r y of the text. In a p o w e r f u l scene, L a d y R u s s e l l tempts her with an eloquent vision of herself as L a d y Elliot, 'presiding a n d blessing in the same spot' as her mother ( 1 6 0 ) , a n d A n n e is o v e r c o m e w i t h such emotion that she must rise a n d w a l k to a distant table. B u t there c a n be no w o r d s for the c o m p l e x i t y of her recognition that w h a t she v a l u e d in her family life cannot be restored. W e n t w o r t h has m a d e up his m i n d that he will not s p e a k to A n n e . T h e novel presents a carefully g r a d u a t e d sequence of incidents w h i c h bring the t w o into contact - an intimacy felt acutely in the first instance in bodily terms, as w h e n 'they w e r e actually o n the s a m e s o f a ' (68). Since w o r d s are not exchanged, the physical settings in w h i c h they meet p l a y a n i m p o r t a n t role. T h e episode in w h i c h her t r o u b l e s o m e n e p h e w climbs on A n n e ' s b a c k , for e x a m p l e , is constructed

w i t h A n n e at the a p e x of lines of force

-

unspoken emotions - in the r o o m , that run between herself a n d W e n t w o r t h , stationed at the w i n d o w , between W e n t w o r t h a n d H a y t e r , jealously refusing to speak from behind his n e w s p a p e r , a n d between herself a n d H a y t e r , w h o makes one perfunctory attempt to call off his little cousin. T h e setting is precisely imagined to focus these tensions a n d to increase them, give them material weight w h e n the little b o y hangs himself r o u n d

A n n e ' s neck

( 7 9 - 8 0 ) . His unruliness is a m e t o n y m for the pressures that are present in the r o o m . A n n e has w a n t e d to 'release' W e n t w o r t h embarrassment.

a n d herself

Instead the release of the child's 'little sturdy

from hands'

unlocks responses in A n n e that are all the m o r e intense for the e m b a r g o against their expression. A n d it is a l m o s t as if the b o y ' s unruly to her is an incarnation of W e n t w o r t h ' s

attachment

still childish rage against, a n d

therefore conflicted involvement with, A n n e . H i s release of the b o y thus figures

as an initial m o v e m e n t

towards

disabling psychological attitude.

79

his o w n relinquishment

of a

JOHN

Another moment

WILTSHIRE

of significant progress in their reconciliation

occurs

after the accident at L y m e . A n n e , pausing at the parlour d o o r , overhears W e n t w o r t h s p e a k i n g o f her directly. H e ought to speak of her politely as ' M i s s A n n e Elliot', as he s p e a k s of ' M r s . Charles M u s g r o v e ' , but instead he blurts out ' A n n e ' : 'if A n n e w i l l stay, n o one so proper, so capable as A n n e ! ' , for that is the n a m e she g o e s by in his thoughts. After pausing, she enters the r o o m . ' " Y o u w i l l stay, I a m sure; y o u will stay and nurse her"; cried he, turning to her a n d s p e a k i n g w i t h a g l o w , a n d yet a gentleness, w h i c h seemed a l m o s t restoring the p a s t ' ( 1 1 4 ) . H e addresses her as if they w e r e b o u n d to c o n c u r - a n d she is consulted, not merely assumed to be useful. A n n e ' s reply is to ' c o l o u r deeply' a n d her w o r d s of acquiescence are presented

in indirect speech. Characteristically, physical or nervous re­

sponses are d r a m a t i z e d , v e r b a l ones are recessed, a n d if A n n e is often silent, her b o d y l a n g u a g e s p e a k s v o l u m e s . W h e n W e n t w o r t h turns to her in the c a r r i a g e after their silent drive h o m e a n d asks ' D o y o u think this a g o o d p l a n ? ' A n n e ' s reply is merely presented as 'She did' ( 1 1 7 ) . O n e is reminded of

similar

Mr.

K n i g h t l e y , but here the traumatic presence of the past is felt, once

moments

of

mutual

consultation

between

Emma

and

a g a i n , in the inhibition of speech. T h e accident at L y m e w h i c h concludes v o l u m e 1 is indeed the turning point both in the relationship of A n n e and W e n t w o r t h , a n d in A n n e ' s narrative position. A n n e h a s responded w i t h precisely similar authority to another fall, earlier in the tale ( 5 3 ) , but the difference is n o w that her competence

is d r a m a t i z e d

and

her

performance

seen

by

appreciative

witnesses. A n n e ' s b e c o m i n g increasingly a n object of regard in her circle is thus paralleled a n d m a t c h e d by her increasing presence as a speaker and performer in the text. In v o l u m e 11 her responses are less elided in the narrative, a n d m o r e a n d m o r e fully represented within it. She is less a n d less confined to the r e s p o n s i v e , reactive role (the glances a n d attentions of Mr.

Elliot h a v e at least this positive effect). ' M y idea of g o o d c o m p a n y ,

Mr.

Elliot, is the c o m p a n y of clever, well-informed people, w h o h a v e a great

deal of conversation; that is w h a t I call g o o d c o m p a n y ' ( 1 5 0 ) : this assertiveness in his presence is a narrative as well as psychological development. A n n e starts declaring her opinions to willing listeners, so that her private thoughts a b o u t the M u s g r o v e sisters' impending m a r r i a g e s , for instance, are e x p r e s s e d fully a n d o p e n l y . " T a m extremely g l a d , indeed", cried A n n e ' ( 2 1 7 ) ; she e x c l a i m s that M r . a n d M r s . M u s g r o v e are excellent parents, she laughs out l o u d at M u s g r o v e ' s sketch of L o u i s a a n d B e n w i c k ' s courtship. T h i s d e v e l o p m e n t culminates in dialogue w i t h H a r v i l l e at the White H a r t

-

w h i c h is thus as m u c h a f o r m a l as an emotional c l i m a x to the novel. Perhaps the n o v e l ' s greatest achievement is in the c h o r e o g r a p h y of its 80

Mansfield Park, Emma,

Persuasion

public or ' c r o w d ' scenes, for it is here that A u s t e n threads her p s y c h o l o g i c a l theme through an active a n d almost picaresque setting, in w h i c h hidden motives are up against the exacting pressures of social business. In B a t h there is a sense of personal c o m m u n i c a t i o n s h a v i n g to be m a d e within a c r o w d e d , c o m p l e x w o r l d , in continual d a n g e r of being t h w a r t e d ,

inter­

rupted or twisted by the projects a n d emotions of others. T h r e e brilliant social chapters form the novel's c l i m a x , the concert in the o c t a g o n r o o m (chapter 8 of v o l u m e n) a n d the gatherings at the Elliots' a n d M u s g r o v e s ' apartments ( 1 0 a n d n ) . In chapter 1 0 A u s t e n succeeds in bringing together almost all of the personages of her n o v e l , giving each of them a character­ istic solo turn, and at the same time keeping u p the p s y c h o l o g i c a l tension and emotional suspense of A n n e a n d W e n t w o r t h ' s relationship. ' A large party in an hotel ensured a quick-changing, unsettled scene' ( 2 2 1 ) . Serially, a set of incidents occurs w h i c h bear u p o n A n n e a n d W e n t w o r t h indirectly: M a r y ' s spying M r . Elliot from the w i n d o w , the s q u a b b l e of M a r y a n d Charles o v e r the theatre tickets, the chilling visitation of A n n e ' s father a n d sister to distribute their cards. Elizabeth Bennet h a d felt that her family conspired to disgrace her, but here the fear that one's projects are continu­ ally being trespassed u p o n , o r contaminated, b y one's relatives is felt even more acutely. Charles M u s g r o v e ' s teasing of M a r y a b o u t their social priorities is m o r e good-natured than M r . Bennet's taunting of his wife, but the significant difference is that the e x c h a n g e is m a d e to h a v e bearing o n the underlying (and quite distinct) d r a m a of A n n e a n d W e n t w o r t h ' s feelings, w h o extract from it meanings o n l y for themselves. It is not by chance that A u s t e n sets the climactic scenes of her novel at an inn. T h i s novel is concerned w i t h that distinctively m o d e r n form of relation in w h i c h bonds are formed between people w h o are essentially transients. Elective affinities are seen to replace a n d even redeem the lost possibilities of A n n e Elliot's emotionally sterile family. In chapter 1 1 , a g a i n at the White Hart, A n n e finds herself in the s a m e r o o m w i t h W e n t w o r t h . H i s presence immediately causes a rise in her level of nervous tension. T h e e x c h a n g e s of the t w o principals are once again mediated t h r o u g h a third party, here the overheard conversation of M r s . M u s g r o v e a n d M r s . Croft, w h i c h modulates unexpectedly into a discussion of long engagements. A n n e feels 'a nervous thrill all o v e r her' ( 2 3 1 ) . C a p t a i n H a r v i l l e s h o w s the miniature painting of C a p t a i n B e n w i c k , once destined for the n o w d e a d F a n n y H a r v i l l e , to A n n e . T h e themes of loss a n d m o u r n i n g , fidelity a n d transience, that h a v e occupied so m u c h of A n n e Elliot's consciousness in the n o v e l are n o w resumed a n d played out dramatically in a conversation. T h e d i a l o g u e begins quietly but rises in seriousness and commitment, as A n n e ' s responses become longer, more assertive, m o r e eloquent. T h e y are m o m e n t a r i l y interrupted

81

by a

JOHN

WILTSHIRE

s o u n d in W e n t w o r t h ' s 'hitherto perfectly quiet division of the r o o m ' ( 2 3 3 ) , a s o u n d that, punctuating the d i a l o g u e , m a k e s one very a w a r e of the spatial relations between the three. T h e conversation w i t h H a r v i l l e resumes, with A n n e ' s contributions once m o r e increasing in length, till both are charged with intense

personal

feeling. A n n e c a n n o w s p e a k indirectly, but nonetheless eloquently and fervently, of her personal experience. 'She could not immediately have uttered another sentence; her heart w a s t o o full, her breath too

much

o p p r e s s e d ' ( 2 3 5 ) . T h e i r talk is a b o u t love a n d loyalties sustained o v e r time; in its course H a r v i l l e a n d she become friends, as his response indicates: ' Y o u are a g o o d s o u l ' , he says w h i l e 'putting his hand

on her a r m

quite

affectionately' - a wonderfully natural touch. T h e sequence is designed here to release, step by step, the energies of articulation that A n n e has been forced to keep b o u n d u p , h e m m e d in, throughout so m u c h of the novel. T h u s this climactic scene resolves the tensions that h a v e been built up in the course of this narrative. J a n e A u s t e n has found a w a y that gives her heroine the initiative, a n d gives her, finally, the heroine's place. A n n e is n o w at once the w o m a n through w h o s e consciousness the w o r l d is seen a n d organized, a n d the speaking subject of the text. ' H o w eloquent could A n n e Elliot have been . . . !' A n n e ' s yearning for fulfilment has been codified textually as a longing for e x p r e s s i o n . H e r eloquence at last brings a b o u t the resolution of the r o m a n t i c plot, a n d leads to the fulfilment of the hero a n d heroine's desires. A t the s a m e time A n n e ' s expressive speech marries together those aspects of her nature that h a v e been so unharmonized

with each other

t h r o u g h o u t the text: feeling and m o r a l action, the responsive b o d y a n d the responsible self. T h e design of this n o v e l , only sketched

in parts, is

effectively complete. T h e three ' C h a w t o n ' novels are, then, incommensurate one with another. People are in the habit of s p e a k i n g of ' J a n e Austen's w o r l d ' , not perhaps separating the novels e n o u g h from the historical conditions in w h i c h their a u t h o r w r o t e . B u t in truth there is n o one, unified, h o m o g e n e o u s ' J a n e A u s t e n ' s w o r l d ' , but a n u m b e r of different ' w o r l d s ' , each defined

and

elaborated within the narrative frame that contains it. T h e w e a l t h y and spoilt great upper gentry set of M a n s f i e l d a n d Sotherton is quite different from that local g r o u p i n g of small gentry w h o form the comfortably enclosing - but a l s o n a r r o w , confining - c o m m u n i t y of H i g h b u r y . Persuasion

takes

different social g r o u p s a g a i n t h r o u g h w h i c h to pursue its concerns with emotional impoverishment a n d fulfilment. J a n e Austen's creation of these distinct social a n d physical settings is inseparable, then, from her articula­ tion of specific narrative designs. In

Sanation,

82

imagination is even more

Mansfield Park, Emma,

Persuasion

specifically clothed in its setting, but this is the novel that J a n e A u s t e n did not live to complete at C h a w t o n , that h o m e so m u c h 'to her m i n d ' .

4

NOTES 1 2 3 4

Letter to Francis Austen, July 26, 1 8 0 9 . Culture and Imperalism (London: Vintage, 1994), p. 1 0 6 . I owe this point to Professor Joseph Wiesenfarth. The author thanks J o Barnes for her invaluable comments on an earlier draft of this paper.

83

5 MARGARET ANNE DOODY

The short fiction

In J a n e A u s t e n ' s unfinished Catharine, Volume

the Third,

or the Bower,

found in the notebook

w e hear silly C a m i l l a Stanley a n d her mother gushing

over C a m i l l a ' s c o r r e s p o n d e n c e w i t h her friend A u g u s t a : ' Y o u received a Letter from Augusta Barlow to day, did not you, my Love?' said her Mother - . 'She writes remarkably well I know.' 'Oh! Yes M a ' a m , the most delightful Letter you ever heard of. She sends me a long account of the new Regency walking dress Lady Susan has given her, and it is so beautiful that I am quite dieing with envy for it.' 'Well, I am prodigiously happy to hear such pleasing news of my young freind; I have a high regard for Augusta, and most sincerely partake in the general J o y on the occasion. But does she say nothing else? it seemed to be a long Letter - Are they to be at Scarborough?' 'Oh! Lord, she never once mentions it, now I recollect it; and I entirely forgot to ask her when I wrote last. She says nothing indeed except about the Regency.' 'She must write well' thought Kitty, 'to make a long Letter upon a Bonnet & Pelisse.' (C&OW 2 0 3 ) 1

A u s t e n ' s a b o r t i v e n o v e l c a n be heard here m a k i n g fun of the epistolary m o d e , a n d of both the o p p o s i n g v i e w s regarding female letter-writing. M r s . Stanley a p p r o v e s of female correspondence: ' I h a v e from C a m i l l a ' s infancy taught her to think the s a m e . . . N o t h i n g forms the taste more than sensible &C Elegant Letters' (C&OW of Hester C h a p o n e ' s Letters

2 0 2 ) . T h i s gush, like a p a b u l u m concocted out on

the Improvement

of the Mind

(1773),

cannot quite conceal M r s . S t a n l e y ' s pride in having her daughter correspond w i t h the daughter of L a d y H a l i f a x - a n a m e amusingly reminiscent of L o r d H a l i f a x , a u t h o r of a f a m o u s treatise Advice

to a Daughter,

a conduct b o o k

inhibiting to most female activity a n d feeling. M r s . Percival, Catharine's aunt, takes the m o r e traditional a n d sterner v i e w , seeing 'a correspondence between Girls as p r o d u c t i v e of n o g o o d , and as the frequent origin of imprudence & E r r o r b y the effect of pernicious advice and b a d E x a m p l e ' (2.02). 84

The short fiction This mini-debate rages amusingly in this p a s s a g e , as if there h a d been a revolution in manners. A s debaters, the w o m e n m a n a g e to ignore

the

decorous insipidity a n d total triviality of their letters themselves, w h i c h reinforce

a culturally

fashion-conscious

desirable

consumerism.

female v a n i t y , empty-headedness, In R i c h a r d s o n ' s

Clarissa,

or

in

and Eliza

F e n w i c k ' s Secresy, authority figures are not u n r e a s o n a b l e in imagining that a female correspondence can change s o m e o n e ' s m i n d a n d b e h a v i o u r ; corre­ spondence can corrupt o r encourage, a n d thus bring a b o u t s o m e revolution in manners. It is m o r e exciting to believe that than to think that false values merely repeat themselves - as seen in M r s . Stanley's f o r m a l but hyperbolical expression - a hyperbole b o u g h t at the e x p e n s e of realism. ' I . . . m o s t sincerely p a r t a k e in the general J o y o n the o c c a s i o n ' - as if A u g u s t a h a d g o t engaged or h a d a b a b y , instead of acquiring her ' R e g e n c y w a l k i n g dress'. T h e phrase ' R e g e n c y w a l k i n g dress' is itself m y chief focus of interest. T h e manuscript of Volume

the Third

reveals, rather

infuriatingly, that this

phrase w a s substituted for another, but I h a v e failed to decipher exactly the expression crossed out. It m a y well be ' B o n n e t ' w i t h an underdeveloped ' B ' . It looks a little like ' P a n o P , or ' P a r r o t ' - o r ' P a r i s o l ' . W h a t e v e r this reference to wearing apparel w a s (and it should m a t c h B o n n e t a n d Pelisse) it has been excised in favour of another

e x p r e s s i o n . E x c i s e d t w i c e , for the

same

puzzling w o r d w a s once there instead of ' R e g e n c y ' in the sentence 'She s a y s nothing indeed except a b o u t the R e g e n c y . '

2

H o w a n d w h e n did this change c o m e a b o u t ? I c a n n o t accept G e o r g e Holbert T u c k e r ' s suggestion that it indicates Catharine as 1 7 8 8 - 9 , w h e n G e o r g e Ill's first serious attack 3

brought on agitation for a R e g e n c y . Volume

w a s written as early of deranging

the Third

illness

w a s begun in M a y

1 7 9 2 . a n d the R e g e n c y crisis of the winter of 1 7 8 8 - 9 w a s o v e r by J u n e 1 7 8 9 , w h e n G e o r g e Ill's return to health w a s celebrated. I incline, rather, to accept Deirdre L e F a y e ' s suggestion that J a n e A u s t e n rediscovered her earlier manuscript n o t e b o o k s w h e n she, her mother, a n d C a s s a n d r a at last c a m e to roost in C h a w t o n in J u l y 1 8 0 9 .

4

' E v e l y n ' is also

added to in another h a n d , most likely by niece A n n a A u s t e n , possibly by n e p h e w E d w a r d , a n d the last p a r a g r a p h of Catharine

though

is also the

product of these other hands - a n d minds. T h e likeliest scenario is that o n digging out her old n o t e b o o k s J a n e A u s t e n shared her fiction with the nephew and niece, a n d a l l o w e d them to join her in her old g a m e of writing. I believe their interest, perhaps even enthusiasm, inspired her to return to writing, and thus to undertake the serious a n d h e a v y w o r k of finally revising Sense and Sensibility,

the first of her novels to be published, in the very y e a r

of the R e g e n c y , 1 8 1 1 . Catharine,

o r Kitty,

or the Bower,

that unfinished fiction, w a s p r o b a b l y 85

MARGARET ANNE

DOODY

b e g u n in the m i d - 1 7 9 0 s , certainly not before the date at the top of the n o t e b o o k v o l u m e s - M a y 6th, 1 7 9 2 . ; interior references to Charlotte Smith's novels a c c o r d w e l l w i t h the date 1 7 9 2 - 3 . T h e ' R e g e n c y w a l k i n g dress' a d d e d to it indicates that J a n e A u s t e n turned b a c k to this w o r k at some p o i n t after - p r o b a b l y v e r y s o o n after - the R e g e n c y A c t w a s passed by P a r l i a m e n t o n F e b r u a r y 5 , 1 8 1 1 . F a s h i o n magazines w e r e very quick to seize o n the n e w era. T h e Lady's

Magazine

enticements of a running serial entitled Sappho

of 1 8 1 1 , along with - An Historical

the

Romance,

includes advertisements for, a m o n g other things, a plume of three feathers w i t h silver a n d g o l d ornaments 'universally w o r n for the Regent's fête'; ' A n e w a n d elegant Pattern for R e g e n c y B o r d e r s ' a n d a child's dress 'with the R e g e n t hat of grey silk'. I h a v e not yet found a ' R e g e n c y w a l k i n g dress', but in picking u p the c o m e d y of such terms A u s t e n w a s undoubtedly reflecting a trend of the time of 1 8 1 1 . C a m i l l a ' s r e m a r k gains a n e w c o m e d y : ' A u g u s t a s a y s nothing indeed except a b o u t the R e g e n c y ' , for A u g u s t a is thus m a d e to s o u n d as if she h a d a political interest in current affairs, although

her

interest is entirely ladylike a n d fashionable. In the period between 1 8 0 9 a n d 1 8 1 1 J a n e A u s t e n w a s w o r k i n g - and w h o c a n d o u b t intently

w o r k i n g - on her o w n early writings. She w a s

bringing w h a t h a d been p r o d u c e d in the 1 7 9 0 s into line with

current

fashion. W e h a v e speculated a b o u t the ' L o s t N o v e l s ' - lost to us in their old f o r m . W e k n o w that First Prejudice;

Impressions

w e believe that a n Elinor

the g e r m of Sense and Sensibility;

w a s the prototype of Pride

and

and Marianne,

perhaps epistolary, w a s

a n d that Susan,

w h i c h J a n e Austen had

tried to publish, a n d w h i c h h a d been once accepted (in 1 8 0 3 ) but never b r o u g h t out, w a s revised to m a k e Northanger

Abbey

(published posthu-

m o u s l y ) . Interestingly, ' S u s a n ' w a s reclaimed from the publisher (Crosby) w h e n the m o v e to C h a w t o n w a s an immediate prospect. M u c h of J a n e A u s t e n ' s writing career after the m o v e to C h a w t o n in 1 8 0 9 consisted in revising o r cannibalizing her o w n older w o r k s . B u t the revisions should be seen as a m a j o r matter. In bringing her w o r k s into line with the n e w era - putting them into their R e g e n c y w a l k i n g dress, as it w e r e - A u s t e n underwent a sort of personal and

authorial

revolution. T h a t revolution m a d e her publishable. It is

startling to realize that J a n e Austen might never h a v e published. D u r i n g the early y e a r s of the n e w century she h a d o b v i o u s l y begun to feel that her style of writing w a s not g o i n g to be acceptable to the press and the arbiters of taste. F r o m her mid-twenties she h a d started to m a k e some effort to reach a p u b l i c , but h a d been severely balked by the lack of respect p a i d to the neverprinted Susan.

After the death of her father in 1 8 0 5 , Austen, n o w in her

thirties, seems for a w h i l e to h a v e given up writing, save for o d d comic 86

The short fiction verses to friends. R e m o v a l to a real h o m e in C h a w t o n , a n d p r o b a b l y a l s o the society of some y o u n g relatives interested in writing, helped to free Austen's mind a n d restore confidence. But it w a s not the s a m e sort of confidence as that of the y o u n g w o m a n w h o w r o t e the material in the notebook

Volumes.

J a n e Austen h a d to c h a n g e , in short, from a 1 7 9 0 s w r i t e r to a ' R e g e n c y ' writer. T h e term ' R e g e n c y ' , a l w a y s loosely used (especially as a n adjective), ought to refer to the period from 1 8 1 1 (when the Prince of W a l e s , ' P r i n n y ' , w a s m a d e R e g e n t , as his father G e o r g e III w a s unfit to g o v e r n by r e a s o n of insanity) to 1 8 2 0 (when G e o r g e III died a n d the Prince R e g e n t b e c a m e K i n g George I V ) . In practice, the term in English usage has c o m e to refer to the period from the onset of the nineteenth century through the 1 8 2 0 s . J a n e Austen has really been recast in certain quarters as the first in line of the writers of ' R e g e n c y r o m a n c e s ' - a fact underdiscussed in a c a d e m i c circles. I believe the appeal of the ' R e g e n c y r o m a n c e ' - for m o d e r n intents a n d purposes a genre invented by Georgette H e y e r ( 1 9 0 2 - 7 4 ) - lies in the combination of the traditional ' l o v e story' with the idea of a c h a r m i n g a n d tastefully pert w o m a n w h o is a little likely to question the status quo, but n o t too much. O f course, there is a l w a y s the dashing lover - less likely to a p p e a r in Austen. Y e t I think J a n e A u s t e n herself does bear s o m e relation to this genre. H e r kind of novel w a s achieved by a special m i x t u r e of eighteenthcentury qualities of attitude a n d style c o m b i n e d with domestic seriousness and R o m a n t i c respect for both idealism a n d p o w e r . Georgette H e y e r started by writing novels set in the eighteenth century (The Black

Moth,

1 9 2 1 ) , but

made her m a r k w h e n she invented the story set in the R e g e n c y w i t h

These

Old Shades ( 1 9 2 6 ) . H e y e r , in the period from the 1 9 2 0 s through the 1 9 5 0 s , caught - and in her o w n w a y a l s o p a r o d i e d - the qualities in literature wanted by her audience. T h e s e w e r e not at all dissimilar to s o m e of the qualities desired by J a n e A u s t e n ' s public, though H e y e r has the

added

element of a version of p a s t o r a l . H e r ' R e g e n c y ' is a h a p p y a b o d e of the past, a place to escape to. S o J a n e A u s t e n ' s temporal setting has b e c o m e idyllic though it w a s a present-day setting for the author. T h e desire for the c o m b i n a t i o n

of the flippant a n d the serious,

nostalgic a n d the entertaining, c a n be postulated in the readership

the

(both

male and female) of both writers. H e y e r , like A u s t e n , reached a public tired by a very difficult w a r w h i c h h a d brought not only painful loss but great upheaval. S o m e responses to the threat of change a n d s o m e modified f o r m of patriotism h a d to be incorporated in w o m e n ' s writing if it w a s to succeed -

yet it could not be successful if it p r o p o s e d itself as t o o critical a

commentary. Fiction h a d to take the fundamental shape of things seriously, and to play by the rules.

87

MARGARET ANNE

DOODY

I w a n t to p r o p o s e that J a n e A u s t e n ' s a d v a n c e to the L o n g N o v e l acceptable to her contemporaries w a s a process of a c c o m m o d a t i o n . It w a s a difficult a n d strenuous process - she h a d , as it w e r e , to reinvent herself as a R e g e n c y figure. After all, the ' R e g e n c y ' itself is a figure for substitution. W e are s o devoted to the s i x A u s t e n novels, it is h a r d for us to think of them as substitutes for anything - but they m a y not really h a v e been the w o r k s J a n e A u s t e n w a n t e d to write. H e r c o m m e n t s o n the process reach us filtered through irony - as in the f a m o u s r e m a r k in a letter of F e b r u a r y , 1 8 1 3 , a b o u t the 'defects' of and

Pride

Prejudice:

the work is rather too light 8c bright & sparkling; - it wants shade; - it wants to be stretched out here & 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 anything that would form a contrast &c bring the reader with increased delight to the playfulness &c Epigrammatism of the general stile. (L z o ) 3

W e take this simply as irony in self-praise, but there is m o r e to it. ' S p a r k l e ' w a s n o longer in order - a n d particularly not in a w o m a n . ' S p a r k l e ' in general m e a n t that old A u g u s t a n style, the taste for p a r a d o x a n d w i t , for snip-snap antithesis - all things J a n e A u s t e n inherited. William W o r d s w o r t h , w h o h a d often praised the style of the poet A n n e Finch, C o u n t e s s of W i n c h i l s e a , w a s to s a y of Finch: 'her style in rhyme is often a d m i r a b l e , chaste, tender, a n d v i g o r o u s , a n d entirely free from sparkle, 5

antithesis a n d . . . o v e r - c u l t u r e ' . L a d y Winchilsea's poetry is g o o d because it is tender, a n d does not s p a r k l e . A u s t e n b e c a m e increasingly a w a r e , I think, that playfulness a n d e p i g r a m m a t i s m h a d decided dangers. R e g e n c y readers w a n t e d to be a m u s e d , but they liked to h a v e a clear line d r a w n , the now-tobe-completely-serious line. A n a u t h o r

like M a r i a E d g e w o r t h met

this

d e m a n d through didacticism, and a l l o w e d herself s o m e political leverage, t h o u g h at the cost of suppressing a w i t rarely a l l o w e d full emergence. Frances B u r n e y , publishing The Wanderer

( 1 8 1 4 ) in this n e w climate, got

b a d l y frozen by d i s a p p r o v a l a n d s o m e very negative reviews in reaction against her inclusive satire o n E n g l a n d in the R e v o l u t i o n a r y period. Burney w r o t e n o m o r e novels. J a n e A u s t e n ' s relations to a n d w i t h the ' R e g e n c y ' are paradigmatically p l a y e d out in the m e r r y amusing c o m e d y of relations between herself, the Prince R e g e n t , a n d the Prince R e g e n t ' s librarian, J a m e s Stanier C l a r k e . It w a s he w h o entertained J a n e A u s t e n at the library of C a r l t o n H o u s e in N o v e m b e r , 1 8 1 5 - only a few months after W a t e r l o o . C l a r k e told her that 88

The short fiction she w a s 'at liberty to dedicate a n y future w o r k to H[is] R [ o y a l ] H[ighness] the P[rince] R [ e g e n t ] ' ( L 2 9 6 ) . She tried to clarify w h e t h e r this request amounted to a c o m m a n d , a n d C l a r k e ' s reiteration o n p a p e r that permission had been given s h o w e d A u s t e n clearly that she w a s expected to dedicate her next w o r k to the Prince. She w a s also told, flatteringly, ' T h e R e g e n t has read & admired all y o u r publications' ( L 2 9 6 ) . T h o u g h her opinion of the Regent himself, judging from comments in her other letters, w a s not high, Austen m a d e the Prince R e g e n t the l u c k y recipient of the dedication of Emma.

T h e R e g e n t undoubtedly intended to d o g o o d to A u s t e n by getting

her n a m e m o r e w i d e l y k n o w n ; he supplied her thus w i t h advertising that did h a v e its effect on reviewers a n d readership (see the essay b y J a n Fergus in this v o l u m e ) . H a d A u s t e n lived longer, she w o u l d h a v e reaped the full benefit of this publicity. T h e Prince is to be congratulated o n his taste. B u t J a m e s Stanier C l a r k e did g o blethering o n , suggesting that A u s t e n write the life of a clergyman, modelled o n his life, glorified. It w a s in e v a d i n g this suggestion that Austen defiantly set herself d o w n as 'the m o s t unlearned, & uninformed Female w h o ever d a r e d to be a n A u t h o r e s s ' ( L 3 0 6 ) . Unlike J a m e s Stanier C l a r k e , w e h a v e the benefit of A u s t e n ' s p a r o d i e 'Plan of a N o v e l , according to hints from v a r i o u s quarters', w h i c h includes m a n y phrases lifted straight from C l a r k e ' s letters, a n d applied to the father of the heroine: At last, hunted out of civilized Society, denied the poor Shelter of the humblest Cottage, they are compelled to retreat into Kamschatka where the poor Father, quite worn down, finding his end approaching, throws himself on the Ground, and after 4 or 5 hours of tender advice and parental Admonition to his miserable Child, expires in a fine burst of Literary Enthusiasm, inter­ mingled with Invectives against Holder's of Tythes. - Heroine inconsolable for some time - but afterwards crawls back towards her former Country . . . (C&OW 232) This is great stuff, i n t e r w o v e n as it is w i t h p a r o d i e references to other fictions, as well as with hidden references to the comments o n A u s t e n ' s novels passed by v a r i o u s acquaintances. T h e c o m e d y , h o w e v e r , expresses irritation. In this 'Plan', novel-writing itself turns into a ridiculous o r d e a l . Dealing with J a m e s Stanier h a d been something of an o r d e a l . A s the Regent's deputy, or the R e g e n t ' s regent, as well as a c l e r g y m a n , he is d o u b l y a Father, a n d triply a substitute father. In the c o m p a n y of such m o c k fathers y o u get into the cold regions of K a m s c h a t k a , the extremity of Siberia. J a n e Austen's early writings, preserved for us in the three

notebook

V o l u m e s , are short fictional pieces. It has been c u s t o m a r y to imagine

-

unconsciously to imagine - that she a l w a y s aspired to write three-volume 89

MARGARET ANNE

DOODY

novels, a n d that the early writings w e r e mere apprenticeship or practice until she could arrive at that happier capacity for sustained w o r k . But if w e think of it, this m a y not be true. Short fiction has its place - and sometimes it is a v e r y high place. T h e short fictional piece, the 'tale', had been used to g o o d effect by earlier w o m e n writers like A p h r a Behn and Eliza H a y w o o d . Eliza H a y w o o d , h o w e v e r , in mid-eighteenth century had to m a k e a turn similar to A u s t e n ' s . H e r kind of short story and its longer sexy cousin the ' n o v e l ' , o r novella,

h a d to be put aside for the sake of respectable long

'history' to m a t c h the w o r k s of Fielding and R i c h a r d s o n . S o w e m o v e from stories like Fantomina

to the full-length Miss Betsy Thoughtless.

Y e t it w a s

certainly not female practitioners alone w h o had an allegiance to the short fiction. Short fiction is a favourite Enlightenment m o d e , engaged in b y V o l t a i r e , for one notable e x a m p l e . It w a s e x p l o r e d by Diderot (e.g. Ceci n'est pas un conte)

a n d m o r e cautiously taken u p by M a r m o n t e l in his Contes

moraux

( 1 7 8 9 - 9 2 ) . M a r m o n t e l ' s Contes w e r e appearing in France at a b o u t the time A u s t e n b e g a n Volume

the

Third.

She might have k n o w n that

W a l p o l e h a d written his Hieroglyphic

Tales,

Horace

stories first printed in 1 7 8 5

a n d later published by M a r y Berry in W a l p o l e ' s Collected

Works

(1798).

C h a r l e s B u r n e y , reviewing them, said they contained 'a great m a n y fancies'

a n d in their allusions w e r e 'sarcastic, personal, and

odd

sometimes

6

p r o f a n e ' . W a l p o l e in his Postscript to these Tales says they are 'an attempt to v a r y the stale a n d beaten class of stories a n d novels, w h i c h , though w o r k s of invention, are a l m o s t a l w a y s d e v o i d of imagination'. H e professes himself surprised that fiction (especially current fiction) is so dull: 'that there should h a v e been so little fancy, so little variety, and so little novelty, in writings in w h i c h the imagination is fettered by n o rules' (Oriental

Tales,

ed. M a c k

1 3 7 ) . H i s tales p l a y w i t h the a b s u r d , the disproportionate, the illicit; his characters are greedy bundles of expressionistic desire: [the princess] had purchased ninety-two dolls, seventeen baby houses, six cartloads of sugar plums, a thousand ells of gingerbread, eight dancing dogs, a bear and a monkey, four toyshops with all their contents, and seven dozen of bibs; and aprons of the newest fashion. They were jogging on with all this cargo over mount Caucasus . . . (Oriental Tales 1 1 9 ) R o b e r t M a c k points out that the tales 'reach into every conceivable area of narrative invention . . . " A n entire w o r l d of invention lies open for y o u r use and e n j o y m e n t " , W a l p o l e seems to s a y , " w h y not take a d v a n t a g e of i t ? " ' ('Introduction', x x v i i ) . S o t o o w e might imagine J a n e Austen saying - that is, the A u s t e n of the early fiction. T h e characters are full of a fine excess, of energy impossible a n d disproportionate, of physicality unconcealed: 90

The short fiction My mother rode upon our little poney and Fanny and I walked by her side or rather ran, for my Mother . . . galloped all the way. Y o u may be sure we were in a fine perspiration . . . Fanny has taken a great many Drawings of the Country, which are very beautiful, tho' perhaps not such exact resemblances as might be wished, from their being taken as she ran along. It would astonish you to see all the Shoes we wore out in our Tour . . . M a m a was so kind as to lend us a pair of blue Sattin Slippers, of which we each took one and hopped home from Hereford delightfully - . ('A Tour through Wales', C&OW 1 7 0 ) Like W a l p o l e ' s personages, Austen's are wonderfully greedy, illicit mental collectors of w e a l t h : 'I shall expect a new saddle horse, a suit of fine lace, and an infinite number of the most valuable Jewels. Diamonds such as never were seen, Pearls as large as those of the Princess Badroulbadour . . . and Rubies, Emeralds, Toppazes, Sapphires, Amythists, Turkey stones, Agate, Beads, Bugles & Garnets.' ('The Three Sisters', from M S version) M u c h of the c o m e d y of these early fantastic tales c o m e s from the fantasticating capacity of the mind not only to desire, but to create w a n t s . N a r r a t i v e follows these jumps of desire. T h o s e persons, such as parents o r clergymen, w h o might represent l a w or sobriety h a v e really only different forms of desire to offer. Austen, like C e r v a n t e s , m a k e s us see the o r g a n i z a t i o n of property a n d propriety from a comic underside: Beloved by Lady Harcourt, adored by Sir George and admired by all the World, she lived in a continued course of uninterrupted Happiness, till she had attained her eighteenth year, when happening one day to be detected in stealing a banknote of 50 £ , she was turned out of doors by her inhuman Benefactors. Such a transition to one who did not possess so noble and exalted a mind as Eliza, would have been Death, but she, happy in the conscious knowledge of her own Excellence, amused herself as she sate beneath a tree with making and singing the following Lines . . . ('Henry and Eliza', C&OW

31)

In m o c k i n g depiction of the c a l m w a y in w h i c h the a b n o r m a l can be presented

as n o r m a l , the criminal as the proper, the shameful

as

the

excellent, Austen united with Cervantes a n d w i t h others w h o target both individual lust a n d social assumptions. H e r stories e x p l o r e irregular unions - hardly a n y b o d y is m a r r i e d , o r married in a regular fashion. T h e heroine of ' L o v e a n d F r e i n d s h i p ' is united to her true love shortly after he has w a n d e r e d into their cottage. T h e y o u n g pair are married by the heroine's father: ' W e w e r e immediately united b y m y Father, w h o t h o ' he h a d never taken orders h a d been bred to the 91

MARGARET ANNE

C h u r c h ' {C&OW

DOODY

8 0 ) . A u s t e n ' s early fiction is a m o c k - p a s t o r a l w o r l d in

w h i c h eviscerated institutions, o r institutionalized ideas, though sometimes h o n o u r e d in gesture, are unable to contain the characters' curiosity, anima­ tion, o r general desire for self-gratification. T h e desire for self-gratification prevails e v e r y w h e r e - including in the heroine modelled on J a n e ' s best friend a n d devoted sister. In ' T h e Beautifull C a s s a n d r a ' the heroine goes out w a l k i n g w i t h a bonnet intended for a countess ' o n her gentle H e a d ' . 'She then p r o c e e d e d to a P a s t r y - c o o k s w h e r e she d e v o u r e d six ices, refused to p a y for them, k n o c k e d d o w n the Pastry C o o k a n d w a l k e d a w a y '

(C&OW

4 2 ) . T h i s is not a m o r a l w o r l d w h e r e punishment catches u p with evil doers. A t the end of her libidinous e x c u r s i o n C a s s a n d r a can w h i s p e r to herself, ' " T h i s is a d a y well s p e n t " '

(C&OW43).

J a n e A u s t e n shares qualities w i t h R a b e l a i s - as G . K . Chesteron n o t i c e d .

7

She a l s o h a s s o m e of the c o o l w i t of a n eighteenth-century writer like D i d e r o t o r a twentieth-century one like B o r g e s . Y e t w e h a v e w a n t e d to see these early w o r k s as chaotic a n d childish, mere 'prentice-hand attempts to p e r f o r m w h a t will be d o n e p r o p e r l y in the s i x novels. F o r if the shorter w o r k s are n o t treated as childish effusions, they begin to l o o m very large indeed in A u s t e n ' s oeuvre,

pointing to the alternative Austen w h o might

h a v e been a different writer, w h o might h a v e figured in o u r calendar more like D i d e r o t or B o r g e s . It is not e n o u g h to s a y she is a parodist - though that is m u c h - o r to say that she is a satirist - w h i c h is a great deal more. W e h a v e to a c k n o w l e d g e , I think, that she here creates in her short fiction a ' w o r l d o f her o w n ' , as w e s a y - o r that such a w o r l d becomes adumbrated. T h e w o r l d she creates is a w o r l d of libidinous pressures only Actively constrained

by conceptual

structures

imposed

as order. English l a w s

r e g a r d i n g m a r r i a g e a n d property o r the n e w l a w s of the English novel are alike revealed as pseudo-orderly a n d

slightly crazed structures.

Here,

A u s t e n ' s w o r l d is one w h e r e the l a w of the Father applies only nominally o r not even that. T h e l a w of the Father is a kind of gesture in the air. M o d e s of defying the father in rebellion o r revolution,

w h i c h are likewise

c o n v e n t i o n a l ideas in themselves, especially between 1 7 8 9 and 1 8 0 0 , come in for e q u a l l y scornful treatment. T h i s c a n be seen in E d w a r d ' s stilted and c o n v e n t i o n a l defiance of his father in ' L o v e a n d Freindship'. L o v e is refracted narcissism. Dislike of others is not o n l y c o m m o n but, as it w e r e , decriminalized. In preposterous p l a y w i t h the idyll, the characters fare as they will w i t h o u t p a y i n g - m o n e y is e v e r y w h e r e , but it is a l w a y s going missing, o r b e c o m i n g invalid. A u s t e n p r o p o s e s that libidinous desire is prior to the e c o n o m i c system, although constantly getting attached to it. Libidi­ n o u s desire gets attached, for instance, to the feudal system of inheritance, creating a greed that cheerfully witnesses the r e m o v a l of parents

92

and

The short fiction siblings. Desire is officially

attached

to the system of m o n o g a m y .

In

attaching itself to a n y such systems, h o w e v e r , the libido p r o v e s itself capable of evading o r transforming them - in A u s t e n ' s w o r l d . This is a very frightening philosophic p r o d u c t i o n on the p a r t of a y o u n g w o m a n . T h e disconcerting elements in A u s t e n ' s fiction (even in the s i x novels) are sometimes v e r y p a l p a b l e obstacles to o u r s m o o t h a p p r o b a t i o n . But these elements in her early fiction c a n be redefined as l a c k of skill in doing the accepted thing. Doubtless C r o s b y , the publisher w h o g o t

Susan,

intuited that A u s t e n ' s b o o k didn't feel quite right, a n d put his response d o w n to a sense that the a u t h o r w a s amateurish, that she h a d n ' t quite g o t the hang of writing novels. T h e obstreperous qualities that w o r k w e l l in short fiction w e r e not highly v a l u e d in the novel. Short fiction w a s not as available to writers as it h a d been in the mid-eighteenth century as a vehicle for n e w a n d outrageous thought. T h e bright w i t of the eighteenth century is felt to be political, a n d politically d a n g e r o u s . T h e R e g e n c y is a tight time. Regency fashions m a y h a v e been s e x y -

but they h a m p e r e d

women's

movement in tight skirts, a n d left men strangulated in neckcloths. W e tend to confuse the ' R e g e n c y ' m a n n e r s of the Prince R e g e n t a n d his circle with the tone of the period in general. In English culture in general, however, raffishness w a s out of f a v o u r , a n d m o r a l i t y - especially as that concerned the m o r a l b e h a v i o u r of y o u n g ladies - w a s steadily g a i n i n g 8

ground. A s C l a u d i a J o h n s o n has s h o w n , the era of the N a p o l e o n i c w a r s brings a backlash against cultural experiment, a n d particularly a g a i n s t experiment in the representation of w o m e n in fiction. T h e courtship novel is returned. It is softened, m o r a l i z e d , m a d e safer. A u g u s t a n w i t in general is shunned. T h e early nineteenth century admires the serious. B y r o n h a d been serious a n d melancholy in Childe

Harold.

He

returned in Don Juan to w i t - w i t h a vengeance. B u t B y r o n w a s a l r e a d y a n established author, and there is an intermixture of the serious a n d

the

personal a n d the pathetic w h i c h saves his mock-epic from the a c c u s a t i o n of total flippancy. O n e of B y r o n ' s strengths is that he (or his narrator) c a n give us the impression of being able to see t h r o u g h Culture - C u l t u r e n o t in the anthropological sense but in the m o d e r n u r b a n sense, of a n a c c u m u l a t i o n of knowledge a b o u t k n o w l e d g e a n d artefacts that serves a n individual's social turn and creates a unified d o m i n a n t class. J a n e A u s t e n shares a d o u b t a b o u t the cultural - in part, such d o u b t is an inheritance of Enlightenment v i e w s that w h a t is past is p r o l o g u e , a n d that everything s h o u l d be held u p to question. T h e R o m a n t i c A g e in its o w n w a y takes 'culture' v e r y seriously. W e are headed t o w a r d s the w o r l d of M a t t h e w A r n o l d w h e r e there is a plain distinction between ' C u l t u r e ' a n d ' A n a r c h y ' . T o J a n e A u s t e n , culture often is anarchy.

93

MARGARET ANNE

DOODY

I had for many years constantly hollowed whenever she played, Bravo, Bravissimo, Encora, Da Capo, allegretto, con espressione, and Poco presto with many other such outlandish words, all of them as Eloisa told me expressive of my Admiration; and so indeed I suppose they are, as I see some of them in every Page of every Music book, being the Sentiments I imagine of the Composer. ( 'Lesley Castle', C&O W 1 2 5-6)

Such a p a s s a g e m o v e s us from the simple satire (Charlotte's stupidity in not k n o w i n g m u s i c a l terms) to a c o m p l e x satire o n cultural k n o w l e d g e and its close relation to absurdity. O u r thoughtful reaction is c o m p o u n d e d by the culturally dense m e a n i n g s of the t w o girls' names, ' E l o i s a ' and 'Charlotte'. ' E l o i s a ' refers us to the heroine of R o u s s e a u ' s novel Julie, Héloïse

ou la

nouvelle

( 1 7 6 1 ) . J u l i e , the ' N e w E l o i s a ' , is an emotionally complicated and

d o o m e d y o u n g w o m a n w h o has sex before m a r r i a g e a n d will meet a tragic fate. B y contrast, ' C h a r l o t t e ' , the virtuous a n d practical beloved of the e m o t i o n a l l y o v e r w r o u g h t Werther Werther

in G o e t h e ' s The

Sorrows

of

Young

( 1 7 7 4 ) , involves herself in n o illicit s e x , a n d leaves the suffering to

others. T h e n a m e s of A u s t e n ' s characters in 'Lesley C a s t l e ' are thus complicated for a n y reader w h o has k n o w l e d g e (guilty k n o w l e d g e ) of t w o famous but controversial novels a b o u t s e x a n d suffering. T o k n o w such w o r k s is itself a cultural achievement, if one not w i t h o u t risk for w o m e n . T h r o u g h such w o r k s w o m e n h a v e access to philosophical ideas. H e r e , h o w e v e r , the reader's vision is beclouded by an excess of association. R e a d i n g Austen's 'Lesley C a s t l e ' one is apt to run into a n e w reading of R o u s s e a u ' s ' E l o i s a ' as t o o limp a n d d i e - a w a y , as well as into a p a r o d y of the ' C h a r l o t t e ' of Werther,

bread-and-butter

w h o becomes that fiendish c o o k with a one-track

m i n d , C h a r l o t t e Luttrell. A u s t e n turns the culture into a n a r c h y . B u t the N o v e l itself - w h a t of that? In E n g l a n d , in particular, the N o v e l h a d u n d e r g o n e m a n y trials. T h e R e n a i s s a n c e a n d the seventeenth century h a d seen a great festival of fiction-reading, m u c h amplified by n e w editions a n d translations

of older novels from antiquity, such as the w o r k s of

H e l i d o r u s , a n d from the M i d d l e A g e s , such as B o c c a c c i o . T h e rage for fiction-reading g a v e rise to a certain nervousness. Sixteenth-century scholars a n d divines h a d b e g u n to take a dim v i e w of prose fiction. Y e t , on the w h o l e , it s u r v i v e d a n d prospered until that universal E u r o p e a n post-war period of the later seventeenth century. After the abortive French revolution of the 1 6 4 0 s k n o w n as the ' F r o n d e ' , after the English Civil W a r and the T h i r t y Y e a r s W a r , E u r o p e a n governments reformed themselves, more or less a w k w a r d l y , either into a m o r e absolute m o n a r c h i c form to achieve the status of nation state (like F r a n c e , a n d later G e r m a n y , a n d Austria), or into a m o r e republican f o r m , a l l o w i n g rule of a n oligarchy. T o both kinds of

94

The short fiction new politically adjusted p o w e r the tradition of prose fiction bore special dangers. T h e novel is critical of w h a t is. It gives the y o u n g e r generation a chance. R e a d i n g it can m a k e w o m e n a n d

b o y s think themselves

too

important. In F r a n c e , the novel is represented as bourgeois - a brilliant stroke initiated by B o i l e a u . In the plutocracies (England, H o l l a n d ) the N o v e l under the label ' R o m a n c e ' w a s attacked as t o o royalist, old-fashioned, a n d feudal. Prose fiction continued to be in a period of great experiment in the early eighteenth century, but the m i d century s a w m o r e determined efforts to police it, not the least of these being novel r e v i e w i n g . W h o l e tracts of the older fiction (and in Britain, practically all foreign fiction) w e r e labelled off limits - a process of banning recorded in that a m b i g u o u s a n d clever novel that J a n e Austen k n e w very well, Charlotte L e n n o x ' s The Female

Quixote,

in 1 7 5 2 . A s L e n n o x s h o w s us in that b o o k , the N o v e l can be a l l o w e d to continue to exist - even the novel a b o u t a w o m a n by a w o m a n - but only if the terms are agreed to. N o t h i n g outlandish o r d a n g e r o u s must be s h o w n . T h e novel is to exhibit the taming of a girl as she dwindles into a wife - the story of a girl learning her place. T h i s is the story that R o u s s e a u adapts in creating Sophie in his Emile

(1762).

T h e novel, then, is tamed. ' R e a l i s m ' is the n a m e that w e give to an ideology of tameness a n d tightening applied to the n o v e l . T h e novel in England - w h i c h defines itself as H i s t o r y or ultimately N o v e l as against Romance

- is especially domesticated. T h e history of its domestication in

relation to w o m e n has been traced by m a n y other writers, including V i n e t a 9

C o l b y , Sandra Gilbert a n d Susan G u b a r , a n d N a n c y A r m s t r o n g . I see the point of this domestication in another sense. T h e n e w novel is domestic

in

that it deals with h o m e , a n d with E n g l a n d . Foreigners d o n ' t count. If y o u meet a M u s l i m in a w o r k of fiction, then it isn't a p r o p e r novel, but R o m a n c e . A l l sensation (this in an era of colonization, w a r s , battle, murder, and sudden death) is the b a g g a g e of the b a d old ' R o m a n c e ' . T h e N o v e l is to be a l l o w e d to exist, a n d to be read by w o m e n a n d the y o u n g , on condition that it a l w a y s k n o w s its o w n place in the Culture, w h i c h is a l o w place. It is 'only a n o v e l ! ' (NA

3 8 ) . T h i s is a quiet, subservient, inferior form. Its best

use and sole justification is that it c a n inform the y o u n g (especially w o m e n ) of w e l l - k n o w n truths, a n d teach them their place in the universe. R e a l i s m is valued because it resists thought-experiment. A n d if a w o m a n writes only of w h a t she strictly a n d severely k n o w s then her fictional w o r l d - unlike that of, say, the seventeenth-century French novelist M a d e l e i n e de Scudéry - will be constricted indeed. T h e courtship plot of the regular novel is a l w a y s sneered at ( w o m e n , bless their silly little hearts, like to read love stories). But courtship is of the essence, particularly if it ends in a synthesizing middle-class m a r r i a g e . J a n e 95

MARGARET ANNE

DOODY

Austen's early w o r k s c a n n o t be called courtship novels, though they s h o w an e x a c t k n o w l e d g e of the f o r m u l a s . In her s i x full novels, she had to adapt the courtship plot in g o o d seriousness (or with some degree of seriousness). T h a t she w a s not quite successful in her R e g e n c y disguise, perhaps, can be felt in the w e i g h t of Scott's c o m p l a i n t , in his cumulative review of

Emma,

that A u s t e n does not p a y e n o u g h attention to love. It m a y be because of that r e v i e w that Austen discusses love, and m a l e and female v i e w s of it, as thoroughly as she does in

Persuasion.

Certainly, the novel as it w a s being shaped - the domestic novel, safe for w o m e n to write - a n d read - w a s not the appropriate home of social criticism or free aesthetic p l a y - still less of m o r a l questioning. Y o u n g people - especially but not only w o m e n - w e r e to be instructed in their m o r a l duties. S o h e a v y did the w e i g h t of the real R e g e n c y formulations lie o n the n o v e l , one m a y feel, that the novel became flattened under the burden a n d passed out. H o w else c a n w e explain the paucity of novels in the period between J a n e A u s t e n ' s death and Queen V i c t o r i a ' s ascent to the throne? T h e 1 8 4 0 s w e r e to inaugurate a n e w era in fiction, but the preceding decades from a novel-lover's point of v i e w are fairly dismal. There are few n e w writers in the 1 8 2 0 s and 1 8 3 0 s . Scott dominates the field, and he had developed in the historical n o v e l a route out of the impasse offered by the domestic fiction. M a r i a E d g e w o r t h did not die w h e n J a n e Austen did - she lived until 1 8 4 9 . B u t h a d she died in 1 8 1 7 w e should have lost but one i m p o r t a n t w o r k by E d g e w o r t h - the novel Helen Taken

for Granted,

( 1 8 3 4 ) . A n o t h e r novel,

finished in 1 8 3 8 , w a s (interestingly) destroyed by its

author. Frances B u r n e y the novelist w a s apparently silenced by the reviews of The Wanderer.

T h e a u t h o r published a three-volume biography of her

father in 1 8 3 2 , but w r o t e n o m o r e novels. P e a c o c k ' s early spurt of novelwriting ceases w i t h Nightmare 1 8 3 0 s (Crotchet to produce Gryll

Abbey

( 1 8 1 8 ) . There is one novel in the

Castle, 1 8 3 1 ) ; P e a c o c k w a i t e d until the H i g h Victorian A g e Grange

( i 8 6 0 ) . L o o k i n g at such a record, one begins to

think better of Catherine G o r e , w i t h her satiric 'silver fork' novels in the 1 8 3 0 s - but even M r s . G o r e turned to song-writing and d r a m a as more profitable. T h e challenge that J a n e A u s t e n offered to other writers of fiction w a s not then to be taken up, a n d by the time it w a s truly taken up she w a s burdened with a certain imposed quaintness never quite totally shaken off. She could a l s o be smothered in A u n t J a n e - i s m . T h e challenge that A u s t e n offered c o n t e m p o r a r y fiction arose from the challenge she herself faced - h o w to sustain s o m e of her o w n deeper interests while submitting to the restrictions of the domestic and m o r a l

courtship

novel as the only truly a v a i l a b l e form. W h a t she does, I w a n t to suggest, is 96

The short fiction to tap into the deep roots of the N o v e l as a w h o l e - the B i g N o v e l , not in the sense of the long novel but of the larger traditions of p r o s e fiction, g o i n g back to antiquity. If a novel is deep enough it c a n escape the shallowness of contemporary polite a n d prudential formulas. A u s t e n ' s depths are very well hidden. She is strikingly unlike her contemporaries, female as w e l l as m a l e , in not overtly alluding to any of the heathen m y t h o l o g y in her novels. Indeed, the allusion to the fact of its existence c o m e s in the form of mockery: 'How long ago it is, aunt, since we used to repeat the chronological order of the kings of England . . . ' 'Yes', added the other; 'and of the Roman emperors as low as Severus; besides a great deal of the Heathen Mythology, and all the Metals, SemiMetals, Planets, and distinguished philosophers.' (M? 18-19) Austen is not going to let us catch her m a k i n g her novels mythical. She customarily shies a w a y even from explicit allegory of n a m e s of the type familiar enough in Fielding (with his 'Squire W e s t e r n ' a n d ' M r . A l l w o r t h y ' ) . W e c a n catch her - just barely - in a n a m e like M r . K n i g h t l e y . B u t she uses to a considerable degree and in a very fascinating w a y w h a t I call the 'tropes of the N o v e l ' . One of these important tropes is the i m a g e of mud,

the m i x t u r e of earth

and w a t e r , usually combined with a m a r g i n , threshold, o r n o - m a n ' s land of in-between. Mud

is earthy a n d mobile, the deep p r i m a l slime from w h i c h

things g r o w , the union of male a n d female, the p a r t y of hylé, the celebration of life o n earth. M u d is thus exactly w h a t is b a n n e d f r o m d r a w i n g r o o m s and has no place in the transcendent. T o n a m e m u d is to n a m e w h a t is not transcendent

-

it goes with

the

flesh, the

muddy

vesture

of

decay.

M r . Knightley has to display his shoes to M r . W o o d h o u s e to reassure him that he has n o m u d or dirt o n them. This dry beginning of Emma

tells us

that relationships are b a u l k e d , that this is something of a w a s t e land of sterility - the sterility arising from propriety. W h e n the h e r o a n d the heroine at last c o m e together, they are outdoors after a s h o w e r . E a r t h a n d w a t e r have reunited, there is plenty of dirt a r o u n d , a n d fertility is possible. T o use the image thus is to join in the great N o v e l - w o r k of celebrating the physical, of resisting the transcendent insofar as that does not h o n o u r the w o r l d of matter and flesh. Elizabeth Bennet gets m u d o n her petticoats racing o v e r the fields a n d leaping o v e r stiles on a rainy d a y . H e r m u d d y

vesture

scandalizes the Bingley sisters - but not M r . D a r c y o r ourselves. T h e beginning of The

Watsons

s h o w s the sisters ' A s they splashed along the

dirty L a n e ' ( M W 3 1 5 ) . Life offers a n e w beginning. It is this sense of vitality that offers the deepest pleasure in A u s t e n ' s w o r k . 97

MARGARET ANNE

DOODY

W i t h this her truest 'religious feeling' (as w e sometimes term it) is conjoined. W e recognize in her mature novels the places of deception, the arid places w h e r e h y p o c r i s y reigns, w h e r e the spiritless meets the spiritless. T h e truly spiritual in A u s t e n is spirited. In her early fiction, J a n e A u s t e n c o u l d write w i t h zest a n d confidence. She h a d inherited a taste for irony, p a r a d o x , a n d ' s p a r k l e ' from the eighteenth century. H e r early writing is r o u g h , violent, s e x y , j o k y . It sparkles with k n o w i n g n e s s . It attacks w h o l e structures, including cultural structures that h a d m a d e a regularized a n d constricted place for the N o v e l , as well as the v e r y w o r k i n g s (in stylized plot a n d character) of the English novel itself. T h e o r d e a l of creating her o w n n o v e l , I w o u l d suggest, w a s an ordeal painful for J a n e A u s t e n , a retreat to K a m s c h a t k a a n d a c r a w l i n g back. T h e elements that w e find in A u s t e n ' s early short fiction are w h a t kept her later w o r k s from d w i n d l i n g into comfortable p r o s y little comedies of upper middle-class courtship, with didactic elements carefully inserted. Y e t , to a certain extent a n d not in trifling w a y s , A u s t e n h a d to pretend - in order to get published at all - that her mature novels w e r e such innocuous

and

didactic things. A t the beginning of the nineteenth century, Austen had, in effect, been w a r n e d that she w o u l d h a v e to 'chill out' to match the chillier d e c o r u m that constituted the conventions of fiction a l l o w e d into public discourse. T h e original ' S i b e r i a ' to w h i c h she h a d been sent w a s the Siberia of rejection by publishers. She escaped, but at the price of subscribing to c o n f o r m i t y , of adapting to the confinements of propriety. H e r movements b e c a m e constricted a n d she s p o k e in an altered tone. T h e early fictions tell us w h a t A u s t e n might h a v e s o u n d e d like w i t h o u t such domestication. She h a d to g o a v e r y long w a y r o u n d to get b a c k into fiction - w e a r i n g her R e g e n c y w a l k i n g dress, w h i c h must h a v e been uncomfortable to w a l k in, a n d c o m i n g from K a m s c h a t k a .

NOTES 1

2 3 4

M y quotations for this essay are from Jane Austen's Catharine and Other Writings, ed. Margaret Anne Doody and Douglas Murray (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1 9 9 3 ) , which more closely represents the manuscript than R. W. Chapman's edition of the Minor Works. A version of this essay appeared in the annual journal of the Jane Austen Society of North America, Persuasions, 16 (1994), 69-84. See Volume the Third M S , p. 67. George Holbert Tucker, Jane Austen: The Woman (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1994), p. 1 1 4 . Deirdre Le Faye, Jane Austen: A Family Record (London: The British Library, 1989), p. xxii. 98

The short fiction 5 6 7 8 9

Quoted in Roger Lonsdale, Eighteenth-Century Women Poets: An Oxford Anthology (New York: Oxford University Press, 1990), p. 6. Robert Mack, Introduction to Horace Walpole's Oriental Tales, ed. Robert Mack (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992). G. K. Chesterton, ed., Love and Freindship and Other Early Works (New York: Fredrick A. Stokes, 1 9 2 2 ) , p. xv. Claudia L. Johnson, Jane Austen: Women, Politics, and the Novel (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1988), 'Introduction'. Vineta Colby, The Singular Anomaly: Women Novelists of the Nineteenth Century (New York: N e w York University Press, 1970); Sandra M . Gilbert and Susan Gubar, The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the Nineteenth-Century Literary Imagination (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1979); Nancy Armstrong, Desire and Domestic Fiction: A Political History of the Novel (New York: Oxford University Press, 1 9 8 7 ) .

99

6 CAROL HOULIHAN FLYNN

The letters

A s she recalls her o w n memories of A u n t J a n e to help brother J a m e s E d w a r d A u s t e n - L e i g h construct his Memoir

of Jane

Austen,

Caroline

A u s t e n questions the possibility of ever representing a 'life' that already seems t o o o b s c u r e to recover. ' I a m sure y o u will d o justice to w h a t there is - but I feel that it m u s t be a difficult task to dig up the materials,

so carefully

h a v e they been buried out of o u r sight b y the past g e n e r a t i o n . '

1

She

dismisses the m o r e o b v i o u s 'materials' at h a n d : ' T h e r e is nothing in those letters w h i c h I h a v e seen that w o u l d be acceptable to the public - T h e y were v e r y w e l l e x p r e s s e d , a n d they must h a v e been very interesting to those w h o received them - but they detailed chiefly h o m e a n d family events: a n d she s e l d o m c o m m i t t e d herself even

to a n opinion - so that to strangers they

c o u l d be no transcript of her mind - they w o u l d not feel that they k n e w her a n y the better for h a v i n g read them - '

2

W h a t I find s o compelling a b o u t C a r o l i n e A u s t e n ' s scepticism is its applicability to A u s t e n studies in every generation. R e a d e r s coming to her letters usually find something 'missing' that v e x e s them. In his introduction to the first edition of the letters, R . W . C h a p m a n recites w h a t will continue to be ' a familiar defence' of the letters. T h e y h a v e been ' r o b b e d of their general interest by C a s s a n d r a A u s t e n ' s pious destruction of all that she 3

s u p p o s e d might p o s s i b l y excite general c u r i o s i t y ' . B y blaming C a s s a n d r a for keeping us from the ' r e a l ' J a n e A u s t e n , w e are able to sustain an idea of the writer regardless of materials, o r lack of materials, that occlude the portrait of the artist. W e l o o k to the letters for deep feeling, but are kept relegated to the surface of things, r e w a r d e d w i t h 'small matters'

and

' m o m e n t o u s minutiae'. C a r o l i n e A u s t e n rejects w h a t is in A u s t e n ' s letters, not w h a t is left out. N o t the mysteriously buried materials, but those m u n d a n e l y visible a b o v e g r o u n d , the letters preserved by C a s s a n d r a , disappoint her for failing to p r o v i d e ' a transcript' of the writer's mind. H e r concern reveals the invest­ ment that readers l o o k i n g for a transparent relationship between ' m i n d ' and

ioo

The letters 'art' bring to the letters, a n investment her brother seems to share. L i k e Caroline, he is disappointed by his aunt's epistolary productions, a n d he w a r n s the reader of his Memoirs

'not to e x p e c t t o o m u c h ' from his aunt's

letters. T h e i r 'materials', he e x p l a i n s , ' m a y be t h o u g h t inferior',

treating

only 'the details of domestic life . . . T h e y resemble the nest w h i c h s o m e little bird builds of the materials nearest at h a n d . '

4

It is only recently that the

domestic nature of the letters has been freed from such a condescending interpretation. J o M o d e r t suggests that the v e r y b a n a l domestic surface of the letters offers us a tool for understanding the foundations of A u s t e n ' s creative p r o d u c t i o n ,

5

while D e b o r a h K a p l a n a n d S u s a n W h e a l l e r

Austen's depictions of self-denial a n d h o u s e w i f e r y as subtle

read

productions

emerging from a feminine culture w h i c h supports the self-expression of w o m e n w h o are conscious of dual allegiances to claims of social class a n d 6

g e n d e r . W e are learning to l o o k m o r e carefully at the c o d e d interpretations that Austen a n d her female correspondents

m a k e of their positions of

relative powerlessness in their class a n d gender systems, a n d to l o o k for their painfully calibrated understanding of the disappointments a n d adjust­ ments w h i c h m a r k the feminine experience. It is A u s t e n ' s a w a r e n e s s of the texture of domestic life that generates her densely realized novels. In the novels, Austen is careful to m a k e certain that her understanding of the 'dual cultures' w h i c h claim her allegiance not be m a d e entirely trans­ parent. H e r sensitivity to the privileged obligations of class a n d gender encourages her to disguise her representations of the desire for p o w e r a n d its disappointments, a n d to frame such situations with ironic p r o n o u n c e ­ ments w h i c h undercut desire while they pretend detachment. T h e v e r y style of her novels, tersely a n d laconically e p i g r a m m a t i c , insists u p o n a graceful inevitability of social forms that must triumph

o v e r individual acts of

rebellion a n d desire. N o t h i n g is ever so inevitable in Austen's o w n letters, h o w e v e r , w h i c h a w k w a r d l y disclose disjointed fragments of e v e r y d a y social e x c h a n g e . ' I w o n d e r whether the Ink bottle has been filled', she writes. ' D o e s Butcher's meat keep u p at the s a m e price? & is not B r e a d l o w e r than 2/6. - M a r y ' s blue g o w n ! - M y M o t h e r must be in a g o n i e s ' ( L 2 3 9 ) . S e l d o m moderated, extreme positions are m o r e often than not enumerated, blandly, in jarring catalogues of 'little matters' that unsettle a reader l o o k i n g for coherence. It is this incoherence that so alarms C a r o l i n e A u s t e n , w h o is l o o k i n g for a proper 'transcript' of a n elegant, c o m p o s e d m i n d . In her letters, A u s t e n employs a jolting, frustrating

style w h i c h d i s a l l o w s for

Dashes casually b r e a k up endless p a r a g r a p h s

subordination.

to signal fresh

'matters'

inappropriately joined, subjects as m o m e n t o u s as ' a dead B a r o n e t ' a n d as m u n d a n e as a dose of r h u b a r b ( 3 2 0 - 1 ) . Alternately 'ringing the C h a n g e s of

101

CAROL HOULIHAN

FLYNN

the G l a d s &c S o r r y s ' ( 1 1 8 ) , she seems to be e x p l o r i n g the limits of a stream of consciousness located s o m e w h e r e between Sterne a n d Samuel Beckett, one that represents her o w n a w a r e n e s s of the endless nature of her domestic 7

tasks. Since ' c o r r e s p o n d e n c e ' b e c o m e s one of these t a s k s , she must a l w a y s be in search of a subject. In fact, it is the search itself w h i c h ties her to a constant reading of the vicissitudes of her o w n mind, the one that C a r o l i n e doesn't like to see transcribed.

' T H E R E IS N O R E A S O N T O S U P P O S E T H A T

MISS

M O R G A N IS D E A D A F T E R A L L ' In a letter to F a n n y K n i g h t , J a n e A u s t e n apologises for the polarities of her state of mind: ' I a m feeling differently every m o m e n t , & shall not be able to suggest a single thing that c a n assist y o u r M i n d . -

I could lament in one

sentence 8c laugh in the n e x t . . . ' ( 2 7 9 ) . A l t h o u g h Austen presents her state as both e x t r e m e a n d unsuitable, it actually underlies much of her m o r e familiar epistolary discourse. M o c k i n g her domestic duties, she produces a typical ' n o t . . . quite so t r i u m p h a n t . . . a c c o u n t ' of daily life: We met with no adventures . . . except that our Trunk had once nearly slipt off, & we were obliged to stop at Hartley to have our wheels greazed. - While my Mother and M r Lyford were together, I went to Mrs Ryders, and bought what I intended to buy, but not in much perfection. - There were no narrow Braces for Children, & scarcely any netting silk; but Miss Wood as usual is going to Town very soon, and will lay in a fresh stock. - I gave zs/^d a yard for my flannel, & fancy it is not very good; but it is so disgraceful &c contemptible an article in itself, that its' being comparatively good or bad is of little importance. I bought some Japan Ink likewise, & next week shall begin my operations on my hat, on which Y o u know my principal hopes of happiness depend. - I am very grand indeed; I had the dignity of dripping out my mother's Laudanum last night, I carry about the keys of the Wine &c Closet; &c twice since I began this letter, have had orders to give in the Kitchen: Our dinner was very good yesterday, &C the Chicken boiled perfectly tender; therefore I shall not be obliged to dismiss Nanny on that account. (16-17) W h a t is characteristic a b o u t this excerpt, a small piece from a large letter filled w i t h dashes a n d m e m o r a n d a a n d tidily expressed laments ('I a m quite a n g r y w i t h myself for not w r i t i n g closer; w h y is m y alphabet so much m o r e s p r a w l y than Y o u r s ? D a m e T i l b u r y ' s daughter has lain-in - ' ) , is its l o w level of affect. A d v e n t u r e s sink into o b l i g a t o r y stops w h e r e one's wheels are greased. Purchases are either 'disgraceful & contemptible' or sublime, like 102

The letters J a p a n Ink elevated ironically into the means to p e r f o r m a n operation u p o n which ' m y principal hopes of happiness depend'. T h e grandeur of J a n e Austen's 'lesser duties' is undercut b y the level of 'obligation' w h i c h motivates her actions. ' T w i c e since I b e g a n this letter, I have h a d orders to give in the Kitchen.' W h i l e she is the one giving the orders, she 'has t o ' give them. Such m o m e n t o u s small matters force writer and reader alike to attend to the domestic duties, even w h i l e the writing itself becomes an obligation that she often chafes against ( ' w h y is m y alphabet so m u c h m o r e s p r a w l y than Y o u r s ? ' ) . T h i s p a r t i c u l a r letter holds within itself the f a m o u s , still shocking report that ' M r s H a l l of S h e r b o u r n w a s brought to bed yesterday of a d e a d child, s o m e w e e k s before she expected o w e i n g to a fright. - I suppose she h a p p e n e d u n a w a r e s to l o o k at her h u s b a n d ' ( 1 7 ) . W h a t is most notable a b o u t this statement is not so much its heartless wit, but its context. It becomes in this long a n d rambling letter just one of m a n y careless-seeming r e m a r k s squeezed in between reports a b o u t the u n c o m m o n largeness of M a r y , a b o u t to give birth, the lying in of D a m e T i l b u r y ' s daughter, a n d the dirtiness of Steventon's lanes. Austen the novelist addresses the stylistic p r o b l e m that the o d d l y j u x t a ­ posed detail presents in Persuasion

w h e n her n a r r a t o r , quite unexpectedly,

exposes the 'large fat sighings' that M r s . M u s g r o v e is guilty of displaying: 'Personal size a n d mental s o r r o w h a v e certainly n o necessary p r o p o r t i o n s . A large bulky figure has as g o o d a right to be in deep affliction, as the most graceful set of limbs in the w o r l d . But, fair o r not fair, there are u n b e c o m i n g conjunctions, w h i c h reason will patronize in v a i n , - w h i c h taste cannot tolerate, - w h i c h ridicule will seize' (P 68). T h e n a r r a t o r ' s h o r r o r of the 'unbecoming conjunction' establishes a c a n o n of taste a n d d e c o r u m that Austen violates frequently a n d eagerly in her o w n domestic letters. T h e Austen that w e think w e ' k n o w ' , that writer w h o s e m i n d

could

be

transcribed, stands as an arbiter of taste, a modest tyrant w h o insists u p o n the appropriate forms of discourse. H e r letters, h o w e v e r , repeatedly e m b a r ­ rass her o w n standards in transgressions, w h i c h , unlike M r s . M u s g r o v e ' s , appear to be deliberate a n d self-conscious. W h e n she chronicles her 'little matters', A u s t e n exploits w i t h m u n d a n e precision the sheer tedium not only of committing oneself to practising 'the civilities, the lesser duties of life, w i t h gentleness a n d f o r b e a r a n c e ' ,

8

but of

being obliged to record them in closely written letters for the inspection of others: 'There is n o reason to suppose that M i s s M o r g a n is d e a d after all. M r L y f o r d gratified us very m u c h yesterday by his praises of m y father's mutton, w h i c h they all think the finest that w a s ever ate' ( L 2 4 ) . ' T h e r e is n o reason to suppose that M i s s M o r g a n is dead after a l l . ' S a m u e l Beckett could have written such a line. O r Swift. O r closer to h o m e , A u s t e n ' s o w n

103

CAROL HOULIHAN FLYNN

p a r a s y n t a c t i c , a l w a y s obliging M i s s Bates, w h o sees a n d reports every

thing

w i t h a flat, undistinguished, decidedly u n b e c o m i n g zeal.

'FLY[ING] OFF, T H R O U G H HALF A SENTENCE, TO HER MOTHER'S OLD

PETTICOAT'

M i s s Bates is first introduced to the reader as 'great talker on little matters' (E 2 1 ). H e r aimless, c o n v o l u t e d accounts invest her character with great significance as one w h o sees a n d tells the plot of Emma

as it unfolds. But

her c o n v e r s a t i o n also serves as a n o d d l y perverse model for Austen's o w n epistolary production. M i s s B a t e s ' m o n o l o g u e s , stuffed with roast p o r k and b a k e d apples, chimneys that w a n t sweeping, spectacles that need mending, s o u n d suspiciously like her creator's o w n p r o s e y , r a m b l i n g letters. M i s s Bates is, of c o u r s e , designed to be exasperating e n o u g h to excuse E m m a ' s d r e a d of engaging her in conversation. W e are even a l l o w e d to laugh at E m m a ' s imitation of M i s s Bates, w h e n she imagines the 'evils' of a marriage between M r . Knightley a n d J a n e F a i r f a x : H o w would he bear to have Miss Bates belonging to him? - T o have her haunting the Abbey, and thanking him all day long for his great kindness in marrying Jane? - 'So very kind and obliging! - But he always had been such a very kind neighbour!' And then fly off, through half a sentence, to her mother's old petticoat. 'Not that it was such a very old petticoat either - for still it would last a great while - and, indeed, she must thankfully say that their petticoats were all very strong'. (E 225) B u t w h e n E m m a mimics M i s s B a t e s ' 'fly[ing] off, through half a sentence, to her mother's old petticoat', she reproduces A u s t e n ' s o w n epistolary use of the trusty dash that she applies in a n y direction to link together matters g r e a t a n d small: I am full of J o y at much of your information; that you should have been to a Ball, & have danced at it, & supped with the Prince, & that you should meditate the purchase of a new muslin Gown are delightful circumstances. - I am determined to buy a handsome one whenever I can, &C I am so tired and ashamed of half my present stock that I even blush at the sight of the wardrobe which contains them. - But I will not be much longer libelled by the possession of my coarse spot, I shall turn it into a petticoat very soon. - I wish you a merry Christmas, but no compliments of the Season. - Poor Edward! It is a very hard that he who has everything else in the World that he can wish for, should not have good health too. - But I hope with the assistance of Bowel complaints, Faintnesses &c Sicknesses, he will soon be restored to that Blessing like-wise. (L 30) 104

The letters I chose this particular excerpt because of its conveniently i n v o k e d petticoat, but its structure as well as its content connects this very typical m i x t u r e of romance, practicality, sentiment,

a n d passive aggression to M i s s B a t e s '

meditations o n rivets, b a k e d apples, civility, a n d the c o n s u m p t i o n of b r e a d ( £ 2 3 6 - 7 ) . B o t h speakers excel at filling empty space w i t h sentiments, T a m full of joy . . . P o o r E d w a r d ' , that jostle against each other inconsequentially, suggesting the relative meaninglessness of w h a t is being set d o w n . A s M i s s Bates w o u l d s a y , ' O n e takes up a notion, a n d runs a w a y w i t h it' ( 1 7 6 ) . W h e n Austen seems to mimic a character that she might h a v e been able to love, but could never admire, her letters reveal a p r o f o u n d consciousness of the artificial a n d v a c a n t nature of m o s t discourse, w h i c h flies off t h r o u g h half sentences because there is nothing substantial to hold it d o w n . ' D o not be angry w i t h me for beginning another C a s s a n d r a from Henrietta

Letter to y o u ' , she writes to

Street. ' I h a v e read the C o r s a i r , m e n d e d

petticoat, & h a v e nothing else to d o . -

' (L 2 5 7 ) . Employing

my

another

petticoat, Austen exploits a c o m i c a l l y painful a w a r e n e s s that a n y discourse will serve to fill up the time a n d space facing the m o s t adept c o n v e r s a t i o n a l ists and correspondents, particularly if they are w o m e n . In her letters, the absence of the subject often motivates the writing itself: ' E x p e c t a most agréable Letter; for not being o v e r b u r d e n e d w i t h subject (having nothing at all to say) - I shall h a v e n o check to m y G e n i u s f r o m beginning to end. - Well- & so . . . ' ( 7 4 - 5 ) . S i x y e a r s later, writing from Southampton, cut off from country life a n d still unpublished, she s o u n d s less eager to write a b o u t 'nothing'. M y expectation of having nothing to say to you after the conclusion of my last, seems nearer Truth than I thought it would be, for I feel to have but little. I need not therefore be above acknowledging the receipt of yours this morning; or of replying to every part of it which is capable of an answer; & you may accordingly prepare for my ringing the Changes of the Glads &c Sorrys for the rest of the page. (118) ' W e are all sorry, & n o w that subject is e x h a u s t e d ' , A u s t e n reports,

but

continues to write d o g g e d l y o n , v e x e d o v e r disappointments in getting fish, charmed by a 'little V i s i t o r ' w h o m a k e s her w o n d e r ' W h a t is b e c o m e of all the Shyness in the W o r l d ? ' W i t h 'nothing to s a y ' , A u s t e n uses u p all of her writing paper, squeezing in references to sofa-covers a n d carpets b e l o w the address panel, a n d crossing o v e r a rather snide reference to brother J a m e s ' impending visit. Straining to fit him onto her filled u p p a g e , she c o m p l a i n s about the w a y he takes up t o o m u c h r o o m , ' w a l k i n g a b o u t the h o u s e ÔC banging the D o o r s , or ringing the Bell for a glass of W a t e r ' . She writes here as the recessive, dutiful sister, one w h o hardly takes up a n y r o o m at all, 105

CAROL HOULIHAN

FLYNN

observing w i t h careful, painstaking acuity the cost of daily life, as she c o m p a r e s the b u m p t i o u s

excess of her brother's presence to her

own

relatively empty a n d tidy surface. T h e act of writing becomes here a necessary w e a p o n in the domestic w a r w a g e d against tedium, emptiness, a n d o c c a s i o n a l despair. In closing, A u s t e n reminds C a s s a n d r a that she has 'constructed Smartish Letter, considering m y w a n t of M a t e r i a l s . B u t like m y

... a dear

D r J o h n s o n I beleive I h a v e dealt m o r e in N o t i o n s than Facts. - ' ( i 1 8 - 2 1 ) . W h i l e she l o o k s to J o h n s o n as her m o d e l , she sounds m o r e like Swift and Sterne, writers m a k i n g their subject the task of writing u p o n nothing at all. H e r choice of materials, h o w e v e r , radically separates her from m o r e self­ consciously literary productions - J o h n s o n ' s Idler, Swift's H a c k , Sterne's W h i t e B e a r - that depend u p o n the generative p o w e r of the literary market­ place. Swift a n d Sterne a n d J o h n s o n pretend that they write upon nothing because they are being p a i d to d o s o . A u s t e n claims that she is writing upon n o subject because she is obliged to d o s o ; epistolary production is one of her domestic duties, w h a t w o m e n d o for free. A u s t e n ' s praise of her sister's epistolary skill ('you write so even, so clear both in style &c P e n m a n s h i p ' [229]) is complicated by the w a y that letterwriting is j u d g e d in A u s t e n ' s novels. T h e greatest admirer of close writing is M i s s Bates, w h o stupefies E m m a w i t h her p r o u d reports of J a n e F a i r f a x ' s literary p r o d u c t i o n s : 'in general she fills the w h o l e p a p e r a n d crosses half. M y mother often w o n d e r s that I c a n m a k e it out so well. She often says, w h e n the letter is first opened, " W e l l , Hetty, n o w I think y o u will be put to it to m a k e out all that c h e q u e r - w o r k . " ' W h e n E m m a says 'something very civil a b o u t the excellence of M i s s F a i r f a x ' s handwriting', and is rewarded w i t h 'hearing her o w n silly compliment repeated twice o v e r ' ( £ 1 5 7 - 8 ) it is clear that A u s t e n has little patience for the fetishizing of the letter. M i s s Bingley, f a w n i n g o v e r D a r c y ' s talent for writing long letters {PP 4 7 - 8 ) , Harriet, betraying her ' b a d taste' by judging R o b e r t M a r t i n ' s p r o p o s a l of m a r r i a g e to be 'too short' (E 5 1 - 4 ) , a n d L a d y Bertram, w h o shines in the epistolary line, all e x p o s e their foolish satisfaction with the form of the letter a n d their dissociation from its s u b s t a n c e .

9

W h i l e A u s t e n the novelist c a n satirize misplaced, self-important dedica­ tion to the fine art of letter-writing, A u s t e n the sister, engaged in friendly rivalry, determined to exhibit her social skills, gets 'sick' (L 1 3 1 ) a n d 'hates' herself w h e n she writes ill ( 1 3 ) . H e r d o u b l e d consciousness sets her against cultural productions that she herself pursues with great interest. Chafing against the d e m a n d s of her position, for T assure y o u I a m as tired of writing long letters as y o u can b e ' , she corrects herself, holding tenaciously o n t o her appreciation of the necessity for the letters that take up so much of 106

The letters her energy: ' W h a t a pity that one should still be so fond of receiving them', she reminds them both ( 1 3 7 ) . T h e c o m m i t m e n t w a v e r s , h o w e v e r , w h e n the writer faces the well w o r n terra cognita of her epistolary landscape: 'I a m not surprised m y dear C a s s a n d r a , that y o u did not find m y last Letter v e r y full of matter, 8c I w i s h this m a y not h a v e the s a m e deficiency; - but w e are doing nothing ourselves to write about, 6c I a m therefore quite dependant u p o n the C o m m u n i c a t i o n s of o u r friends, o r m y o w n W i t ' ( 1 6 2 ) . It is, after all, A u s t e n ' s a w a r e n e s s of such dependency that motivates her m o s t m o v i n g characters,

unaccommodated

women

like

Miss

Bates,

Persuasion's

M r s . Smith, and perhaps most poignantly, M i s s J a n e F a i r f a x , another great letter-writer, 'dependant u p o n the c o m m u n i c a t i o n of [her] friends', quite literally tied to the p o s t .

1 0

DETERMINED TO H A Z A R D NOTHING It is in Emma

that Austen explores the p r o b l e m of feminine dependence

most thoroughly, splitting the source of her a n x i e t y , the u n a c c o m m o d a t e d w o m a n squeezed by circumstance, into M i s s Bates a n d M i s s J a n e F a i r f a x . M i s s Bates stands for the e x p o s e d , needy, w o m a n ' s o v e r y o b l i g e d ' to the support of every

body. H e r 'simplicity a n d cheerfulness' might r e c o m m e n d

her to her neighbours, but they d o not c o m m a n d respect. She deserves rather

' c o m p a s s i o n ' , for sinking 'from the comforts she w a s born

to'

( £ 3 7 5 ) . Austen's m o r e a d m i r a b l e , elegant creation, M i s s F a i r f a x , is never entirely forgiven for her egregious acts of secrecy. E m m a might recognize that 'If a w o m a n can ever be e x c u s e d for thinking only of herself, it is in a situation like J a n e F a i r f a x ' s .

- O f such, one m a y almost s a y , that "the

w o r l d is not their's, nor the w o r l d ' s l a w " ' ( 4 0 0 ) . B u t s o m e h o w , in spite of the s y m p a t h y that her circumstances a w a k e n in the reader, w e are a l w a y s kept on the outside of J a n e F a i r f a x ' s character, l o o k i n g in, a n d irresistibly judging her reserve. Y e t , it is in this oddly faulty J a n e F a i r f a x that w e c a n discover A u s t e n ' s o w n elegant, secretive sensibility. T o understand J a n e F a i r f a x ' s clandestine habits of mind is to enter into the hidden w o r l d of J a n e A u s t e n ' s o w n epistolary production. F o r like her character, A u s t e n , a l w a y s eschewing both the sentimental response a n d the a n g r y c o m p l a i n t , aims for, a n d m o s t often

succeeds at, impenetrability. W a i t i n g for the carefully regulated

deliveries of clandestine letters from F r a n k C h u r c h i l l , J a n e F a i r f a x presents an elegant, invulnerable exterior. B u t in her necessary reserve, J a n e F a i r f a x , h o w e v e r repulsive she seems to bossy, p o w e r f u l E m m a , resembles m o s t poignantly the J a n e A u s t e n , reported by one M i s s H i n t o n to h a v e 'stiffened into the most perpendicular, precise, taciturn piece of "single blessedness" ',

107

CAROL HOULIHAN FLYNN

k n o w n for being ' n o m o r e r e g a r d e d in society than a p o k e r or a fire screen, o r any other thin, upright piece of w o o d or iron that fills its corner in peace a n d quiet', the sort of m a i d e n a u n t w h o at least in her letters 'seldom committed herself even to an o p i n i o n ' for public c o n s u m p t i o n .

11

T h e secret integrity w h i c h depends upon silent self-censorship protects J a n e F a i r f a x ' s a n d J a n e A u s t e n ' s position of relative powerlessness in a culture w h i c h privileges the c o m m u n i c a t i o n s of those rich enough to afford them. T r u l y m a r g i n a l characters like M i s s Bates are a l l o w e d to talk because they d o n ' t matter. T d o not think', M r s . W e s t o n tells E m m a , ' M r . Knightley w o u l d be m u c h disturbed b y M i s s Bates. Little things d o not irritate him. She might talk on; a n d if he w a n t e d to say any thing himself, he w o u l d only talk louder, a n d d r o w n her v o i c e ' ( 2 2 6 ) . T h e stakes are higher for the less pathetic figures, like J a n e F a i r f a x , l o o k i n g for m o r e out of life than roast p o r k a n d b a k e d apples. T h e stakes require silence a n d cunning, producing a reserve w h i c h is often strategic. W e c a n see A u s t e n m a n a g i n g the secrets that are passing between her a n d her niece F a n n y . ' Y o u r sending the M u s i c w a s an admirable device', she reports; 'it m a d e everything easy, & I d o not k n o w h o w I could h a v e accounted for the parcel o t h e r w i s e ' ( L 2 8 1 ) . In another letter dedicated to the interesting private discussion they are conducting over the merits of F a n n y ' s ultimately unsuccessful suitor, Austen advises her to send her next letter by S a t u r d a y , 'as w e shall be off on M o n d a y long before the Letters are delivered - a n d write something

that m a y d o to be read or told' to the other

members of the h o u s e h o l d ( 2 8 6 - 7 ) . Epistolary reserve c a n also be political, designed to maintain peace in the family c o m m o n w e a l t h . It is r e m a r k a b l e h o w few times J a n e Austen c o m ­ plains a b o u t her mother

in her correspondence, although w e sense a n

implicit criticism in the daughter's veiled references to her h y p o c h o n d r i a c a l presence. Since explicit r e m a r k s m a d e against the mother w o u l d unsettle the pretence of h a r m o n y , A u s t e n seems to speak most loudly in her silence: 'It began to o c c u r to me before y o u mentioned it that I had been s o m e w h a t silent as to m y mother's health for s o m e time, but I thought y o u could h a v e n o difficulty in divining its e x a c t state - y o u , w h o have guessed so m u c h stranger things' ( 3 8 ) . C a s s a n d r a presides over the letter as its most adroit reader, p r o v i d i n g the hidden k n o w l e d g e that is not a l l o w e d into the text. R e s e r v e a n d indirection is m o s t v a l u e d as a w e a p o n against the con­ descending outside w o r l d . It protects the powerless w o m a n from being taken o v e r by the active 'interest' of patrons looking to engage in w h a t Sterne called 'sentimental c o m m e r c e ' .

1 2

Austen's opposition to sentimen­

tality c a n be detected in her depiction of J a n e F a i r f a x ' s struggle to remain free from the p o w e r of E m m a ' s s y m p a t h y : T d o pity y o u ' , E m m a says to 108

The letters herself. ' A n d the m o r e sensibility y o u betray of their just h o r r o r s , the m o r e I shall like y o u ' ( £ 3 6 3 ) . T o be in w a n t is to be open a n d v u l n e r a b l e . J a n e F a i r f a x ' s struggle to resist E m m a ' s patronizing s y m p a t h y m a k e s me w o n d e r just h o w often J a n e Austen herself needed to defend herself against interested, patronizing parties? S o m a n y friends a n d relations must h a v e displayed interest in the trials of p o o r C a s s a n d r a in 1 7 9 7 , the y e a r in w h i c h T h o m a s F o w l e died of y e l l o w fever in S a n D o m i n g o in the W e s t Indies, just weeks before he w a s to return to his fiancée in E n g l a n d . H o w did she protect herself from solicitous friends w h o heard reports of her distress w h e n she learned she w o u l d be m o v i n g to B a t h ? A u s t e n k n e w t o o w e l l h o w eagerly the friend, the patron, indeed the reader, l o o k s to dig o u t evidences of 'sensibility'. Austen herself doesn't w a n t to be ' l i k e d ' for

sentimental

reasons, the sort that motivate E m m a to g r o w fonder of p o o r , dear J a n e . She w o u l d rather be taken for a p o k e r o r a fire screen, silent, superior, guarded. In her letters A u s t e n

fiercely

defends

herself against the p o w e r s of

sympathy. Disgusted by 'fat sighings' seeping from a soft heart, she resists pity, the taking in of it or the giving out of it, in e d g y displays of an uncertain, sometimes a w k w a r d w i t . H e r i r o n y contains the m o s t m o r t a l implications, as in the case of M a r y L l o y d A u s t e n , r e a d y to deliver her first child, J a m e s E d w a r d ( w h o will be his aunt's b i o g r a p h e r ) : I am . . . to tell you that one of [my Father's] Leicestershire sheep, sold to the butcher last week, weighed 27 lb and 1/4 per quarter. I went to Deane with my father two days ago to see Mary, who is still plagued with the rheumatism, which she would be very glad to get rid of, and still more glad to get rid of her child, of whom she is heartily tired. Her nurse is come, and has no particular charm either of person or manner; but as all the Hurstbourne world pronounce her to be the best nurse that ever was, M a r y expects her attachment to increase. What fine weather this is! Not very becoming perhaps early in the morning, but very pleasant out of doors at noon, and very wholesome - at least everybody fancies so, and imagination is everything. T o Edward, however, I really think dry weather of importance. I have not taken to fires yet. I believe I never told you that Mrs Coulthard and Anne, late of Manydown, are both dead, and both died in childbed. We have not regaled M a r y with this news . . . Sunday. - I have just received a note from James to say that Mary was brought to bed last night, at eleven o'clock, of a fine little boy, and that everything is going on very well. M y mother had desired to know nothing of it before it should be all over, and we were clever enough to prevent her having any suspicion of it, though Jenny who had been left here by her mistress was sent for home. (L 2 0 - 1 ) Leicestershire sheep, a nurse of n o particular c h a r m , a n irritating sister-in 109

CAROL HOULIHAN FLYNN

l a w p l a g u e d w i t h r h e u m a t i s m a n d u n b o r n children, fine weather, breeding w o m e n , t w o of them, both d e a d in childbed. M y mother displays some degree of sensibility, not w a n t i n g to k n o w anything a b o u t 'it' until 'it' s h o u l d be o v e r . T h e r e is n o getting into this letter. T h e imagination revealed here is a particularly fortressed o n e , e x p r e s s e d laboriously, without one d a s h , staving off the enormity of m o m e n t s of emotional vulnerability. But then, A u s t e n is a l w a y s u n e a s y w h e n she writes a b o u t childbirth. H e r o w n darling children, her novels, p r o v i d e her w i t h a m o r e dependable source of r e p r o d u c t i v e pleasure. Breeding, w h i c h turns w o m e n into ' a n i m a l s ' ,

13

too

often leads to death.

POLICING THE

PARAPHERNALIA

V i r g i n i a W o o l f imagines the strains of being under J a n e Austen's surveil­ lance: ' A sense of meaning withheld, a smile at something unseen, an a t m o s p h e r e of perfect control a n d courtesy m i x e d w i t h something finely satirical, w h i c h , w e r e it not directed against things in general rather than against individuals, w o u l d be almost malicious, w o u l d , so I feel, m a k e it a l a r m i n g to find her at h o m e . '

1 4

Is it the natural s q u a l o r of domestic life that

m a k e s the act of o b s e r v a t i o n so threatening, o r the hidden squalor of the o b s e r v e d herself? T h e r e is a straightness, a 'perpendicular' penchant for order that a c c o m p a n i e s strict o b s e r v a t i o n , a n intolerance for looseness. M i s s H i n t o n , w h o emphasized this quality of stiff uprightness w h e n she reported

that A u s t e n h a d been 'no m o r e regarded . . . than a p o k e r ' ,

immediately corrected such a representation, a d d i n g that once understood to be the a u t h o r of Pride and Prejudice,

A u s t e n b e c a m e regarded as 'a poker

of w h o m every one is afraid. It must be confessed that this silent observation from such a n observer is rather formidable . . . a wit, a delineator of character, w h o does not talk, is terrific i n d e e d . '

15

Letters p r o v i d e a n excellent vehicle for such formidable observation. Silent a n d reserved, the correspondent can record household faults with impunity. It is, in fact, the letter-writer's duty to describe the 'minute' details of e v e r y d a y life before her, h o w e v e r offensive they might appear. T h u s w e find that J a m e s ' M a r y , for one, lying in, 'does not m a n a g e matters in such a w a y as to m a k e me w a n t to lay in myself. She is not tidy enough in her a p p e a r a n c e ; she has n o d r e s s i n g - g o w n to sit u p in; her curtains are all too thin, a n d things are not in that c o m f o r t a n d style a b o u t her w h i c h are necessary to m a k e such a situation an enviable o n e ' ( 2 4 ) . Offences

can also be less p e r s o n a l , shards

lodged painfully in the

o b s e r v e r ' s penetrating (and penetrated) eye. In a tartly critical letter, written w i t h a s h a k i n g h a n d (T beleive I d r a n k t o o m u c h w i n e last night'), Austen

no

The letters describes the belle of last night's ball, one M r s . B l o u n t , 'the only one m u c h admired', as having 'the s a m e b r o a d face, d i a m o n d b a n d e a u , white shoes, pink husband, &C fat neck' that she possessed in September, w h i l e the daughter of Sir T h o m a s C h a m p n e y s a p p e a r e d to be 'a queer a n i m a l w i t h a white neck'. In a postscript, determined to a p p r e h e n d that w h i c h offends, she adds that she 'had the c o m f o r t of finding out the other evening w h o all the fat girls w i t h short noses w e r e that disturbed me at the i s t H . Ball. T h e y all prove to be M i s s A t k i n s o n s of E n h a m ' ( 6 0 - 3 ) . T h i s surreal a c c o u n t collapses the bland, b r o a d glittering w e a l t h of the Blounts into character­ istics that merge together. W h i c h one has the fat neck; a n d w h a t is it a b o u t 'necks' that particular evening that so irked o u r c o m m e n t a t o r ? B y joining a 'white neck', traditionally a b o d y p a r t held in s o m e degree of esteem, to the figure of a 'queer a n i m a l ' , A u s t e n creates a m i n o r monster shocking in her catachrestic singularity. T h e M i s s A t k i n s o n s , m o r e traditionally pealing, become bizarre in their multitudinous

unap­

potential to disturb

the

observer. H o w m a n y could ' a l l ' be? The desire to catalogue offences m a k e s A u s t e n a m o s t daunting enforcer of 'straight' conduct. Acting as one long a c c u s t o m e d to repressing her o w n considerable p o w e r s , Austen expected n o less from those w h o l o o k e d to her as their monitor. W e can see her establishing standards of c o n d u c t in a letter to F a n n y K n i g h t , reporting o n her visit to another niece, A n n a A u s t e n Lefroy, n e w l y married. Our visit to Hendon will interest you I am sure, but I need not enter into the particulars of it, as your Papa will be able to answer almost every question. I certainly could describe her bed-room, & her Drawers & her Closet better than he can, but I do not feel that I can stop to do it . . . Her purple Pelisse rather surprised me. - 1 thought we had known all Paraphernalia of that sort. I do not mean to blame her, it looked very well & I dare say she wanted it. I suspect nothing worse than its' being got in secret, & not owned to anybody. - She is capable of that you know. (285) J o h n H a l p e r i n finds this to be ' p e r h a p s ' the ' w o r s t m o m e n t ' in A u s t e n ' s correspondence.

16

B u t it is also rather funny to w a t c h J a n e A u s t e n p o k i n g

into her niece's closet, searching for secrets. T h i s letter supposes a public awareness of the private p a r a p h e r n a l i a of life w h i l e it m a k e s particular claims for Austen's expertise in discovery a n d disclosure. W h e n she takes on the role of monitor to police the pelisse, she is acting out a cultural obligation, one that she has inherited from her novelistic m o d e l s , a n d one that she will pass on to her heirs. F o r if one thing is constant in the domestic novel, it is the e x p o s u r e of the female, w h o is a l w a y s subject to the w a t c h f u l eyes of others. R i c h a r d s o n might h a v e started this tradition, placing P a m e l a

in

CAROL HOULIHAN FLYNN

under

M r . B . ' s covert g a z e , subjecting

surveillance, but it is in Sir Charles

C l a r i s s a to L o v e l a c e ' s careful

Grandison,

one of Austen's favourite

novels, that w e are introduced to the benevolent male monitor, one w h o will be r e p r o d u c e d in B u r n e y ' s Evelina Emma, Deronda.

Mansfield

Park,

a n d Northanger

a n d Camilla, Abbey,

in Austen's o w n

a n d later in Eliot's

Daniel

A u s t e n ' s talent for surveillance locates her at the centre of a

tradition both literary a n d domestic w h i c h requires that the female figure be a l w a y s r e a d y for inspection. T h e familiar letter a l l o w e d the powerless to criticize the powerful, but as a n instrument serving t w o cultures, it also served to maintain powerful systems of social control. A u s t e n ' s position here as critic of A n n a ' s desire, for ' I dare s a y she w a n t e d it', places her in the service of a larger system of conduct, one that she is in this epistolary m o m e n t nurturing. F o r the codification of m a n n e r s a n d the pressures of surveillance will develop into such a carefully policed system that even J a n e A u s t e n , h o w e v e r careful she might h a v e been to protect herself from the judgment of others, will be found w a n t i n g by her o w n heirs, by her o w n F a n n y K n i g h t Knatchbull, w h o will m a k e her infamous r e m a r k s a b o u t her aunt's lack of refinement. ' Y e s m y l o v e , ' she will write to her sister m a n y years later, 'it is very true that A u n t J a n e from v a r i o u s circumstances w a s not so refined to h a v e been from her talent,

as she ought

& if she h a d lived 5 0 years later she w o u l d

h a v e been in m a n y respects m o r e suitable to our m o r e refined t a s t e s . '

17

T h e letters of J a n e A u s t e n reveal the difficulties that she faced under a system of checks a n d repressions that needed to be negotiated. Since Austen keeps reminding us of the challenge of finding 'subject' a n d 'matter' full e n o u g h a n d p r o p e r e n o u g h to motivate writing at all, it is particularly a p p r o p r i a t e that the last letter w e h a v e written by Austen is one heavily edited by her brother H e n r y . A s the original letter is missing, w e are left only w i t h his edited version w h i c h he published in his ' B i o g r a p h i c a l N o t i c e ' . A u s t e n ' s brother enters her text to suppress d a n g e r o u s material: She next touches with just and gentle animadversion on a subject of domestic disappointment. Of this the particulars do not concern the public. Yet in justice to her characteristic sweetness and resignation, the concluding observa­ tion of our authoress thereon must not be suppressed. T h e w a t c h f u l brother returns us, quite briefly, to A u s t e n herself, w h o seems herself to regret 'getting t o o near complaint', but then interrupts her last w o r d s once m o r e : The following and final extract will prove the facility with which she could correct every impatient thought, and turn from complaint to cheerfulness. (NA,P ) 9

112

The letters W h a t follows should not surprise us. B y n o w w e should be used to o d d l y placed domestic and social details -

the price of meat, M a r y ' s blue g o w n ,

my mother's agonies. A u s t e n appears to be taking up the m o s t social task, recommending one C a p t a i n — brother

mundane

(the n a m e has been excised by

H e n r y ) , 'a very respectable, well-meaning m a n , w i t h o u t

much

manner, his wife and sister all g o o d h u m o u r a n d obligingness, a n d I h o p e (since the fashion a l l o w s it) with rather longer petticoats than last y e a r ' (L 3 4 3 ) . Petticoats, m o r e petticoats, fly off 'through half a sentence'. If she k n e w these w e r e to be her last k n o w n written w o r d s , w o u l d J a n e A u s t e n , remembering M i s s Bates, laugh o r lament?

NOTES 1 Deirdre Le Faye, Jane Austen: A Family Record (London, 1 9 8 9 : The British Library), p. 249. 2 Le Faye, p. 249. 3 'Introduction' to the first edition ( 1 9 3 2 ) , Jane Austen's Letters, ed. Deirdre Le Faye (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1 9 9 5 ) , p. ix. J o Modert argues that Cassandra appears to have taken 'better care of the letters than most of the recipients', and made few incisions in the letters that 'had nothing to do with Jane Austen's emotional expressions or secrets', Jane Austen's Manuscript Letters in Facsimile (Carbondale and Edwardsville: Southern Illinois University Press, 1990), pp. x x - x x i i . Susan C. Whealler discusses the Cassandra contro­ versy in 'Prose and Power in T w o Letters by Jane Austen', Sent as a Gift: Eight Correspondences from the Eighteenth Century, ed. Alan T. McKenzie (Athens, Georgia, and London: University of Georgia Press, 1 9 9 3 ) , pp. 1 8 0 - 4 . Most recently, Terry Castle, in 'Sister-Sister', London Review of Books (3 August, 1995), attributes Cassandra's 'high-handed' editing of Austen's letters to a (passionately) 'jealous winnowing down of her brilliant younger sister's person­ ality in the name of a judicious decorum' (3). Castle's suggestions of Austen's 'homophilic fascination' with women and the 'primordial bond' between the sisters (5) provoked outraged letters which sometimes revealed a homophobic fetishization of 'Jane' that inspired misreadings of the review itself. 4 Memoir of Jane Austen, ed. R. W. Chapman (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1 9 2 6 ) , pp. 59-60. 5 'Letters/Correspondence', The Jane Austen Handbook, ed. J . David Grey (London: Athlone Press, 1986), p. 2 7 7 . 6 Kaplan argues in 'Representing T w o Cultures: Jane Austen's Letters', The Private Self: Theory and Practice of Women's Autobiographical Writings, ed. Shari Benstock (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1988), pp. 2 1 1 - 1 9 , and more fully in Jane Austen among Women (Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins Press, 1992), that Austen created within a framework of both 'gentry' and 'women's cultures'. Chapter 3, 'The Women's Culture', locates Austen's epistolary habits firmly within a feminine context. Whealler argues that it is in the collection and dissemination of 'the minute details of domestic life' that Austen finds the source of 'private power', p. 1 9 5 .

113

CAROL HOULIHAN FLYNN

7 Kaplan, Jane Austen among Women, pp. 4 7 - 5 0 . 8 I am citing Marianne Dashwood's resolution, one which Austen certainly shows signs of taking to heart (55 3 4 7 ) . 9 In 'Jane Austen and the Look of Letters', Romantic Correspondence: Women, Politics and the Fiction of Letters (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1 9 9 3 ) , Mary Favret argues for the importance of 'even lines' and 'close writing'. Since the recipients of a letter were usually required to pay postage upon delivery, letters needed to 'look as if they were worth the cost of postage', pp. 1 3 6 - 7 . 1 0 See Favret on the importance of the post office for Jane Fairfax, pp. 1 5 8 - 6 2 . 1 1 Le Faye, Jane Austen: A Family Record, pp. 1 9 8 , 249. 1 2 'Preface in the Desobligeant', Sentimental Journey. 1 3 'I want to tell you that I have got my own darling Child from London', she reports after receiving her first copy of Pride and Prejudice (L 2 0 1 ) . Real babies do not inspire such rejoicing. Austen complains to Fanny Knight that Anna Austen Lefroy, pregnant again, 'has not a chance of escape . . . Poor Animal, she will be worn out before she is thirty. - I am very sorry for her. - Mrs Clement too is in that way again. I am quite tired of so many children' (336). 1 4 Quoted in John Halperin, The Life of Jane Austen (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986), p. 1 8 6 . 1 5 Le Faye, Jane Austen: A Family Record, p. 1 9 9 . 1 6 John Halperin, The Life of Jane Austen, p. 265. 1 7 Quoted in Le Faye, Jane Austen: A Family Record, pp. 2 5 2 - 3 .

114

7 JULIET McMASTER

Class

W e hear of L a d y Catherine de B o u r g h , one of the m o s t m e m o r a b l e a n d least likeable characters in J a n e Austen's n o v e l s , that 'she likes to h a v e the distinction of r a n k preserved' (PP 1 6 1 ) . T h e o b s e q u i o u s M r . C o l l i n s enjoins her guest Elizabeth Bennet to dress simply, a n d not to emulate the elegant apparel of her high-ranking hostess: the differences in station are not only present, but must be

seen

to be present.

Class difference w a s of course a fact of life for A u s t e n , a n d a n acute observation of the fine distinctions between one social level a n d another w a s a necessary p a r t of her business as a writer of realistic fiction. N o r w o u l d she have wished it a w a y , although at the time of w r i t i n g her n o v e l s , she herself - as the unmarried daughter of a deceased c o u n t r y c l e r g y m a n , like M i s s Bates - k n e w w h a t it w a s to suffer from the class system. H e r favourite niece, F a n n y K n i g h t , ' w h o m she h a d seen g r o w up from a period w h e n her notice w a s an h o n o u r '

( E 3 7 5 ) , w a s shamelessly patronizing

after

she

married a lord, a n d said her aunt, but for the a d v a n t a g e s she gained at G o d m e r s h a m , w o u l d h a v e been 'very m u c h b e l o w p a r as to g o o d Society and its w a y s ' .

1

In certain w a y s Austen w a s ideally p l a c e d to observe the

finely nuanced social distinctions a r o u n d her. A s a n u n m a r r i e d w o m a n she w a s to some extent outside the g a m e (since w o m e n w e r e a s s u m e d to take their status from their husbands)

a n d hence c o u l d see the m o r e of it.

M o r e o v e r , she h a d different vantage points: she c o u l d alternate between her relatively humble position of living with her w i d o w e d m o t h e r a n d u n m a r ­ ried sister in the C h a w t o n house by the grace a n d f a v o u r of her landlord brother, and visiting that brother's family at his c o u n t r y estate of G o d ­ mersham, and drinking French w i n e (a rare treat) w i t h the opulent (L 1 3 9 ) . 'There are far finer a n d m o r e numerous grades of dignity in this country than in a n y other', claimed E d w a r d L y t t o n B u l w e r , w h o w a s g r o w i n g up in 2

England while Austen w a s writing her n o v e l s . H e a n d other V i c t o r i a n s like Carlyle a n d T h a c k e r a y became excellent a n d explicit analysts of class a n d class difference in E n g l a n d ; but Austen h a d a l r e a d y specialized in

"5

the

JULIET

McMASTER

dramatizing of the nuances a n d intricacies of the subject. M y procedure in this essay will be first to turn snob myself, a n d erect a social ladder as she represents it, w i t h the personnel of her novels arranged on its rungs in order of precedence; then to try to extract A u s t e n ' s o w n attitude to class distinction, a n d the immense importance that some of her characters assign to it. A l t h o u g h in her o w n life A u s t e n did h a v e some dealings w i t h royalty, h o w e v e r mediated, w h e n she w a s graciously invited to dedicate Emma

to

the Prince R e g e n t , she never presents r o y a l t y in her fiction, nor a n y of the great aristocrats w h o still o w n e d great tracts of the country, a n d w e r e prominent in its g o v e r n m e n t . S o w e must start several rungs d o w n the ladder. A m o n g the onstage characters (as o p p o s e d to those w h o are merely mentioned), L o r d O s b o r n e in the fragment The Watsons

is p r o b a b l y the one

w i t h the highest r a n k in her fiction, a n d he is not m u c h better than a fool. T h e indications are that he will be sufficiently educated by the heroine to learn to v a l u e her a n d to p r o p o s e to her; but that she will turn him d o w n [MW

3 6 3 ) . S o m u c h suggests that for Austen there is nothing divine a b o u t

r o y a l t y , a n d not m u c h that is special a b o u t peers. In fact characters with titles - o r 'handles to their n a m e s ' , as the V i c t o r i a n s used to say - are s e l d o m a d m i r a b l e in the novels. Sir T h o m a s B e r t r a m , a baronet, is the best of them, but even he overestimates his o w n a n d his family's importance. Sir W a l t e r Elliot's obsession w i t h his status a n d the B a r o n e t a g e in w h i c h it is published is m a d e not o n l y c o m i c but contemptible. (In Sir Walter, A u s t e n anticipates the V i c t o r i a n social criticism of C a r l y l e , w h o characterized the aristocrat as ' T h e D a n d y ' , obsessed w i t h appearances, and sick w i t h self3

l o v e . ) Sir J o h n M i d d l e t o n , w h o is also p r e s u m a b l y a baronet, is wellm e a n i n g but v a c u o u s , w i t h a 'total w a n t of talent a n d taste' (SS 3 2 ) . A servant's rendering of the title as ' a baronight' suggests that being a baronet can be a s o m e w h a t benighted condition (P

106).

A baronetcy is an inherited title, passed d o w n from father to son; a k n i g h t h o o d , also signalled b y the title ' S i r ' attached to the first n a m e , is a w a r d e d for a particular service; since it is not hereditary, it carries less prestige. E v e n a M r . L u c a s , 'formerly in trade in M e r y t o n ' (PP 1 8 ) , can b e c o m e a ' S i r W i l l i a m L u c a s ' of L u c a s L o d g e , a n d introduce 'St. J a m e s ' s ' , the p a l a c e w h e r e he received his k n i g h t h o o d , into every conversation. ' T h e distinction [of being knighted] h a d perhaps been felt too strongly', notes the n a r r a t o r drily (PP 1 8 ) . A title, it seems, is sometimes almost a guarantee of fatuousness in A u s t e n ' s fiction. ' T h e D o w a g e r Viscountess D a l r y m p l e , a n d her daughter, the H o n o u r a b l e M i s s Carteret', merely from the stately p a r a d e of their n a m e s , are a l m o s t b o u n d to be the kind w h o s e status is their

n é

Class only attraction

(P 1 4 8 ) . S o t o o w i t h the H o n o u r a b l e J o h n Y a t e s , w h o

spends his time in solitary d e c l a m a t i o n as he rehearses the role of a b a r o n ( M P 1 6 9 ) . ( ' H o n o u r a b l e ' is a courtesy title given to y o u n g e r sons a n d daughters of peers b e l o w the r a n k of M a r q u e s s . ) W o m e n too sometimes h a v e handles to their names, although they c o u l d not inherit a peerage or a baronetcy. L a d y Catherine de B o u r g h w o u l d not w a n t us to miss the fine shades in the title ' L a d y ' . W h e n it comes attached to the first n a m e - as w i t h L a d y Catherine, her sister L a d y A n n e D a r c y , a n d the unscrupulous L a d y S u s a n V e r n o n - it signifies that the l a d y in question has the title 'in her o w n right', as the daughter of an earl; she is thus 'to the manner born', as the e x p r e s s i o n g o e s , a n d she retains her title irrespective of her husband's status. L a d y B e r t r a m of Mansfield Lady Middleton, Sanditon,

Lady

R u s s e l l of Persuasion,

Park, h o w e v e r , a l o n g w i t h and

Lady

Denham

of

w h o s e titles are attached only to the last n a m e , hold them o n l y by

virtue of being married to a b a r o n e t o r knight; a n d the l a d y w o u l d lose it if she were remarried to a plain ' M r . ' In such circles, such things matter. L a d y A n n e D a r c y is m a r r i e d to plain M r . D a r c y , a n d L a d y C a t h e r i n e makes a point of D a r c y ' s family as being 'untitled'. It is nevertheless 'respectable, h o n o r a b l e , a n d ancient', a n d D a r c y ' s fortune, at £ 1 0 , 0 0 0 a year, is 'splendid' ( P P 3 5 6 ) . T h e long-established but untitled l a n d o w n i n g family does seem to gather A u s t e n ' s deep respect, especially if its i n c o m e comes from land a n d a rent-roll; a n d her t w o most eligible heroes, M r . D a r c y of Pemberley a n d M r . K n i g h t l e y of D o n w e l l A b b e y , c o m e from this class, the landed gentry. S o does M r . R u s h w o r t h of Sotherton, h o w e v e r , w h o despite his long rent-roll is m o r a l l y a n d intellectually not w o r t h m u c h more than his n a m e signifies. Austen is often h a p p y to f o l l o w the Cinderella plot, a n d to m a k e a h a p p y ending out of m a r r y i n g her heroine to a m a n notably a b o v e her in i n c o m e and social prestige. T h e l a n d o w n i n g country gentleman is as close to a prince as her heroines a p p r o a c h . A s to income, they usually f o l l o w , in effect if not in intention, the prudent a d v i c e of T e n n y s o n ' s ' N o r t h e r n F a r m e r ' : ' D o à n t thou m a r r y for m u n n y , but g o à w h e e r m u n n y is!' Elizabeth's initial rejection of D a r c y usefully assures us that she is not m a r r y i n g him for his £ 1 0 , 0 0 0 a y e a r . B u t she half-jokingly admits that her love has

been

influenced by 'his beautiful g r o u n d s at Pemberley' ( 3 7 3 ) . M o n e y is o n l y o n e of a number of factors that count, h o w e v e r . Elizabeth's m a r r i a g e to D a r c y is the greatest ' m a t c h ' in the n o v e l s , a n d M r s . Bennet has every right to rejoice in it. B u t w e h a v e different v i e w s o n the extent of the social disparity between them. In L a d y Catherine's eyes Elizabeth is a n o b o d y , w i t h 'upstart pretensions', a w o m a n s h r e w d l y o n the m a k e , w h o will pollute 'the shades of Pemberley' ( 3 5 6 - 7 ) . Elizabeth herself, 117

JULIET

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h o w e v e r , is not o v e r w h e l m e d by the social difference. ' H e is a gentleman; I a m a gentleman's daughter; so far w e are e q u a l ' , she claims calmly ( 3 5 6 ) . A u s t e n seems to a p p r o v e of this relative flattening of the degrees of distinc­ tion a b o v e the country gentry. B u t she notes t o o , w i t h irony, the tendency to be acutely a w a r e of the degrees of distinction in the scale b e l o w . E m m a W o o d h o u s e is enraged that M r . Elton should ' l o o k d o w n u p o n her friend, so well understanding the gradations of r a n k b e l o w him, a n d so blind to w h a t rose a b o v e , as to fancy himself s h o w i n g n o presumption in addressing her!' (E 1 3 6 ) . E m m a too has a vivid sense of the gradations b e l o w . T h e c o u n t r y gentleman, w h o leads a leisured existence a n d w h o subsists on i n c o m e from land a n d inheritance, is at his best the m o r a l and social ideal as a partner for a heroine. B u t the condition takes some living up to: A u s t e n , like other social c o m m e n t a t o r s , insists that w i t h the privileges g o extensive responsibilities. Elizabeth freezes D a r c y off w h e n he is p r o u d and pretentious; but she w a r m s to him w h e n she discovers h o w as master of Pemberley he uses his extensive p o w e r for the g o o d of those a r o u n d him. The commendation bestowed on him by Mrs. Reynolds was of no trifling nature. What praise is more valuable than the praise of an intelligent servant? As a brother, a landlord, a master, she considered how many people's happiness were in his guardianship! - H o w much of pleasure or pain it was in his power to bestow! - . . . Every idea that had been brought forward by the housekeeper was favourable to his character. (PP 2 5 0 - 1 ) Emma

strikes us as a g l o w i n g a n d optimistic c o m e d y partly because the

hero M r . K n i g h t l e y stands highest in the m o r a l as well as the social scale: he lives, after all, at ' D o n w e l l ' A b b e y . T h e H i g h b u r y of Emma

is close to presenting a m i c r o c o s m of Austen's

social w o r l d . H e r e , from M r . Knightley (whose knightly m o r a l status is expressed in his n a m e rather than a literal title) to the p o o r family to w h i c h E m m a dispenses charity, w e h a v e assembled nearly all the levels of society that A u s t e n presents. M o r e o v e r , the novel's heroine is one w h o specializes in social discrimination, a n d m a k e s p r o m p t though often inaccurate judg­ ments a b o u t the social station of the people a r o u n d her. I will use

Emma,

therefore, to p r o v i d e the m a i n e x a m p l e of the levels of the social ladder, w h i l e d r a w i n g freely o n e x a m p l e s from the other novels as well. H i g h e s t in the H i g h b u r y circle, then, is M r . Knightley of D o n w e l l A b b e y , the first in virtue as in place. A u s t e n insists that part of his virtue is that he refuses to trade o n his r a n k . H e w a l k s , w h e n status-conscious people like the O s b o r n e s in The Watsons

w o u l d m a k e a point of riding in a carriage.

W h e n he does get out his c a r r i a g e , it is to transport M i s s Bates and J a n e F a i r f a x , not himself. T h o u g h he could leave the m a n a g e m e n t of his estate to 118

Class an employee, he takes an active interest, is often in conference w i t h his steward W i l l i a m L a r k i n s , a n d is w a r m l y interested in the domestic affairs of his tenant farmer, R o b e r t M a r t i n . In Persuasion,

by contrast, w e are invited

to consider the derogation of such duties by the b a d l a n d l o r d , Sir W a l t e r Elliot, w h o is consequently exiled from his estate, a n d even leaves the farewells to his daughter (P 3 9 ) . Sir Walter is enraptured by the prestige of his position, but neglects the responsibilities. N e x t in status in H i g h b u r y is M r . W o o d h o u s e of Hartfield. Hartfield is a gentleman's residence, a n d it has a farm attached; but M r . W o o d h o u s e clearly has nothing to d o w i t h its m a n a g e m e n t , a n d w e hear of n o tenants. T h e fact that E m m a has a fortune of £ 3 0 , 0 0 0 suggests that m u c h of his income comes from investment rather than from land: hence his status is relatively l o w e r than K n i g h t l e y ' s . M r . Bennet of L o n g b o u r n in Pride Prejudice

a n d old M r . D a s h w o o d in Sense and Sensibility

and

also belong in this

category. T h o u g h gentlemen of property, a n d o w n e r s of estates, they lack the long-term commitment to the land that m a k e s g o o d s t e w a r d s a n d m o r a l aristocrats of D a r c y a n d Knightley. One might suppose that the siblings in a single family w o u l d be a l m o s t by definition of the same rank. B u t even here there are m a r k e d differences in status, not only between sons a n d daughters, but also between one s o n a n d another. T h e aristocracy a n d the inheritance of land depended h e a v i l y o n the system of primogeniture. J u s t as o n l y the eldest son c a n inherit a peerage, sp the bulk of land w o u l d n o r m a l l y descend by the s a m e system. T h e entail, so prominent in Pride

and

Prejudice,

legally formalizes this

c u s t o m a r y practice of inheritance. If a n estate w e r e divided equally between all siblings, as o u r understanding of equitable practice w o u l d suggest t o d a y , the estate w o u l d be dispersed, a n d w o u l d ultimately cease to exist. T h e system of primogeniture, w h i c h unfairly privileges one family m e m b e r by accumulating all property in his hands, w a s developed as an a r r a n g e m e n t for the preservation of the family n a m e a n d the family estate t h r o u g h the generations. Austen highlights the injustices of this system of inheritance. A t the beginning of Sense and Sensibility

the narrator informs us h o w a rich

old gentleman, M r . D a s h w o o d , so ties up both his m o n e y a n d his estate that it must stay in the male line, a n d m a y not be alienated to the girls of the family, even though the son is already a m p l y p r o v i d e d for. 'Wife a n d daughters' are deprived; a n d the estate and the m o n e y as well must descend 'to his son, a n d his son's s o n ' (SS 4). H e n c e there is a considerable difference in prestige a n d between elder sons a n d y o u n g e r sons, as between sons a n d

expectation daughters.

Austen notices this, a n d dramatizes it; but not w i t h o u t c o n v e y i n g a strong sense of the inequity of such arrangements. T h e five Bennet girls are to be 119

JULIET

McMASTER

turned o u t of L o n g b o u r n w h e n their father dies, since the estate is entailed o n a distant male cousin, M r . Collins, w h o s h o w s precious little sign of being m o r a l l y w o r t h y of it. E v e n a m o n g these five girls, too, there are notable shades of difference in prestige. J a n e , the eldest, is called ' M i s s Bennet', w h i l e her y o u n g e r sisters are referred to as ' M i s s Eliza', ' M i s s M a r y ' , a n d so on. T h e elder m a y be 'out' in society before the y o u n g e r , and should

be, a c c o r d i n g to L a d y Catherine; but in this matter, in this family,

equity prevails. ' I think it w o u l d be very hard upon y o u n g e r sisters', says Elizabeth, 'that they should not h a v e their share of society and amusement because the elder m a y not h a v e the means or inclination to m a r r y early. T h e last b o r n has as g o o d a right to the pleasures of youth, as the first' (PP 1 6 5 ) . O n c e m a r r i e d , a sister gains prestige over a sister, w h a t e v e r her place in the a g e sequence. ' L o r d ! h o w I should like to be married before any of y o u ' , L y d i a tells her elder sisters ingenuously; 'and then I w o u l d chaperone y o u a b o u t to all the balls' ( 2 2 1 ) . A n d presently - though not without some m o r a l sacrifice - she gains her w i s h , and takes pride of place at table at her mother's right h a n d , saying to her eldest sister, ' A h ! J a n e , I take y o u r place n o w , a n d y o u must g o l o w e r , because I a m a married w o m a n ' ( 3 1 7 ) . A m o n g the brothers at this level of society the difference is even greater. T h e eldest, w h o c a n e x p e c t to inherit the estate a n d the income that goes with it, if not a title as well, is often bred to idleness; a n d Austen s h o w s h o w such expectations c a n m a k e him spoilt a n d frivolous, like Frederick Tilney in North anger Abbey

a n d T o m B e r t r a m in Mansfield

F ark.

A y o u n g e r son,

like H e n r y T i l n e y o r E d m u n d B e r t r a m , w h o has his living to earn, is sympathetically treated, a n d becomes a suitable mate for the heroine. M a r y C r a w f o r d has every intention

of m a r r y i n g an elder

brother, a n d is so

discontented w i t h herself for falling in love with E d m u n d by mistake that she wishes his elder brother dead ( M P 4 3 4 ) . E d w a r d Ferrars, w h o is an elder son by birth but not by temperament, chafes at the idleness expected of him. 'Instead of h a v i n g anything to d o , instead of having any profession chosen for

m e , o r being a l l o w e d to chuse any myself, I returned

h o m e to be

completely idle' (SS 3 6 2 ) . H i s mother, the rich a n d powerful M r s . Ferrars (one wishes A u s t e n w o u l d sometimes s h o w a powerful w o m a n in a favour­ able light!) in effect turns him into a y o u n g e r son (at least economically s p e a k i n g ) , by transferring all her m o n e y to his y o u n g e r brother R o b e r t , w h o relishes idleness. E d w a r d turns to m a k i n g his living as a country p a r s o n . So m u c h suggests that A u s t e n ' s best sympathies rest with the professional class - her o w n , that is. A l t h o u g h her most vivacious heroines ( M a r i a n n e , Elizabeth,

and

Emma)

marry

upwards

into

the

landowning

gentry,

Catherine, E l i n o r , F a n n y , a n d (probably) E m m a W a t s o n m a r r y clergymen; clergymen, m o r e o v e r , w h o are usually y o u n g e r brothers. Austen represents

120

Class the sterling virtues of the profession to w h i c h her father a n d t w o of her brothers belonged, although she doesn't d w e l l on their duties o r their status within their profession, as T r o l l o p e w a s to d o a generation later. In novels where the heroine marries into the gentry, h o w e v e r , A u s t e n permits herself some satire of the ministry. M r . Collins a n d M r . Elton are p a r s o n s o n their preferment, servile t o w a r d s a ' p a t r o n ' , a n d eager to m a r r y m o n e y . E v e n the highly principled E d m u n d Bertram, after he has 'been m a r r i e d long e n o u g h to begin to w a n t an increase of i n c o m e ' , submits to taking a second living, and so becomes a pluralist ( M P 4 7 3 ) . A gentleman's son w h o must earn his living has still rather limited choices in Austen's w o r l d : the church, the a r m y , the n a v y , the l a w , a n d medicine (and the last w a s still of dubious gentility). T h e a r m y w a s a

doubtful

proposition as a living, since an officer's c o m m i s s i o n h a d to be purchased. Captain Tilney, an eldest son, can expect p a t r o n a g e , as he is f o l l o w i n g his father's profession. (General Tilney must h a v e inherited his estate, as his army p a y w o u l d not suffice to buy an abbey.) C o l o n e l B r a n d o n w a s originally a y o u n g e r son, but inherits his estate o n the early death of his elder

brother.

Wickham,

a lieutenant,

is chronically

short

of

funds.

M r . Weston, as a C a p t a i n in the a r m y , w a s considered beneath the gentry family of the Churchills; a n d before he c a n buy himself into R a n d a l l s a n d gentlemanhood he must m a k e his m o n e y in trade (E 16). T h e a r m y , that is, though it has prestige, is not a reliable source of i n c o m e . B u t E m m a , s n o b as she is, w o u l d p r o b a b l y not h a v e taken so kindly to M r . W e s t o n as the husband of her friend if he h a d not once been ' C a p t a i n ' W e s t o n . T h e n a v y , of course, is the profession A u s t e n f a v o u r s n e x t after clergy. In Persuasion

the

she uses it as the model of a system of p r o m o t i o n by

merit, to contrast with the o l d - w o r l d system of heredity that Sir W a l t e r Elliot considers s a c r e d .

4

H e objects to the n a v y 'as being the m e a n s of

bringing persons of obscure birth into undue distinction, a n d raising men to honours w h i c h their fathers a n d grandfathers never d r e a m t o f (P 1 9 ) . Sir Walter's d i s a p p r o v a l signals Austen's a p p r o v a l . In her famously demotes

last n o v e l she

the landed gentry a n d replaces them b y the

navy,

substituting A d m i r a l Croft for Sir W a l t e r as the proprietor of K e l l y n c h H a l l , and a l l o w i n g her heroine to reject W i l l i a m Elliot, heir to the estate, in favour of a relatively self-made m a n , the gallant C a p t a i n

Wentworth.

W e n t w o r t h , m o r e o v e r , has m a d e m o n e y by his profession. Since E n g l a n d w a s at w a r with France a n d its allies, and m o r e o v e r d o m i n a n t at sea, a Captain and his c r e w (whose shares of profits w e r e minutely discriminated) could take 'prizes', capturing enemy ships at sea a n d realizing huge profits. ' A h ! those w e r e pleasant d a y s w h e n I h a d the L a c o n i a ' , muses C a p t a i n W e n t w o r t h . ' H o w fast I m a d e m o n e y in her' (67). T h e w o m a n

121

author's

JULIET

McMASTER

s h a r p recognition of the economic motive for w a r f a r e is implicit in A d m i r a l Croft's bluff hopes for 'the g o o d luck to live to another w a r ' (70). A u s t e n s h o w s herself quite k n o w l e d g e a b l e not only a b o u t prizes and m o n e y - m a k i n g in the n a v y , but a b o u t its internal hierarchy and systems of p r o m o t i o n . It w a s n e x t to impossible to be genuinely 'self-made': in the absence of m o n e y , a m a n o n his p r o m o t i o n w o u l d need 'interest', and/or luck. W e n t w o r t h ' s first c o m m a n d , the A s p , is p r o n o u n c e d unfit for overseas service; but A d m i r a l Croft insists, ' L u c k y fellow to get any thing so soon, w i t h n o m o r e interest than his' ( 6 5 ) . W e see s o m e of this 'interest' at w o r k w h e n H e n r y C r a w f o r d procures W i l l i a m Price's lieutenancy by using his influence with his uncle the A d m i r a l ( M P 2 9 8 - 9 ) . A u s t e n ' s preference for the n a v y o v e r the a r m y is signalled by the notice she takes of their uniforms. T h e susceptibility of y o u n g Kitty and Lydia Bennet to 'the regimentals of an ensign' m a r k s them as ' t w o of the silliest girls in the c o u n t r y ' , in their father's opinion; a n d their foolish mother's wistful fondness for 'a red c o a t ' puts her in the same c o m p a n y (PP 2 9 ) . (There is often a sense of s e x u a l threat attached to a r m y characters, as to the seducers W i c k h a m a n d C a p t a i n Tilney.) O n the other hand, w e are invited to participate in F a n n y Price's association of the naval profession w i t h pride a n d virtue w h e n she l o o k s o n her brother, 'complete in his Lieutenant's uniform, looking a n d m o v i n g all the taller, firmer, a n d more graceful for it, a n d with the happiest smile o v e r his face' ( M P 3 8 4 ) . A s usual, h o w e v e r , A u s t e n provides a qualification. Lest she be thought to generalize in her a p p r o v a l of the n a v y , she provides us with a negative e x a m p l e in A d m i r a l C r a w f o r d , w h o has considerable p o w e r and wit, but w h o keeps a mistress. H e is considered partly responsible for the vitiated m o r a l i t y of his niece a n d nephew, M a r y a n d H e n r y C r a w f o r d . F o r representatives of the other professions w e h a v e to turn to relatively m i n o r characters. T h e l a w is represented

in Emma

by M r . Knightley's

y o u n g e r brother, J o h n Knightley, w h o is a respectable attorney in L o n d o n . C o u n t r y attornies, such as M r . Phillips in Pride W a t s o n in The Watsons,

and

Prejudice,

or the C o x e s , father a n d son, in Emma,

Robert

are seen as

verging o n the v u l g a r . W h e n M a r y C r a w f o r d urges E d m u n d to ' g o into the l a w ' , she p r o b a b l y hopes he w o u l d b e c o m e a L o n d o n barrister, the more distinguished branch of the legal profession, a n d one that w a s frequently a route to political office. Austen's sympathies are clearly with E d m u n d in his defence of his choice to be a c l e r g y m a n as the m o r e honorable calling (MP 9 3 ) . Physicians a n d surgeons, too, are relegated to the sidelines, although A u s t e n notes their rising social status in m a k i n g a m e m o r a b l e incident out of M r . Perry's changing decision a b o u t setting u p a carriage in Emma. 122

Like

Class an expensive car t o d a y , carriages w e r e status s y m b o l s . T o maintain one's o w n carriage and horses w a s a considerable expense, a n d the decision to d o so must be taken with care. F o r this time Perry postpones the purchase; but w e are given reason to believe that in due course he will indeed rise to the carriage-owning class (E 3 4 4 - 6 ) . Perhaps in the heroine's brother S a m , in The Watsons,

'only a S u r g e o n , y o u k n o w ' (MW 3 2 1 ) , w e w o u l d h a v e h a d a

sympathetic picture of a medical m a n ; but in the fragment as w e h a v e it, he is in a fair w a y to being cut out in his courtship of the heiress by the 'Military M e n ' ( 3 2 8 ) . Austen locates few major characters in 'trade', a n d for m a n y of her characters the w o r d has a ring that seems to require a p o l o g y . It is not surprising that the gentry a n d professional classes felt s o m e w h a t threatened by the large changes that w e r e c o m i n g w i t h the Industrial R e v o l u t i o n , a n d tended to close ranks against the n e w l y powerful a n d the nouveaux

riches.

T r a d e represents n e w m o n e y , a n d m o n e y , like w i n e , isn't considered quite respectable until it has a g e d a little. A u s t e n is clearly fascinated by this process: though she doesn't share the snobbish prejudice against trade, she pays close attention to the g r a d u a l assimilation of the trading classes into gentility. E m m a W o o d h o u s e a g a i n c a n represent the snobbish position, at least in her initial reaction, on the rise of the C o l e family in H i g h b u r y . B u t it is important to notice that E m m a ' s attitude evolves a n d changes. T h e C o l e s , as E m m a places them, are 'of l o w origin, in trade, a n d only m o d e r a t e l y genteel' ( £ 2 0 7 ) . H o w e v e r , they h a v e prospered financially, a n d they h a v e 'added to their house, to their n u m b e r of servants, to their expenses of every sort; and by this time w e r e , in fortune a n d style of living, second only to the family at Hartfield' ( 2 0 7 ) . ( M r . K n i g h t l e y , strictly speaking, is from

the

nearby parish of D o n w e l l . ) T h e i r place a n d their mobility in society are exactly rendered; Austen p a y s attention to the assault on gentility of the new mercantile middle class. E m m a is stand-offish; she severely d i s a p p r o v e s of M r . Elton's 'propensity to dine with M r . C o l e ' ( 2 1 3 ) , a n d she l o o k s forward to refusing a n y invitation they m a y h a v e the presumption

to

address to her. H o w e v e r , she must learn to s w a l l o w her pride. B y the time she k n o w s that all the people she likes best are to be assembled at the C o l e s ' dinner party, she is very g l a d to accept the invitation w h e n it comes. B u t she is careful not to s h o w a n y eagerness. 'She o w n e d that, considering e v e r y thing, she w a s not absolutely w i t h o u t inclination for the p a r t y ' ( 2 0 8 ) : the sentence, with its careful qualifications a n d h u m o r o u s signals the condescension of the grande

double negative,

dame of H i g h b u r y in thus confer­

ring her stamp of a p p r o v a l o n the p a r v e n u s . Hereafter, apparently,

the

Coles, for all their tincture of 'trade', will be on visiting terms even w i t h the most exclusive families of H i g h b u r y ; a n d perhaps the y o u n g C o l e s of the

123

JULIET

McMASTER

n e x t generation m a y aspire to m a r r y the W e s t o n s ' daughter, or even the offspring of M r . a n d M r s . Knightley of D o n w e l l A b b e y . M u c h has to d o w i t h manners a n d tact. H o w e v e r reluctantly, E m m a accepts the

C o l e s into the genteel society of H i g h b u r y , because they

'expressed themselves so p r o p e r l y ' , they s h o w 'real attention' ( 2 0 8 ) . T h e n e w M r s . E l t o n , h o w e v e r , is another matter. Before meeting her E m m a has ascertained that she is 'the youngest of the t w o daughters of a Bristol merchant, of c o u r s e , he must be called' (the dread w o r d 'tradesman' m a y not be uttered) ( 1 8 3 ) . B u t she conscientiously withholds judgment until she meets the bride in person. W h e n she does a p p e a r , M r s . Elton confirms E m m a ' s w o r s t prejudices: E m m a can't stand her 'airs of pert pretension and under-bred finery' ( 2 7 9 ) . M o r e o v e r , nor can most readers. It is a difficult exercise in discrimination to pick a p a r t social standing, manners,

and

m o r a l s . B u t A u s t e n enables us to distinguish between E m m a ' s u n a p p r o v e d social s n o b b e r y a n d her p r o p e r m o r a l aversion to M r s . Elton's loud­ m o u t h e d s e l f - a p p r o v a l . F o r instance, like M i s s Bingley M r s . Elton regularly uses her n e w l y acquired status to put d o w n others. A later stage of this assimilation of one class into another is seen in the Bingleys of Pride

and Prejudice.

Y o u n g Charles Bingley is a gentleman of

leisure, a n d a l r e a d y associates w i t h such a prestigious m e m b e r of the country gentry as D a r c y . B u t his is n e w m o n e y , 'acquired by trade' in the industrial north of E n g l a n d (PP 1 5 ) . W e see him in the process of buying his w a y into the gentry. H i s father 'had intended to purchase an estate, but did not live to d o it' ( 1 5 ) . Bingley, then, in a leisurely manner, is shopping; by renting Netherfield m a n o r , he is trying out country g e n t l e m a n h o o d . Once he marries J a n e , he does buy an estate near Derbyshire ( 3 8 5 ) ; so the 'next g e n e r a t i o n ' will be correspondingly a step u p w a r d in the social hierarchy. In Bingley w e see the best of social mobility. H e is g o o d - h u m o u r e d

and

c h a r m i n g , a n d he never stands o n c e r e m o n y . L i k e Elizabeth w h e n she m o v e s into Pemberley, he will benefit his n e w social level by not trying to live up to it all the time. H i s sisters, h o w e v e r , s h o w the aspect of social mobility that A u s t e n distrusted. T h e y are status-hungry, ' p r o u d and con­ ceited' ( 1 5 ) , a n d C a r o l i n e Bingley is over-eager to ally herself and her brother w i t h the prestige of the D a r c y family. Conveniently forgetting that her

own

fortune

was

made

in

trade,

she

is spitefully

scornful

of

M r . G a r d i n e r , the Bennet sisters' merchant uncle, ' w h o lives somewhere near C h e a p s i d e ' , she sneers. 'If they h a d uncles enough to fill all C h e a p s i d e ' , Bingley bursts out w a r m l y , 'it w o u l d not m a k e them a jot less agreeable' ( 3 6 - 7 ) . G e n e r o u s l y undiscriminating a b o u t shades of social distinction, he cares m o r e a b o u t their manners, the a m e n a b l e social conduct that makes them ' a g r e e a b l e ' . H i s is the a p p r o v e d attitude.

124

Class O n this issue, h o w e v e r , D a r c y realistically a r g u e s that the Bennet sisters' connection with trade 'must very materially lessen their chance of m a r r y i n g men of a n y consideration in the w o r l d ' ( 3 7 ) . H i s qualification is presented as a point of fact, and he is not malicious, like M i s s Bingley. B u t still, D a r c y is to g o through an evolution in his attitude, at last m a r r y i n g , like Bingley, one of the Bennet girls, C h e a p s i d e uncle notwithstanding. Indeed, he c o m e s to value the G a r d i n e r s , despite their connection w i t h trade, m o r e highly than his father-in-law the country gentleman. T h e quality of h u m a n i t y is to be judged by m o r a l a n d h u m a n e standards, A u s t e n suggests, not by social status; but like her o w n t e m p o r a r y s n o b s , D a r c y a n d E m m a , she p a y s full attention to their social status first. Since the union of the merchant's daughter w i t h the earl's son depicted in H o g a r t h ' s ' M a r r i a g e à la M o d e ' ( 1 7 4 5 ) , E n g l a n d has been f a m o u s for its alliances between ' b l o o d ' and m o n e y , the b a r g a i n by w h i c h the aristocracy is enriched, and the merchant class can p r o m o t e its grandchildren into r a n k and title. ' B y this intermixture of the highest aristocracy w i t h the

more

subaltern ranks of society', B u l w e r e x p l a i n e d , 'there are far finer a n d m o r e numerous grades of dignity in this country than in a n y other' ( B u l w e r ,

England and the English

3 1 ) . In e x p l o r i n g s o m e of the finely n u a n c e d

distinctions that can arise from the subtle intermixture of birth a n d cash, he notes one m a r k e r of consequence that can easily be o v e r l o o k e d . You see two gentlemen of the same birth, fortune, and estates - they are not of the same rank, - by no means! - one looks down on the other as confessedly his inferior. Would you know why? His connexions are much higher! (Bulwer, England and the English 31 ) Austen is alert to this distinction

as to others.

Emma Woodhouse

is

indignant that the c l e r g y m a n , M r . Elton, s h o u l d dare to p r o p o s e m a r r i a g e to her, or to ' s u p p o s e himself her equal in connection or mind!' ( £ 1 3 6 ) . ' C o n n e c t i o n ' , like the 'interest' that W e n t w o r t h needs in order to get a g o o d c o m m a n d in the n a v y , is a term fraught w i t h significance. Bingley raises his status (though in his case it is unconsciously done) by being the friend of D a r c y , as Harriet begins to be out of R o b e r t M a r t i n ' s reach w h e n she becomes the friend of M i s s W o o d h o u s e . If those involved in trade h o v e r on the brink of gentility, there are m a n y grades and degrees b e l o w them. M r s . a n d M i s s Bates in

Emma

are similarly

poised, and a gulf of poverty y a w n s b e l o w them. T h e y are of a class that w a s later to be called 'shabby-genteel', people w h o h a v e c o m e d o w n in the w o r l d . Once prominent as the wife of the v i c a r , M r s . Bates as a w i d o w lives on slender means, in c r a m p e d quarters in a n upstairs a p a r t m e n t , w i t h o n l y one servant, a maid-of-all-work. B u t though she a n d her daughter are short 125

JULIET

McMASTER

of m o n e y a n d c a n ' t entertain, they still h a v e

connections:

they are on visiting

terms w i t h the best families of H i g h b u r y ; a n d that's m o r e than can be said, as w e h a v e seen, for the C o l e s , w i t h all their m o n e y and servants. A n o t h e r kind of a m p h i b i a n , one w h o can m o v e u p w a r d s or sink d o w n w a r d s in society, is the g o v e r n e s s . J a n e F a i r f a x , for instance, is well bred a n d well educated, beautiful a n d talented. B u t because her relatives cannot support her, she must earn her living at one of the only professions available to w o m e n , as a governess. T h e novels of Charlotte and A n n e Brontë a m p l y dramatize the painful position of well-educated girls from the impoverished upper classes w h o become virtually the servants of families often much less well bred than themselves. J a n e F a i r f a x speaks in p o i g n a n t terms of employment agencies for governesses: 'offices for the sale - not quite of h u m a n flesh - but of h u m a n intellect' ( £ 3 0 0 ) . T h e alignment w i t h the slave trade is explicit; there is a passing hint, t o o , of prostitution. J a n e F a i r f a x , like J a n e E y r e , is one of those governesses w h o survive by m a r r y i n g into the gentry. But her escape from a life of d r u d g e r y , l o o k i n g after M r s . Smallridge's three children for a pittance, is a n a r r o w one. T h e governess in the nineteenth-century novel becomes a culture heroine for the sad a r m y of e c o n o m i c a l l y vulnerable single w o m e n , w h o h a d virtually n o means of acquiring independence outside m a r r i a g e , a n d little hope of independence within it either. ' Y o u k n o w w e must m a r r y ' , sighs Elizabeth W a t s o n , one of four u n m a r r i e d daughters of an impecunious clergyman. ' . . . It is v e r y b a d to g r o w old & be p o o r & laughed at' (MW 3 1 7 ) . Charlotte L u c a s chooses to m a r r y the p o m p o u s a n d inept M r . Collins, not for love, but because her only alternative is to live as a spinster on the charity of her o b n o x i o u s y o u n g e r brother. Herself a single w o m a n of small means, Austen can represent the bleak existence of such w o m e n , as well as the happier fate of the heroine w h o finds fulfilment in m a r r i a g e to the right m a n . T h o s e w h o m a k e big m o n e y in ' t r a d e ' are the merchants a n d wholesalers. But their great houses are dependent on the small tradesmen, the retailers, w h o distribute the g o o d s . T h e r e is a large social difference between the t w o . In T h a c k e r a y ' s

Vanity Fair,

a satirical p a n o r a m a of the

nineteenth-century

class scene, the hero D o b b i n is sneered at a n d called ' F i g s ' in school, because his father is a retail g r o c e r , w h e r e a s the other b o y s are wholesalers' sons. ' M y father's a gentleman, a n d keeps his c a r r i a g e ' , boasts one y o u n g snob

(chapter

5). T h e ladies a n d gentleman w h o are Austen's

major

characters exist in a c o m m o d i t y culture that depends on the retail trade for its luxuries, its status s y m b o l s , often its very food and drink. M r s . Allen in

North anger Abbey can think of nothing but her clothes; Sense and Sensibility brings his w h o l e personality to bear

R o b e r t Ferrars in in the choice of a

toothpick-case; Sir W a l t e r Elliot praises the efficacy of G o w l a n d ' s lotion in

126

Class removing freckles: such characters suggest an idle upper class obsessed w i t h material luxuries, a n d ironically dependent

on the v e r y tradesmen

they

affect to despise. A u s t e n sets some m e m o r a b l e scenes in s h o p s : H a r r i e t a n d E m m a define themselves a n d their relationship in the matter of buying ribbons, feminine fripperies, in F o r d ' s of H i g h b u r y . A n n e Elliot has a nervous reunion w i t h W e n t w o r t h at M o l l a n d ' s in B a t h , w h e r e the c r o w d s of the fashionable gather a n d assert their status: 'altogether there w a s a delay, and a bustle, a n d a talking, w h i c h must m a k e all the little c r o w d in the s h o p understand that L a d y D a l r y m p l e w a s calling to c o n v e y M i s s E l l i o t ' (P 1 7 6 ) . M a r y C r a w f o r d in

Mansfield Park

h u m o r o u s l y notices the e l a b o r a t e lines of

communication in a country community: she gets w o r d of the h a r p , o n its w a y to the country from L o n d o n , only w h e n 'it w a s seen by s o m e farmer, and he told the miller, and the miller told the butcher, a n d the

butcher's

son-in-law left w o r d at the s h o p ' ( M P 5 7 - 8 ) . T h e s e retailers a n d small tradesmen d o not figure prominently as characters, but their presence as part of the busy scene of life is carefully registered. T h e r e are m a n y other relatively ' l o w ' a n d minor characters w h o help to m a k e society w o r k smoothly in A u s t e n ' s novels. M r s . Smith's N u r s e R o o k e , in

Persuasion,

though not in genteel society, k n o w s a n d transmits m o r e of w h a t goes o n there than people w h o are.

Emma, w h i c h

provides unobtrusive information o n the w h o l e c o m m u n i t y

of H i g h b u r y , right d o w n to the p o o r a n d the g y p s y v a g r a n t s , has a n u m b e r of minor characters w h o o c c u p y places in the social hierarchy w e l l b e y o n d the gentry a n d professional classes w h e r e A u s t e n ' s m a j o r characters

are

situated. She writes no explicit analysis, but by passing details, she fills in the large social picture a n d provides indirect c o m m e n t a r y . W e hear of W a l l i s the baker, w h o b a k e s M r s . B a t e s ' apples; of the village s h o p , F o r d ' s ; of M r . Knightley's steward,

William

L a r k i n s ; his tenant

farmer,

Robert

M a r t i n , a sensitive y o u n g m a n w h o is bettering himself by reading; of M r s . G o d d a r d ' s s c h o o l , an unpretentious establishment ' w h e r e girls m i g h t be sent to be out of the w a y a n d scramble themselves into a little e d u c a t i o n ' ( E 2 2 ) . T h e leisured a n d professional classes of R e g e n c y E n g l a n d w e r e sustained by a great a r m y of servants, an a r m y w h i c h like the actual military had its o w n internal hierarchy a n d pecking order. T h o u g h A u s t e n d o e s n ' t usually give servants s p e a k i n g parts, she recognizes the unobtrusive influence they have on the lives of their m a s t e r s .

5

It is a material convenience to M r .

W o o d h o u s e of Hartfield, for instance, that his c o a c h m a n ' s daughter

is

placed as h o u s e m a i d at R a n d a l l s : J a m e s therefore never objects to harnes­ sing the horses to the carriage, even though it is a v e r y short drive ( £ 8 - 9 ) . Such little negotiations between one social level a n d another are the stuff of life.

127

JULIET

McMASTER

B e y o n d the servants c o m e s the great m a s s of w h a t w a s yet to be named the w o r k i n g class; but w i t h them A u s t e n ' s m a i n characters h a v e little to d o . L i k e m o s t 'ladies a n d gentlemen' of their d a y , their acquaintance with this h u g e section of the p o p u l a t i o n w o u l d be only through their servants, w h o a r e not truly representative. H o w e v e r , w e get glimpses. M a r y C r a w f o r d learns of the 'sturdy independence' of rural labourers at h a y harvest time (MP 5 8 ) . H a r r i e t Smith a n d a schoolfriend h a v e a disturbing encounter with disreputable gypsies, but the ' w h o l e g a n g ' is swiftly dispersed w h e n F r a n k C h u r c h i l l arrives; a n d w e h e a r that M r . K n i g h t l e y , as magistrate, is to be informed 'of there being such a set of people in the n e i g h b o u r h o o d ' (E 334). D i c k e n s might give us scenes of the unleashed fury of the m o b in the G o r d o n riots o r the French R e v o l u t i o n ; but in A u s t e n ' s novels, by and large, l a w and order prevail. ' T h e p o o r ' are seldom mentioned, but they are there, for L a d y Catherine to 'scold . . . into h a r m o n y a n d plenty' (PP 1 6 9 ) o r for A n n e Elliot and E m m a to visit c o m p a s s i o n a t e l y . A l t h o u g h E m m a is a w a r e she will p r o b a b l y s o o n forget the distress of the p o o r sick family she visits, she p a y s them full attention w h i l e she is w i t h them, a n d she is neither a r r o g a n t nor sentimental: ' S h e u n d e r s t o o d their w a y s , c o u l d a l l o w for their ignorance and their temptations, h a d n o r o m a n t i c expectations of e x t r a o r d i n a r y virtue from those, for w h o m education h a d done so little, . . . a n d a l w a y s g a v e her assistance w i t h as m u c h intelligence as g o o d - w i l l ' (E 8 6 ) . W e have the sense of those ' t w o nations,' as Disraeli w a s later to characterize rich and p o o r in

Sybil;

but A u s t e n a l l o w s for s o m e h u m a n e contact between them, h o w e v e r

minimal. L i o n e l Trilling h u m o r o u s l y quotes a reader exasperated by the obsessive attention p a i d to social class in the English novel: ' W h o cares whether P a m e l a finally e x a s p e r a t e s M r . B . into m a r r i a g e , whether M r . Elton is more o r less than m o d e r a t e l y genteel, . . . whether L a d y Chatterley ought to be m a d e love to by the g a m e - k e e p e r , even if he w a s an officer during the w a r ? Who

cares?'

6

T h e novelist, a n d especially J a n e A u s t e n , a l w a y s cares,

because it is the business of the n o v e l to represent people - not exclusively, but prominently -

in their social roles, a n d to be precise about

the

differences between them. It sometimes seems that if class difference did not exist, the novelist w o u l d h a v e to invent it, because of the rich potential it p r o v i d e s for definition a n d fine distinction. A u s t e n , as w e have seen, goes in for fine distinctions, w h e t h e r between the degrees of quality of mind in her characters o r the fine shades of difference in their social standing. But to say s o m u c h is not to contend that she a p p r o v e d of the bastions of privilege in her v e r y hierarchical society, o r resisted the changes t o w a r d s freer m o v e 128

Class ment between the classes that she s a w happening a r o u n d her.

N o r did she

subordinate m o r a l a n d aesthetic judgments to issues of social r a n k . T o use that term of later development that I h a v e applied to E m m a , A u s t e n w a s n o snob, though she k n e w all a b o u t s n o b b e r y . According to L i o n e l Trilling's definition, ' S n o b b e r y is pride in status without pride in function' ( 2 0 3 ) . T h i s applies perfectly to Sir W a l t e r Elliot, w h o wants all the privilege a n d prestige belonging to his baronetcy, but none of the responsibilities. T h a c k e r a y , the m o s t prominent of the m a n y nineteenth-century commentators o n class difference, supplies a definition that emphasizes the vitiated v a l u e system of the person w h o considers social station to be all-important: a things'.

8

snob,

he s a y s , is 'he w h o m e a n l y admires m e a n

T o such a person social station is the defining condition that

overrides all other categories of j u d g m e n t , p h y s i c a l , intellectual, o r m o r a l . In J a n e Austen's w o r l d , h u m a n w o r t h is to be j u d g e d by s t a n d a r d s better and more enduring than social status; but social status is a l w a y s relevant. With amused detachment, she registers exactly the social p r o v e n a n c e of each of her characters, a n d judges them for the w a y s in w h i c h they judge each other. T h e importance assigned to class distinction is the source of much of her c o m e d y a n d her i r o n y , as of her social satire. In

Emma,

for

instance, the snobbish heroine b e c o m e s both o u r guide as to w h e r e each character in the novel should be ' p l a c e d ' , a n d o u r negative e x a m p l e of one w h o assigns far too m u c h importance to the matter of status. A n d the best treatment for her self-importance is laughter. ' N o n s e n s i c a l girl!' laughs M r . Knightley, w h e n she has indulged in one of her elaborately classconscious flights of fancy (E 2 1 4 ) . B u t s n o b b e r y unchecked raises indigna­ tion t o o . M a n y of Austen's m o s t contemptible characters are those w h o place undue emphasis on social station; a n d they c o m e from all levels of the social ladder: Isabella T h o r p e a n d G e n e r a l Tilney; M r . a n d M r s . J o h n D a s h w o o d ; L u c y Steele and M r s . Ferrars; M i s s Bingley; M r s . N o r r i s ; M r . Collins a n d L a d y Catherine de B o u r g h . T h o s e principal characters w i t h an overdeveloped pride in their position, like D a r c y a n d E m m a , must learn the error of their w a y s . Before E m m a has met M r s . Elton, she reflects that

'what she

w a s , must be

uncertain; but who she w a s , might be found out' ( 1 8 3 ) . It is the l a d y ' s social identity that can be discovered in a d v a n c e : w h o s e daughter she is, w h e r e she comes from, h o w m u c h m o n e y she has, a n d h o w it w a s m a d e . B u t

what

she

is - that is, w h a t sort of person, v i v a c i o u s or reserved, kind o r a r r o g a n t , intelligent or silly: all the things that really matter altogether,

and

can

is another

be established only by personal contact.

issue

Austen

brilliantly dramatizes these essential matters of personal identity in the personnel of her novels, a n d w e c o m e to k n o w her people a n d the individual

129

JULIET

feel

McMASTER

of them as intimately as w e k n o w a n y in fiction; but in this essay I have

necessarily concentrated o n who they are (in E m m a ' s terms), rather than on

what they

are.

' T i n k e r , tailor, soldier, sailor,' goes the r h y m e , as the child divines possibilities from the cherry-stones left o n the plate; ' R i c h m a n , p o o r man, b e g g a r - m a n , thief.' T h e folk imagination, like the individual's, necessarily busies itself w i t h such matters. A u s t e n ' s heroines p l a y the cherry-stone g a m e t o o , a n d w e learn to care whether they will c o m e to reside in ' B i g house, little h o u s e , pig-stye, barn,' a n d dress in 'Silk, satin, cotton, [or] r a g s . ' H e r novels are rich in detail of the status s y m b o l s and cultural m a r k e r s of her society:

the

estates,

lands,

houses,

cottages;

the

coaches,

carriages,

b a r o u c h e - l a n d a u s , hatchments, lozenges, liveries; the silks, satins, muslins, pearls, a m b e r

crosses, rings, and

beads. A s a sensitive a n d

informed

c o m m e n t a t o r o n class, that huge topic of the nineteenth century, Austen s h o w s us a m p l y h o w such things matter. She also s h o w s us h o w they should not matter t o o m u c h .

NOTES 1 2 3 4

5 6 7

8

Park Honan, Jane Austen: Her Life (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1987), p. 1 1 8 . Edward Lytton Bulwer, England and the English ( 1 8 3 1 ) , ed. Standish Meachum (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1970), p. 3 1 . Thomas Carlyle,

Sartor Resartus,

first edition 1 8 3 3 - 4 (New York: Odyssey

Press, 1 9 3 7 ) , P- 2.72'Persuasion ... [has] the distinction in Austen's novels of celebrating the professional ranks frankly and openly, of placing them above the aristocracy and gentry as responsible economists.' Edward Copeland, 'The Austens and the Elliots: A Consumer's Guide to Persuasion', in Jane Austen's Business, ed. Juliet McMaster and Bruce Stovel (London: Macmillan, 1 9 9 5 ) , p. 1 5 0 . For a study of the servant classes in Austen's novels, see Judith Terry's 'Seen but not heard: Servants in Jane Austen's England', Persuasions, 1 0 (1988), 1 0 4 - 1 6 . Quoted by Lionel Trilling, in 'Manners, Morals, and the Novel', in The Liberal Imagination (New York: Doubleday, 1 9 5 3 ) , p. 2 0 5 . M a r k Parker, 'The End of Emma: Drawing the Boundaries of Class in Austen', JEGP, 9 1 : 3 (July 1 , 1 9 9 2 ) , 34, notes, 'She produces a narrative voice at once . . . inside and outside ideology: able to perceive bourgeois subjects (like herself) making decisions about class in ways that smack of false consciousness, yet arguing, subtly but firmly, for a maintenance of the system.' While I agree with much of what he says, I read Austen as much more critical of the operation of class ideology than Parker allows. William Makepeace Thackeray, A Book of Snobs, by One of Themselves (1846), ch. 2.

130

8 EDWARD COPELAND

Money

Once upon a time, as the story goes, there lived a beautiful y o u n g w o m a n of modest r a n k and excellent manners, but no significant income to s p e a k of, and a h a n d s o m e y o u n g m a n of great r a n k , h a u g h t y m a n n e r s , a n d an estate 'ten miles r o u n d ' . T h e beautiful y o u n g w o m a n a n d the h a n d s o m e y o u n g man meet, his haughty manners i m p r o v e , they fall in love, he p r o p o s e s marriage, and, in the concluding p a g e s , her very m o d e s t m e a n s are joined to his very great estate in an event that surpasses even the wildest d r e a m s of her ambitious mother. It's an irresistible story, so irresistible, in fact, that g a r b l e d accounts from the p o p u l a r press fluttered readers for three y e a r s a n d m o r e with r u m o u r s that J a n e Austen's text w a s not only being readied for television, but w a s going to feature a

nude M r .

D a r c y - as if A u s t e n ' s e c o n o m i c r o m a n c e w e r e

not m o r e c o m p l e x , shaded, a n d , well, m o r e passionate, than mere flesh. If sex w e r e all there were to it, w e ' v e seen it before. B u t w h e n the B B C c a m e r a turns its yearning gaze on Britain's Historic H o u s e s , Castles, a n d G a r d e n s , their vast acres smiling in the sunshine, their s w e e p i n g C a p a b i l i t y B r o w n p a r k s , the splendid house presiding o v e r it all, then the b l o o d begins to p u m p in earnest. F o r the B B C executives, of course, the yearning gaze of the c a m e r a a n d the rising heart of the v i e w e r are little m o r e than tokens in their o w n g a m e of con­ sumer desire. Industry m o g u l s care nothing for Pemberley a n d its ten miles round except as it attracts the consumer eye. P a r a d o x i c a l l y , J a n e A u s t e n ' s position as a ' v i e w e r ' of Pemberley is a c o n s u m e r ' s point of v i e w as w e l l . If desire is m o s t likely to afflict the viewer w h o is outside the gates, one w h o does not naturally belong within the charmed circumference of the Pemberley

tempted, become an a p p r e c i a t o r convinced, contemplate becoming a a n d her readers qualify in Pride and

estate, that is to say, a person w h o could, if of such an estate, a n d w h o could, if consumer of it, then both J a n e Austen

Prejudice. In

short, Pemberley exists as a c o n s u m e r token in A u s t e n ' s novels,

even as it does for the B B C , but in a m u c h deeper g a m e of desire.

131

EDWARD

COPELAND

T h r o u g h o u t her career, w o u l d - b e c o n s u m e r s , over-consumers, and wise consumers turn A u s t e n ' s attention to the e c o n o m y . F r o m the focus of

and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice,

and

Northanger Abbey,

Sense

where the

single most significant e c o n o m i c p r o b l e m for w o m e n is the lack of a fortune, A u s t e n ' s w o r k s steadily engage w o m e n in more and m o r e c o m p l e x relationships to the e c o n o m y .

Mansfield Park, Emma, a n d Persuasion,

each

in turn, m o v e through a n e x a m i n a t i o n of the e c o n o m y as measure of social morality, as agent of social disruption, as source of national identity, and, in the final fragment

Sanditon,

as ' A c t i v i t y run m a d ! '

It m a y , in fact, surprise s o m e readers to k n o w that J a n e Austen does not write as a m e m b e r of the landed gentry, or as a representative of the proprietors of such piles as Pemberley, Netherfield, R o s i n g s , N o r w o o d , Mansfield P a r k , Sotherton, D o n w e l l A b b e y , K e l l y n c h H a l l , or any other of the imagined great houses of her novels, but as a member of a s o m e w h a t humbler r a n k that the historian D a v i d Spring calls the

'pseudo-gentry':

that is, a g r o u p of u p p e r professional families living in the country

-

clergymen or barristers, for e x a m p l e , o r officers in the a r m y a n d n a v y ,

rentiers, great

retired

merchants - allied by kinship and social ties, and by

social aspirations as w e l l , to their landed-gentry neighbours, but different in an essential e c o n o m i c condition: they d o not themselves possess the p o w e r a n d w e a l t h invested in the o w n e r s h i p of land, but depend earned i n c o m e s .

1

upon

Nevertheless, they are gentry of a sort, Spring notes

w r y l y , 'primarily because they sought strenuously to be taken for gentry', through

the acquisition of the m a n n e r s , the education, and the

m a r k e r s of station as their landed-gentry neighbours

same

(60). T h e conse­

quence of such aspirations, h o w e v e r , presents this class with a two-fold e c o n o m i c burden:

first, of c o u r s e , the need to p a y for the necessary

m a r k e r s of their genteel a p p e a r a n c e ; a n d , second, the need to soften the inherent

w e a k n e s s of

breadwinner,

their

there is the

economic

position:

with

the

loss of his income as w e l l .

2

loss of

the

This essential

e c o n o m i c fact attaches itself firmly to J a n e Austen's fiction and to her life. H e r father, a c l e r g y m a n living in rural H a m p s h i r e , later retired to Bath, with

a moderately

good

i n c o m e , moderately

poor

health,

and

three

dependent w o m e n (his wife a n d t w o spinster daughters), headed a family e x p o s e d to e x a c t l y the k i n d of sudden a n d irreversible fall in

fortune

implicit to their station in life. A s a consequence,

money,

especially m o n e y as spendable income, is the

love-tipped a r r o w a i m e d at the hearts of J a n e Austen's heroines and her readers: first of all, for its p o w e r to acquire the material g o o d s that can support the all-important signs of her r a n k ' s claims to genteel station; second, as the p r o d of a n x i e t y that focuses its o w n potential for loss. In her

132

Money novels, Austen a p p r o a c h e s the subject, m o n e y , from three different,

but

related, points of v i e w . First, as a m e m b e r of the pseudo-gentry, that is to say, the upper professional r a n k s of her rural society; second, as a w o m a n in that society, severely handicapped by l a w a n d c u s t o m from possessing significant p o w e r o v e r money; finally, as a novelist w h o joins other w o m e n 3

novelists in a larger conversation about m o n e y . A n d , as J a n Fergus reminds us in this v o l u m e , novel writing is itself an e c o n o m i c activity, w i t h m o n e y the importunate force that m o v e s this conversation a l o n g . T h e heartbeat of r o m a n c e lies in a g o o d income. T h a t is the universal truth about w h i c h there is n o d o u b t in c o n t e m p o r a r y w o m e n ' s fiction. T h e D a s h w o o d w o m e n , for e x a m p l e , Elinor a n d M a r i a n n e in Sense and Sensibility, name their hearts' desires: ' A b o u t eighteen hundred o r t w o thousand a-year; not m o r e than that, M a r i a n n e confides. 'Two

t h o u s a n d a-

year!' cries Elinor, shocked: 'One is m y w e a l t h ! ' (SS 9 1 ) . M a r i a n n e defends t w o thousand a y e a r as she specifies the c o n s u m e r expenses a p p r o p r i a t e to it: T a m sure I a m not e x t r a v a g a n t in m y d e m a n d s . A p r o p e r establishment of servants, a carriage, perhaps t w o , and hunters, c a n n o t be supported on less.' Elinor smiles to hear her y o u n g e r sister 'describing so a c c u r a t e l y ' , and so transparently,

the e x a c t consumer expenses suited to the

potential

income of her lover, the soon-to-prove-faithless W i l l o u g h b y . B u t in her o w n turn, Elinor's projection of 'one thousand p o u n d s ' is the income of the prosperous clergyman family that she longs to be mistress of. T h e r e is n o r o o m for error in this novel's system of accounting. In the concluding p a g e s , M a r i a n n e gets her t w o thousand pounds a y e a r , though from a different lover, and Elinor gets her one thousand a y e a r , o r suitably near it. Incomes are openly discussed in all of A u s t e n ' s novels, a n d , w h e n the significant details are not given in the first pages of the n o v e l , a n d they usually are, they f o l l o w w h e n it is most useful for them to a p p e a r .

Pride and

Prejudice, for e x a m p l e , commences with the g r a n d a n n o u n c e m e n t of the arrival of M r . Bingley w i t h his fortune of £4,000 o r £ 5 , 0 0 0 a y e a r (PP 4). It is followed by the arrival of M r . D a r c y and the invigorating n e w s of his £ 1 0 , 0 0 0 a y e a r ( 1 0 ) . C o m m o n conversation has it in

Sense and Sensibility

that W i l l o u g h b y spends beyond his income of £ 6 0 0 or £ 7 0 0 a y e a r (SS 7 1 ) ; that the D a s h w o o d w o m e n have only £ 5 0 0 a y e a r for the four of them ( 1 2 ) ; and that C o l o n e l B r a n d o n has £ 2 , 0 0 0 a y e a r and a v e r y nice estate to g o with it (70). W h e n incomes are not specifically n a m e d by A u s t e n , then the signs of them are: the house, the furnishings, the g a r d e n , the p a r k , the number of servants, the presence of a carriage. C o n s u m e r m a r k e r s of income and r a n k regularly p a c e the r o m a n c e s of J a n e Austen's novels. In each novel, decisions of domestic e c o n o m y define 133

EDWARD

COPELAND

the heroine - a n d the hero - o n a scale of e x p e n s e familiar to contemporary readers. A s distant from us as late eighteenth- a n d early nineteenth-century i n c o m e s a n d spending practices are, there is n o real difficulty in learning the system.

Except

for heiresses, almost all incomes in w o m e n ' s fiction are announced

u n a m b i g u o u s l y as

yearly

incomes: ' t w o t h o u s a n d a-year', or 'one thousand

a - y e a r ' , just as the D a s h w o o d sisters refer to t h e m .

4

Heiresses, h o w e v e r ,

h a v e their fortunes reported in l u m p sums, like the ' p r o u d and conceited' M i s s Bingley in

Pride and Prejudice

w h o has a fortune of 'twenty thousand

p o u n d s ' (PP 1 5 ) , or M i s s K i n g , Elizabeth Bennet's richer rival for W i c k h a m ' s attentions, w i t h her 'ten thousand p o u n d s ' ( 1 4 9 ) . B u t these heiresses' fortunes are understood immediately by contemporaries as

yearly

incomes

t h r o u g h multiplying them by 5 per cent, a procedure that reveals their y e a r l y i n c o m e from investment in the 5 per cent g o v e r n m e n t funds. M i s s B i n g l e y ' s y e a r l y income from her £ 2 0 , 0 0 0 fortune is, thus, £ 1 , 0 0 0 a year; a n d M i s s K i n g ' s y e a r l y income from £ 1 0 , 0 0 0 , figuring it the same w a y , constitutes a lure of £ 5 0 0 a y e a r for the impecunious W i c k h a m . Elizabeth Bennet's pitifully small fortune of £ 1 , 0 0 0 is a m i n o r exception, invested at a l o w e r rate of 4 per cent ( £ 4 0 a y e a r ) , a fact M r . Collins notes w i t h some minuteness w h e n he p r o p o s e s to Elizabeth ( 1 0 6 ) . With this formula for turning inherited m o n e y into y e a r l y incomes (as investment at 5 per cent), heiress fortunes quickly c o m e into focus as y e a r l y income - the significant b o t t o m line for r o m a n c e . F o r the present-day reader, h o w e v e r , there remains a problem in h o w to recognize w i t h A u s t e n ' s contemporaries the style of life attached to a specific i n c o m e . E v e n though A u s t e n herself generally explains each case as it arises, specific incomes also operate as shorthand in her fiction a n d in the rest of w o m e n ' s fiction - three hundred a y e a r , four hundred a y e a r , five hundred a y e a r , a n d so on - to express r a n k , social aspirations, a n d consumer p o w e r . T h e telling r a n g e in w o m e n ' s fiction, h o w e v e r , is not large, being m a d e up of those fine gradations of income that m a r k the aspirations of the middle r a n k s of society, each income bringing w i t h it a set of specific consumer signs that reveal to the w o r l d both the income a n d the social level attached to its p o s s e s s o r .

5

N u m b e r s of servants m a r k incomes at the l o w e r levels; the acquisition of a c a r r i a g e does it for incomes that are a bit higher; a n d 'the house in t o w n ' certifies the presence of great incomes, usually those belonging to

the

p r o s p e r o u s landed gentry. Servants, an unfamiliar reckoning device these d a y s , might be considered as the equivalent of m o d e r n household conve­ niences: a d d a servant, a d d a convenience - hot w a t e r , central heating, a w a s h i n g m a c h i n e , a n d so on.

134

Money £100

a year: this

is the l o w e s t income that can support the price of a

ticket to a circulating library. It embraces p o o r curates, clerks in government office (both only m a r g i n a l l y genteel), a n d

moderately

prosperous tradesmen. It could supply a family only w i t h a y o u n g maid servant, and at a very l o w w a g e . W h e n E d w a r d Ferrars a n d Lucy Steele seem a b o u t to m a r r y o n an income of £ 1 0 0 a y e a r , M r s . J e n n i n g s ' immediate reaction is to trim the n u m b e r of servants she h a d imagined for them: ' T w o m a i d s a n d t w o men indeed! - as I talked of t'other d a y . - N o , n o , they must get a stout girl of all w o r k s . - Betty's sister w o u l d never d o for them

now' {SS 2 7 7 ) .

In

Emma,

the presence

of Patty, M i s s Bates' only servant, suggests the fragility of the B a t e s ' present claims to genteel station. £200

a year:

A u s t e n ' s father a n d mother married in 1 7 6 4 on a church

living of only £ 1 0 0 a y e a r , plus the use of 2 0 0 acres of land as a second source of income, but found that even w i t h a n increase to £ 2 0 0 a year four years later, then £ 3 0 0 a y e a r , their g r o w i n g family m a d e it difficult to maintain the a p p e a r a n c e of genteel station. M r . A u s t e n w a s driven to take in students to increase the family's i n c o m e . hundred

pounds

m a k e s a claim to gentility, but

6

only w i t h

Two the

narrowest style of life. T h e £ 2 0 0 a y e a r income supplies a better servant, 'a S e r v a n t - M a i d of all W o r k ' , at a higher s a l a r y . £300

a year:

7

' C o m f o r t a b l e as a b a c h e l o r ' , C o l o n e l B r a n d o n says of

£ 3 0 0 a y e a r for E d w a r d F e r r a r s , but 'it c a n n o t enable him to m a r r y ' {SS 2 8 4 ) .

8

T h e income brings t w o servants. A u s t e n ' s brother J a m e s

married on this sum, but found it decidedly insufficient to maintain his elevated notions of c o n s u m e r display: a carriage for his bride a n d a p a c k of harriers for himself. £400

a year: A n

9

income that a p p r o a c h e s the comforts of genteel life,

but not readily. It brings a c o o k , a house m a i d , a n d , p e r h a p s , a b o y . Isabella T h o r p e turns up her nose at J a m e s M o r l a n d w h o is granted this income in

Northanger Abbey.

In

Mansfield Park,

F a n n y Price's

mother has just this a m o u n t per y e a r for domestic expense a n d the requisite n u m b e r of servants (two), but she m a n a g e s v e r y b a d l y . F a n n y ' s p a r s i m o n i o u s A u n t N o r r i s , F a n n y notes, w o u l d h a v e done better. £500

a year: This

cup of h u m a n

s u m , according to the domestic economists, fills the

happiness. J a n e A u s t e n is not so confident. 135

Five

EDWARD

COPELAND

h u n d r e d p o u n d s a y e a r is the very income that in

Sense and Sensibility

gives rise to such malicious gloating from the D a s h w o o d w o m e n ' s prosperous sister-in-law, F a n n y : 'and w h a t on earth can four w o m e n w a n t for m o r e than that? - T h e y will live s o cheap! Their house­ keeping will be nothing at all. T h e y will h a v e n o carriage, no horses, a n d hardly a n y servants' [SS 1 2 ) . F a n n y is absolutely right on the first t w o counts (no carriage and n o horses), and as for the third, the n u m b e r of servants, she k n o w s that her mother-in-law, the former mistress of N o r l a n d , and her sisters-in-law will n o w have only the three servants, t w o w o m e n and a m a n , prescribed by the professional economists for that income. Austen speaks from experience on this one: it is the sum, even a bit m o r e , that she a n d her mother and her sister had to live on after M r . Austen's d e a t h . £700

to £1000

10

a year: This higher range of upper professional

incomes m a r k s the m o s t prosperous pseudo-gentry families, though M a r y C r a w f o r d , the rich L o n d o n heiress in

Mansfield Park, doesn't

think m u c h of its potential: ' Y o u w o u l d l o o k rather b l a n k , H e n r y , ' she tells her brother, 'if y o u r menus plaisirs w e r e to be limited to seven h u n d r e d a y e a r ' (MP

2 2 6 ) . Its most significant consumer

marker

becomes the o w n e r s h i p of a carriage. J a n e Austen's father took a carriage w h e n his income reached £ 7 0 0 , though expensive to maintain on that i n c o m e . in

11

he found it too

M r . Perry, the local physician

Emma, lets his income be k n o w n to H i g h b u r y w h e n M r s . Perry Emma rubs

begins to long for a carriage. T h e ambitious M r s . Elton in

e v e r y o n e ' s nose in her o w n e r s h i p of a carriage: ' I believe w e drive faster than a n y b o d y ' , she boasts ( £ 3 2 1 ) .

a year: A t t w o thousand pounds a y e a r (the landed-gentry Pride and Prejudice and of C o l o n e l B r a n d o n in Sense and Sensibility), domestic e c o n o m y must still hold a tight rein, especially in Pride and Prejudice w h e r e there are five daughters in £2,000

income of M r . Bennet in

need of d o w r i e s . M r s . Bennet is noted as a p o o r economist; M r . Bennet is better, though still inadequate considering his daughters' situation. M r s . J e n n i n g s in at-home

Sense and Sensibility emphasizes the quiet,

pleasures of £ 2 , 0 0 0 a y e a r w h e n she describes Colonel

B r a n d o n ' s D e l a f o r d as 'without debt or d r a w b a c k ' : 'every thing, in short, that one could w i s h for . . . O h ! 'tis a nice place!' (SS

196-7).

Above £4,000 a year: Incomes of £4,000 a y e a r and a b o v e (Darcy's, B i n g l e y ' s , C r a w f o r d ' s , R u s h w o r t h ' s ) leave behind the cheese-paring 136

Money cares of middle-class incomes - the p r o b l e m s of £ 1 0 0 to £ 1 , 0 0 0 a y e a r , and even £ 2 , 0 0 0 a y e a r - to enter a r e a l m of unlimited genteel c o m f o r t s . T o spend m o r e , according to c o n t e m p o r a r y w i s d o m , a m a n 'must g o into horse-racing or illegitimate p l e a s u r e s ' .

12

In terms of

c o n s u m e r s h o w , any income o v e r £4,000 a y e a r is characterized by its ability to provide a house in L o n d o n for the social season,

the

beguiling consumer temptation that brings r o m a n t i c disaster to both M a r y C r a w f o r d and M a r i a Bertram. T h e great incomes of this last category comprise those h a n d s o m e landbased fortunes in J a n e Austen's novels that could put to rout, if only they were m a n a g e d by the prudent economic principles of A u s t e n ' s o w n class, all economic anxieties for w o m e n . But in A u s t e n , this a l m o s t never happens and for g o o d reason. A s G a r y Kelly notes, a n d others as w e l l , the larger social picture tends to place Austen, along w i t h other w o m e n novelists, in an a d v a n c e g u a r d of middle-class encroachers o n the political a n d e c o n o m i c turf of the landed i n t e r e s t . in

13

M r . D a r c y ' s a n d M r . K n i g h t l e y ' s great estates

Pride and Prejudice and in Emma are under the safe g u i d a n c e of heroes

w h o share

the

author's

economic principles, but

Northanger

Abbey,

R o s i n g s , N o r w o o d , Mansfield P a r k , Sotherton, a n d K e l l y n c h are b y w o r d s for e x t r a v a g a n c e and/or faulty domestic e c o n o m y . Representatives of this monied class s h o w a regular pattern of catastrophe as they stumble w i t h o u t the aid of the economic principles of A u s t e n ' s o w n m o r e humble

rank:

W h a t if H e n r y C r a w f o r d had remained at E v e r i n g h a m to m a n a g e his estate properly? W h a t if M a r y C r a w f o r d h a d given u p her u n r e a s o n a b l e d e m a n d for a house in t o w n ? W h a t if W i l l o u g h b y h a d k e p t out of debt? W h a t if Sir Walter Elliot w e r e not a fool? In the more intimate, domestic negotiations of the n o v e l , w o m e n ' s

fiction

turns to the particular relationship that w o m e n h a v e w i t h m o n e y - that is, n o legal title to it for married w o m e n , and rights severely curtailed for unmarried w o m e n .

1 4

In a frustrating social irony, the pseudo-gentry w o m a n

finds herself responsible for the m a n a g e m e n t of the h o u s e h o l d , but pre­ vented by l a w and custom from exercising a n y significant control o v e r the m a n a g e m e n t of the family's income, a male prerogative. If m o n e y affairs g o badly, as they certainly will with a feckless, foolish, i m p r o v i d e n t m a n like W i l l o u g h b y , o r w i t h an out-and-out scoundrel like W i c k h a m , the w o m a n is still responsible for the economic consequences, a victim herself of course, but still responsible. Elinor D a s h w o o d has n o illusions a b o u t this harsh double bind w h e n she consoles M a r i a n n e for the loss of W i l l o u g h b y :

Had you married, you must have been always poor . . . His demands and your 137

EDWARD

COPELAND

inexperience together on a small, very small income, must have brought on distresses which would not be the less grievous to you, from having been entirely unknown and unthought of before. Your sense of honour and honesty would have led you, I know, when aware of your situation, to attempt all the economy that would appear to you possible; and perhaps, as long as your frugality retrenched only on your own comfort, you might have been suffered to practise it, but beyond that - and how little could the utmost of your single management do to stop the ruin which had begun before your marriage? (SS 3 5 0 - 1 ) ' J u s t suppose it w a s y o u r h u s b a n d ! ' cries a character in E u d o r a W e l t y ' s Southern gothic tale, ' T h e Petrified M a n ' - a twentieth-century outcry, but one that names the s a m e fear haunting most w o m e n ' s fiction conceived in the 1 7 9 0 s , including of c o u r s e and

Pride and Prejudice.

Northanger Abbey, Sense and Sensibility,

W h a t is w o m a n ' s defence? Principles of domestic

e c o n o m y offer at least the protection of a m a p . Catherine M o r l a n d , for e x a m p l e , w a r m l y defends her brother J a m e s for not keeping a horse a n d gig of his o w n : ' I a m sure he c o u l d not afford it' (NA

89). Elinor D a s h w o o d

prevents her sister M a r i a n n e from accepting a horse from W i l l o u g h b y and thus o v e r b u r d e n i n g the f a m i l y ' s £ 5 0 0 a y e a r income. Elinor earlier en­ c o u r a g e s her m o t h e r to sell the c a r r i a g e , an inappropriate expense on that income. W i t h

such a n

understanding,

w e can appreciate, a l o n g

with

A u s t e n ' s c o n t e m p o r a r i e s , w h y E l i n o r D a s h w o o d a n d E d w a r d Ferrars ' w e r e neither of them quite e n o u g h in love to think that three hundred and fifty p o u n d s a-year w o u l d s u p p l y them w i t h the comforts of life' (55 3 6 9 ) , a n d w e c a n calculate in p o u n d s sterling their later happiness w h e n they d o agree to m a r r y o n £ 8 5 0 to £ 9 0 0 a y e a r . in

Northanger Abbey

1 5

W e also understand h o w H e n r y Tilney

is just the right m a n for Catherine w h e n the h a p p y

couple retire to their cottage at W o o d s t o n on his c l e r g y m a n ' s income 'of independence a n d c o m f o r t ' (NA 2 5 0 ) , plus her m a r r i a g e portion of £ 3 , 0 0 0 , w h i c h , invested in the g o v e r n m e n t funds, of course, adds a £ 1 5 0 a y e a r to their income. A n d as for the e x t r a o r d i n a r y g o o d luck of Elizabeth Bennet in meeting up w i t h £ 1 0 , 0 0 0 a y e a r , ' A house in t o w n ! Every thing that is c h a r m i n g ! ' (PP 3 7 8 ) , it is a telling triumph of Austen's economic ideology to turn so fabulous a landed-gentry income into the earnest, cash-conscious p r o g r a m m e of her o w n r a n k .

B u t m o n e y in J a n e A u s t e n ' s first three novels exists for the most part as a set of restrictive anxieties attached

to the r o m a n c e plot by the

narrowest

definition of domestic e c o n o m y - fear of debt. In Austen's last three novels, a n d in the fragmentary final piece,

Sanditon,

far more c o m p l e x relationships

between income a n d r o m a n c e are held in centre focus. D e b t remains an 138

Money anxiety of course: T o m Bertram w r e a k s disaster on the family i n c o m e in

Mansfield Park; M i s s niece in Emma; Sir

Bates w o r r i e s a b o u t the cost of m e d i c a l care for her W a l t e r Elliot loses his estate

M r . Parker seems headed for financial trouble in

in

Sanditon.

Persuasion;

and

B u t the omnipre­

sent fear of loss n o longer holds s w a y o v e r the n a r r a t i v e . Instead, A u s t e n sets w o m e n into an active, w o r k i n g relationship w i t h the e c o n o m y in a w o r l d w h e r e e c o n o m i c choice tests the strengths a n d the limitations of female p o w e r .

Income takes

o v e r as the leading e c o n o m i c trope of

Mansfield Park.

Tom

Bertram's debts, of course, are a prominent irritant, but A u s t e n seems little interested in them or in T o m . T h e novel begins, instead, w i t h the income portfolio of the ' h a n d s o m e ' W a r d sisters: M i s s M a r i a has d o n e w e l l , 'at least three thousand pounds short of a n y equitable c l a i m ' , by m a r r y i n g the wealthy Sir T h o m a s B e r t r a m , B a r o n e t , of M a n s f i e l d P a r k ; M i s s W a r d , less well, being 'obliged to be attached to the R e v . M r . N o r r i s ' a n d his i n c o m e of 'very little less than a thousand a y e a r ' ; a n d M i s s F r a n c e s h a s d o n e very badly indeed, 'fixing on a Lieutenant

of M a r i n e s , w i t h o u t

education,

fortune, or connections' (MP 3 ) . M a r r i a g e , s a y s M a r y C r a w f o r d , w h o s e assessment of the state never w a v e r s from this focus, 'is a m a n o e u v r i n g business. I k n o w so m a n y w h o h a v e m a r r i e d in the full e x p e c t a t i o n a n d confidence of s o m e one particular a d v a n t a g e . . . w h o h a v e found themselves entirely deceived, a n d been obliged to put up w i t h e x a c t l y the reverse! W h a t is this', she a s k s , 'but a take i n ? ' (46). M a r y ' s o p i n i o n of M a r i a B e r t r a m ' s marriage to the rich, but stupid, M r . R u s h w o r t h simply varies the trope: '[S]he will o p e n one of the best houses in W i m p o l e Street . . . a n d certainly she will then feel - to use a v u l g a r phrase - that she has g o t her p e n n y - w o r t h for her p e n n y ' ( 3 9 4 ) . But, in truth, there is nothing w r o n g w i t h i m p r o v i n g one's income in this novel. D r . G r a n t a n d E d m u n d B e r t r a m engage in a n earnest c o n v e r s a t i o n 'The most interesting in the w o r l d ' , H e n r y C r a w f o r d tells his sister, M a r y : ' h o w to m a k e m o n e y - h o w to turn a g o o d income into a better' ( 2 2 6 ) . Sir T h o m a s conscientiously travels to the W e s t Indies to i m p r o v e the income of his estates in A n t i g u a . But H e n r y a n d M a r y C r a w f o r d ' s notion of a better income - solely as a higher income, the c o m m o n understanding

of the

matter - is challenged by A u s t e n . M a r y must decide w h e t h e r she is willing to m a r r y the m a n she loves, E d m u n d B e r t r a m , o n their potential married income of £ 1 , 7 0 0 a y e a r (his moderate-to-good c l e r g y m a n ' s income of £ 7 0 0 a year, plus an additional £ 1 , 0 0 0 a year from the 5 per cent interest on her £ 2 0 , 0 0 0 fortune), o r to try for better stakes in the L o n d o n m a r k e t . In a n y pseudo-gentry accounting, £ 1 , 7 0 0 a y e a r is a strikingly g o o d i n c o m e for a clergyman,

handsome,

but it is not g o o d e n o u g h for M a r y , w h o w a n t s a

139

EDWARD

COPELAND

h o u s e in t o w n a n d the income to g o w i t h it. In the end, she w a n t s this more than she w a n t s E d m u n d . T h e C r a w f o r d s , both H e n r y a n d M a r y , possess an unyielding and near p a t h o l o g i c a l blindness to a n y but the m o s t simplistic notion of incomes. In fact, F a n n y Price is the o n l y person in the entire novel canny enough to recognize that there is a n option of choice a n d that this complicates the c o m m o n , u n e x a m i n e d notions

of acquisition held by the rest of

the

characters. A u s t e n , h o w e v e r , gives F a n n y n o p o w e r to m a k e her opinion k n o w n . After reading E d m u n d ' s letter pledging his undying devotion to M a r y C r a w f o r d , F a n n y cries out in e x a s p e r a t i o n , to herself alone, of course: ' H e is blinded, a n d nothing will open his eyes, nothing can, after having had truths before him so long in v a i n . -

H e will m a r r y her, and be p o o r and

m i s e r a b l e ' ( 4 2 4 ) . B u t even for F a n n y , the dialectic stands in a kind of immiscible suspension in the phrase, ' p o o r and

miserable'. She cannot

escape the logic herself. H e r only revenge is to 'hint' to E d m u n d , gently of course, of ' w h a t share his brother's state of health' - potentially fatal illness of the heir - 'might be s u p p o s e d to h a v e in her [ M a r y ' s ] w i s h for a complete reconciliation' w i t h E d m u n d , the y o u n g e r brother

( 4 5 9 ) . T h a t gets his

attention. B u t the information is gratuitous, a n d it only returns choice, m a r r i a g e , l o v e , to the s a m e corrupt relationship w i t h m o n e y that it has been in t h r o u g h o u t the n o v e l , of being a 'take in'. If this is not the opinion shared by A u s t e n , w h a t can w e m a k e of F a n n y Price's t r i u m p h in her m a r r i a g e to E d m u n d ? M r s . N o r r i s ' sanguine promise to Sir T h o m a s , ' G i v e a girl an education, a n d introduce her properly into the w o r l d , a n d ten to one but she has the m e a n s of settling well, without farther e x p e n s e to a n y b o d y ' , turns out to be absolutely on the m o n e y , t h o u g h not e x a c t l y as she predicts (6). F a n n y ' s career in the Bertram family is little m o r e , in these terms, than a low-cost/high-yield investment saga, softened h a p p i l y in the anaesthesia of Sir T h o m a s ' self-serving sentiments, but ledger-like nonetheless: ' F a n n y w a s indeed the daughter that he w a n t e d . H i s charitable kindness h a d been rearing a prime comfort for himself. H i s liberality h a d a rich r e p a y m e n t ' ( 4 7 2 ) , t h o u g h in truth, he h a d

tried,

unsuccessfully, to u n l o a d the girl w h e n the pressure of T o m ' s debts m a d e it 'not undesirable to himself to be relieved from the expense of her support, a n d the o b l i g a t i o n of her future p r o v i s i o n ' ( 2 4 ) . T h e novel concludes with a rousing p a e a n to the industrious Price children, those ideal representatives of their r a n k , 'all assisting to a d v a n c e each other' ( 4 7 3 ) . H e n r y C r a w f o r d w i t h his inherited income is sent p a c k i n g , a n d F a n n y marries E d m u n d , h a p p i l y , o n his income from the T h o r n t o n L a c e y living. B u t there is n o compelling logic to m a k e the h a p p y c o u p l e ' s £ 7 0 0 a y e a r c l e r g y m a n ' s i n c o m e necessarily m o r e virtuous than the £ 4 , 0 0 0 a y e a r inherited income

140

Money of H e n r y C r a w f o r d ( 1 1 8 ) . H e n r y , if J a n e A u s t e n h a d e x c u s e d him from the obligatory sexual excess w i t h M a r i a R u s h w o r t h , could h a v e h a d equal, o r better, title to F a n n y than E d m u n d , as A u s t e n admits: ' W o u l d he h a v e persevered, and uprightly, F a n n y must h a v e been his r e w a r d - a n d a r e w a r d very voluntarily b e s t o w e d ' ( 4 6 7 ) . I n c o m e , the e c o n o m i c p a r a d i g m which Austen seeks to measure the social a n d m o r a l dilemmas of

Park, fails to

with

Mansfield

clarify.

In her next novel, Austen c h o o s e s c o n s u m e r signs, those social m a r k e r s so important to her o w n class, to e x p l o r e society. T h e action in

Emma

rides

f o r w a r d on a great tide of n e w c o n s u m e r display. M r . W e s t o n buys a small estate; the former M i s s T a y l o r , n o w M r s . W e s t o n , gets a n e w h o u s e , a n e w husband, and a n e w carriage; J a n e F a i r f a x receives, mysteriously, a B r o a d w o o d p i a n o ; the C o l e s h a v e a n e w dining r o o m a n d a n e w pianoforte that none of them can play; E m m a has a n e w r o u n d

dining table;

Frank

Churchill buys gloves at F o r d ' s , a n d H a r r i e t Smith buys ribbons; M r . E l t o n goes to Bath for a n e w wife a n d a n e w carriage; M r s . Elton boasts lace a n d pearls and more servants than she c a n remember; M r s . Perry yearns for a new carriage; and the M a r t i n s h a v e 'a very h a n d s o m e summer-house, large enough to hold a dozen p e o p l e ' (E 2 7 ) . T h e r e are also m o r e h o m e l y items on offer: plenty of g o o d w i n e at M r . W e s t o n ' s ; sweetbreads a n d a s p a r a g u s at M r . W o o d h o u s e ' s ; a hind quarter of p o r k for M i s s Bates from Hartfield; apples for M i s s Bates from D o n w e l l A b b e y ; a r r o w r o o t for J a n e F a i r f a x from Hartfield; and walnuts for H a r r i e t Smith from M r . M a r t i n , w h o w a l k s 'three miles a r o u n d ' to get them, t h o u g h he forgets to enquire for the novels she had mentioned. W h a t can it all m e a n ? Mr.

Knightley p r o v e s himself the hero of the piece by possessing the

sensibility that is the key by w h i c h these material g o o d s are to be under­ stood. H e keeps w a r n i n g E m m a , o v e r a n d o v e r , that

things are

not w h a t

they seem, or, at least, they are not w h a t she thinks they seem. C o n s u m e r signs, it is true, p r o v i d e the system of order that keeps e v e r y d a y life ticking along in

Emma.

Servants a n d carriages, for e x a m p l e , bring the B o x H i l l

episode to a w e l c o m e close: ' T h e a p p e a r a n c e of the servants l o o k i n g out for them to give notice of the carriages w a s a joyful sight' ( 3 7 4 ) . T e a saves M r . Weston

from m o r e u n w a n t e d

n e w s of M a p l e G r o v e : ' T h e y w e r e

interrupted. T e a w a s carrying a r o u n d , a n d M r . W e s t o n , h a v i n g said all that he wanted, soon t o o k the opportunity of w a l k i n g a w a y ' ( 3 1 0 ) . ' T h e saddle of mutton' sets the pace of conversation at R a n d a l l s ( 1 1 9 ) , a n d tea sets the time for departure. ' M r . W o o d h o u s e w a s s o o n r e a d y for his tea; a n d w h e n he had drank his tea he w a s quite r e a d y to g o h o m e ' ( 1 2 4 ) . Finally, the length of a carriage ride provides the beginning a n d the end to M r . E l t o n ' s declarations to E m m a of 'violent l o v e ' ( 1 2 9 ) .

141

EDWARD

B u t c o n s u m e r g o o d s in

COPELAND

Emma also

trace a society in restless motion. T h e

C o l e s are o n the w a y up with their n e w dining r o o m , n e w pianoforte, and an increase in their servants; M r s . a n d M i s s Bates a n d J a n e F a i r f a x are on their w a y d o w n w i t h their economies, modest quarters, a n d one maid. M r . M a r t i n is o n the w a y up, as are the Eltons, the C o x e s , the Smallridges, a n d the S u c k l i n g s . People are passing so rapidly through the gradations of income a n d the c o n s u m e r m a r k e r s associated with them that the old rules of birth a n d social o r d e r are t h r o w n into question. M r . W o o d h o u s e , w h o likes everything that is old a n d settled, m a r k s one end of the scale; M r s . Elton, w h o likes everything that is n e w a n d in motion, m a r k s the other. E m m a herself is in a state of confusion, blinded by vanity a n d social s n o b b e r y , but also blinded by the very c o n s u m e r signs that offer themselves s o temptingly to her imagination. H e r conclusions a b o u t J a n e F a i r f a x ' s pianoforte are her most e m b a r r a s s i n g l y public mistake, but her persistent inability to judge b e h a v i o u r in her society turns, like a scorpion, on the n o v e l itself, the c o n s u m e r object w h o s e self-proclaimed m a n d a t e to interpret social signs m o s t consistently misleads her. T h e plot of J a n e A u s t e n ' s in the

Lady's Magazine

Emma is, in

fact, preempted by a tale published

( N o v e m b e r 1 8 0 2 . ) , a p o p u l a r monthly c o m p e n d i u m

of fiction a n d fashion. T h e tale begins w i t h eerie familiarity: Mr. Knightley, a country-gentleman of not very large fortune, but such as was amply sufficient for his mode of living - as he rarely visited the capital, and had an aversion to the expensive pleasures of dissipated life - had married from the purest affection, and an esteem which grew with his knowledge of its o b j e c t . . . a deserted orphan [left] at a boarding-school near the residence of a relation of his whom he sometimes visited. As by this union he made no addition to his property, nor formed any advantageous connexion, he was by some blamed, and by others ridiculed. He however found himself amply compensated, both for the censure and the sneers which he encountered, by the amiable qualities and virtues of his wife; who, like himself, despised ambition, and sought only the genuine enjoyments of domestic happiness.

(563)

Lady's Magazine version of con­ Emma. H e r heroine, h o w e v e r , the Lady's Magazine version of

A u s t e n , of c o u r s e , pointedly rejects the

t e m p o r a r y social life in the conclusion to swallows

hook,

line,

and

sinker

M r . Knightley-and-the-amiable-orphan,

w h i c h , of course, is e x a c t l y the

a d m o n i t o r y point A u s t e n intends. C h e a p fiction is an untrustworthy system for interpreting social signs: E m m a ' s fantasy of Harriet's b a c k g r o u n d , for e x a m p l e , a classic gothic plot - ' T h e r e can be no doubt of y o u r being a gentleman's d a u g h t e r ' (E 3 0 ) ; o r another old chestnut, an affair of the heart 142

Money between J a n e F a i r f a x and her rescuer from the sea, M r . D i x o n ; o r the romance of F r a n k Churchill a n d H a r r i e t p r o m p t e d by the story of H a r r i e t and the gypsies. Finally, w h e n Harriet c o m e s to E m m a w i t h her fantasy of M r . Knightley's love, yet another rescue story, E m m a falls into the t r a p again, exactly in the m o d e of the

Lady's Magazine: 'It

w a s horrible to E m m a

to think h o w it must sink him in the general o p i n i o n , to foresee the smiles, the sneers, the merriment it w o u l d p r o m p t at this e x p e n s e . . . C o u l d it be? N o ; it w a s impossible. A n d yet it w a s far, v e r y far, from i m p o s s i b l e ' ( 4 1 3 ) . It is, of course,

impossible.

If E m m a h a d o n l y read past the

consumer

signs of her society (false a n d misleading) to see a n d r e a d the ' r e a l ' signs of social b e h a v i o u r before her eyes (true a n d a b i d i n g ) , then she w o u l d not h a v e made such a distressing hash of the situation. B u t here c o n s u m e r proves d o u b l y false. T h e story from the

Lady's Magazine,

fiction

flattering fantasy

as it is for tradesmen's daughters, is not necessarily w r o n g . A u s t e n ' s society is experiencing major social change, fuelled in s o m e degree by the v e r y goods - novels a m o n g the first - that set themselves u p as signs of social truths. T h e most unexpected people are indeed climbing the social ladder with the aid of m o n e y and the social m a r k e r s it b u y s . A u s t e n rejects the

Lady's

story for a m o r e acceptable ideological resolution - H a r r i e t Smith

gets a farmer a n d E m m a W o o d h o u s e gets M r . K n i g h t l e y - but a conflicting set of social patterns, also e x p l o r e d in A u s t e n ' s n o v e l , points the other w a y . M r . Knightley might just as w e l l h a v e m a r r i e d H a r r i e t as not. After all, Austen's

Emma

is only one novel a m o n g m a n y v y i n g to p r o m o t e its o w n

reading of the 'real' signs of social b e h a v i o u r .

Persuasion turns

to

credit as

the issue that opens the e c o n o m y , but w i t h a

spin that sets the topic apart from the c o m p u l s i v e debtors

(Wickham,

W i l l o u g h b y ) found in Austen's early w o r k s . A u s t e n sends her t w o old-style debtors in this novel, Sir W a l t e r Elliot a n d his d a u g h t e r Elizabeth, to B a t h

good credit that is, becomes the Persuasion. In fact the central r o m a n t i c

for an early, e m b a l m e d retirement. Credit, talisman for future expectations in

dilemma of the novel is, by extension, one of credit: w h e t h e r A n n e Elliot should h a v e w a i t e d for C a p t a i n W e n t w o r t h , as she w a n t e d to d o . T h a t is, should she h a v e taken him on credit, or should she h a v e remained w i t h her dreadful father a n d sister in the conservative, but u n h a p p y position of a n unvalued dependent as L a d y Russell p e r s u a d e d her to do? T h e a n s w e r , according to A n n e , is a negotiated qualification, but one turned strongly to the side of credit: 'Tell m e ' , C a p t a i n W e n t w o r t h

asks A n n e , 'if, w h e n I

returned to E n g l a n d in the y e a r eight, with a f e w t h o u s a n d p o u n d s , a n d w a s posted into the L a c o n i a , if I had then written to y o u , w o u l d y o u h a v e answered m y letter? w o u l d y o u , in short, h a v e r e n e w e d the then?' A n n e ' s a n s w e r is short, but decisive: ' W o u l d I ! ' (P 2 4 7 ) .

143

engagement

EDWARD

COPELAND

A n n e marries W e n t w o r t h a n d thus joins the active, h a r d - w o r k i n g and p r o s p e r o u s pseudo-gentry r a n k she has learned to admire, a class of people who

w o r k for their living a n d k n o w h o w to live within their means, as

o p p o s e d to her father, the 'spendthrift baronet', or even as o p p o s e d to her gentry brother-in-law, the slack, unfocused C h a r l e s M u s g r o v e , future heir to U p p e r c r o s s , w h o agrees w i t h his wife in only t w o things: 'the w a n t of m o r e m o n e y , a n d a strong inclination for a h a n d s o m e present from his father' (44). T h e upbeat credit i d e o l o g y of

Persuasion rests

on t w o assump­

tions: first, that the future holds prosperity for the British e c o n o m y , and second, that a person w h o w o r k s for a living will p a y his bills to uphold 'the character', as L a d y Russell terms it, 'of an honest m a n ' ( 1 2 ) . ' A n d she might h a v e said, for in

Persuasion

woman\

A u s t e n m a k e s w o m e n active

m a n a g e r s of the family i n c o m e . ' W h i l e L a d y Elliot lived', Austen notes, as the first in a string of g o o d w o m e n m a n a g e r s in this n o v e l , 'there had been m e t h o d , m o d e r a t i o n , a n d e c o n o m y ' , w h i c h h a d 'just kept' Sir Walter within his income (9). W h e n bill collectors begin to h o v e r a r o u n d Sir Walter, L a d y Russell and A n n e , both excellent economists, r e c o m m e n d ' v i g o r o u s mea­ sures' of e c o n o m y that c o u l d h a v e released him from debt in a reasonable a m o u n t of time ( 1 2 - 1 3 ) . W h e n A d m i r a l a n d M r s . Croft negotiate for the lease on K e l l y n c h H a l l , the l a w y e r , M r . Shepherd, notes that M r s . Croft ' a s k e d m o r e questions a b o u t the h o u s e , a n d terms, a n d taxes, than the a d m i r a l himself, a n d seemed m o r e c o n v e r s a n t with business' ( 2 2 ) . M r s . H a r v i l l e in L y m e is another m o d e l economist, a n d on a very small income ( 1 1 3 ) . M r s . Smith, in B a t h , remains cheerful a n d competent on an even smaller income ( 1 5 4 ) . Partnership marriages b e c o m e the k e y n o t e of the n e w economic arrange­ ment, demonstrated by the H a r v i l l e s a n d the Crofts for the edification of the future C a p t a i n a n d M r s . W e n t w o r t h . W e n t w o r t h a n d A n n e , 'a sailor's wife',

both

belong 'to that profession w h i c h is, if possible, m o r e distin­

guished in its domestic virtues than in its national importance' ( 2 5 2 ) . T h e income of the h a p p y c o u p l e is reported as w e l l , stamping Austen's seal of e c o n o m i c a p p r o v a l o n the m a r r i a g e at the highest reaches of pseudo-gentry prosperity: they will h a v e £ 1 , 2 5 0 from the interest on W e n t w o r t h ' s £ 2 5 , 0 0 0 prize m o n e y , plus a small addition from the interest on one-third of the £ 1 0 , 0 0 0 of A n n e ' s mother's fortune (when Sir W a l t e r is able to p a y it), and the promise of m o r e m o n e y to c o m e in the n a v y . It is as if Austen has singlehandedly revised the e c o n o m i c priorities of her society: a higher credit line for the pseudo-gentry W e n t w o r t h s , a n d a l o w e r one for the baronet Elliots. In

Sanditon

the e c o n o m i c future is not so cloudless. M r . Parker, land­

o w n i n g gentry, has invested heavily in a seaside bathing spa, Sanditon, w h e r e it a p p e a r s likely that he is a b o u t to experience some financial rough

144

Money weather. Investment as 'speculation' seems to be the e c o n o m i c focus of the piece. T h e failure of A u s t e n ' s brother H e n r y ' s b a n k in w h i c h her uncle, M r . Leigh-Perrot, a n d her brother E d w a r d lost huge sums of m o n e y in M a r c h , 1 8 1 6 , m a y well be the inspiration for this n e w line of e c o n o m i c exploration -

Sanditon w a s

r o u g h e d out less than a y e a r after the b a n k ­

ruptcy, between J a n u a r y a n d M a r c h , 1 8 1 7 , w h e n illness forced her to put the

fragment

aside

unfinished.

It

seems

likely that

the

fragility

of

M r . P a r k e r ' s hold o n the e c o n o m y will be a central issue. M r . P a r k e r ' s partner in the enterprise is L a d y D e n h a m , a p a r s i m o n i o u s , tyrannical old w o m a n , a n d a fearful investor, w h o will be n o s u p p o r t w h e n e c o n o m i c storms arrive. His wife, w e a k , dependent, a n d ignorant of business, does not promise to be a n y assistance either, a n d his t w o sisters, professional invalids, are equally ineffectual. 'Activity run m a d ' , thinks the

heroine,

Charlotte H e y w o o d , w h o is a shocked witness of their fumbling interference in the Sanditon enterprise ( M W 4 1 0 ) . Austen, as usual, sets out squarely the social a n d e c o n o m i c corners of her universe. T h e r e is the usual cast of e c o n o m i c scavengers: y o u n g e r relatives of L a d y D e n h a m w i t h a hungry eye for a n inheritance, a n d , of c o u r s e , the overspending M i s s Beauforts, pretenders to elegance. T h e r e is the figure of conservative e c o n o m i c s , Charlotte's father, M r . H e y w o o d - farmer, land­ o w n e r with modest investments in the funds - w h o seems to represent a sound, but old-fashioned a n d rather out-of-the-fray

position. A n d then

there is M r . P a r k e r , the 'enthusiast' for S a n d i t o n , his financial speculation. T h e investment will p r o b a b l y not be a l l o w e d to g o under completely: the t o w n is attractive, the sea is beautiful, a n d there is the competent y o u n g e r brother of M r . P a r k e r , Sidney, w h o puts in a brief a p p e a r a n c e right before the fragment breaks off - ' w e l l bred', ' v e r y g o o d l o o k i n g ' , ' 7 o r 8 & 2 0 ' , and perhaps a future suitor for the heroine ( 4 2 5 ) . Sidney suggests a J a n e Austen signature hero for the future: a y o u n g e r son, rich by 'collateral' inheritance ( 3 7 1 ) , s o not himself l a n d o w n i n g gentry, t h o u g h a p s e u d o gentry m e m b e r of such a family - of 'superior abilities', ' a v e r y clever Y o u n g M a n ' , ' a l w a y s said w h a t he chose of & to us, a l l ' ( 3 8 2 ) , a n d he laughs at the youngest brother, A r t h u r , for being 'so delicate that he can e n g a g e in n o profession' ( 3 8 5 ) .

F r o m the start of her career, Austen is a s h r e w d observer of the e c o n o m i c terrain of her class, t h o u g h a l w a y s from the chilly a n d e x p o s e d position of an economically m a r g i n a l female m e m b e r of it - herself related to

the

landed gentry through the g o o d fortune of her brother E d w a r d (adopted by wealthy gentry relations), but really n o m o r e than a maiden-aunt visitor to his estate and his c l a s s .

1 6

In fact, the s h a d o w of the single w o m a n w i t h o u t 145

EDWARD

COPELAND

m o n e y , C h a r l o t t e L u c a s s y n d r o m e , continues to haunt her w o r k s to the end. In

Sanditon,

C l a r a Brereton fits the position, a n d though she is only vaguely

sketched-in, her e c o n o m i c position is clear enough: 'more helpless & more pitiable of course than a n y - a dependent

o n Poverty - an

additional

Burthen o n a n encumbered C i r c l e ' ( 3 7 9 ) . J o s e p h Wiesenfarth's useful distinctions between the novel of manners a n d the gothic n o v e l in

Gothic Manners and the Classic English Novel

( 1 9 8 8 ) p r o v i d e a p r o b e for e x a m i n i n g the unresolved presence of this economic s h a d o w .

1 7

T h e novel of manners

presents

a rational

'case',

Wiesenfarth argues, w h e r e a s the gothic novel presents a 'riddle'. Obviously, A u s t e n presents a ' c a s e ' for the operation of m o n e y in each of her novels in fact, she presents several different cases. O n the other hand, the single, u n p r o v i d e d w o m a n carries in her very existence a gothic 'riddle' that underscores the m o r a l entanglements cast up by her a n o m a l o u s position in the e c o n o m y . In the early novels, m o n e y comes to her through

courtship

windfalls - M r . Collins is one of these - a resolution that Austen rejects in her last three novels to m o u n t the ' c a s e ' for m o r e rational relationships to the e c o n o m y for w o m e n . B u t in each of these later novels, the 'case' r e g u l a r l y falls short before the i m m o v a b l e plight of the single w o m a n w i t h o u t m o n e y . F a n n y Price, J a n e F a i r f a x , even A n n e Elliot, are, in the end, left dependent u p o n purest chance for their entrance into the monied w o r l d of the ' c a s e ' . M o r e o v e r , the m o r a l identity of each one of these w o m e n must first be asserted

against the

e c o n o m i c ' c a s e ' that eventually defines her social

identity. A u s t e n a c k n o w l e d g e s the m o r a l confusion w h e n she has E m m a say feelingly of J a n e F a i r f a x , w h o s e secret engagement to F r a n k Churchill w o u l d never h a v e been c o n d o n e d by his rich, capricious aunt: 'Of such, one may

a l m o s t s a y , that "the w o r l d is not their's, nor the w o r l d ' s l a w ' "

(E 4 0 0 ) . A n n e Elliot's situation is equally ambivalent. In A n n e ' s situation, w h e r e ' a d v i c e is g o o d o r b a d only as the event decides' (P 2 4 6 ) , the clarity of right a n d w r o n g , w h i c h is the rightful province of romance, edges t o w a r d s Wiesenfarth's 'gothic confusion', a tribute to that deeper g a m e of desire, the elusive force that A u s t e n has pursued all along.

NOTES 1 David Spring, 'Interpreters of Jane Austen's Social World: Literary Critics and Historians', Jane Austen: New Perspectives, ed. Janet Todd (New York and London: Holmes and Meier, 1 9 8 3 ) , pp. 5 3 - 7 2 . 2 R. S. Neale, in Bath, 1680-1850: A Social History (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1 9 8 1 ) , writes that, 'If . . . a woman through death or desertion should find herself the sole support of a family, the impoverishment of the family was virtually certain' (279-80). 146

Money

3 See Edward Copeland, 'Introduction', Women Writing about Money: Women's Fiction in England, 1790-1820 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1 9 9 5 ) , pp. 1 - 1 4 . 4 The major exception for men in Austen's novels occurs in Persuasion where Captain Wentworth's profits from his naval career are reported in lump sum only: a fortune of £25,000. 5 See Copeland, Women Writing about Money, pp. 2 2 - 3 3 . Contemporary domestic economists include Samuel and Sarah Adams, The Complete Servant, first published 1 8 2 5 (Chichester: Southover Press, 1989); James Luckcock, Hints

for Practical Economy, in the Management of Household Affairs, with Table Shewing Different Scales of Expenses, from £ 5 0 to £400 Per Annum (Birmingham: James Drake; London: Longman, et al., 1 8 3 4 ) ; John Trusler, The 6

Economist (London: printed for the author, 1 7 7 4 ) . Deirdre Le Faye, Jane Austen: A Family Record (London:

The British Library, 1989), pp. 1 4 , 1 9 , 2 3 . 7 Samuel and Sarah Adams, The Complete Servant, p. 1 6 . 8 Edward's potential income of £ 3 0 0 a year comes from the Delaford living of £200 a year, plus his personal income of £ 1 0 0 a year from an inheritance of £2,000 (SS 276).

9 Le Faye, Jane Austen: A Family Record, p. 67.

1 0 Ibid., p. 1 3 1 . 1 1 Ibid., p. 1 0 2 . 1 2 W. Bence Jones, 'Landowning as a Business', The Nineteenth Century, vol. 11 (1882), p. 254. Cited by F. M . L. Thompson, English Landed Society in the Nineteenth Century (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1 9 6 3 ) , pp. 2 5 - 6 . Sir Thomas Bertram's fortune in Mansfield Park is a marked exception, severely shaken by the eldest son Tom's gambling debts and expenses in London and by poor returns from his West Indian estates. 1 3 Gary Kelly, English Fiction of the Romantic Period, 1789-1830 (London and New York: Longman, 1989), p. 1 9 . See also, Nancy Armstrong, Desire and Domestic Fiction: A Political History of the Novel (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987), pp. 8 - 1 0 . 14 William Chester Jordan, Women and Credit in Pre-Industrial and Developing Societies (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1 9 9 3 ) , cites studies of rich widows with disposable capital, but concludes that 'risk-taking English women investors' in the early modern period seem 'exceptional' (pp. 67-9). Susan Staves examines the limitations of women's economic independence in Married Women's Separate Property in England, 1660-1833 (Cambridge, M A : Harvard University Press, 1990); also, Staves, 'Pin Money', Studies in Eighteenth-Century Culture, 1 4 (Madison: Wisconsin University Press, 1 9 8 5 ) , 4 7 - 7 7 ; Ida Beatrice O'Malley presents a general account in Women in Subjection: A Study of the Lives of Englishwomen before 1832 (London: Duckworth, 1 9 3 3 ) , pp. 2 2 - é ; and Kaplan, in Jane Austen among Women, cites anecdotes from Jane Austen's own neighbourhood (pp. 4 3 - 6 1 ) . 1 5 Edward and Elinor's joint income comes from the following sources: £ 1 0 0 a year interest from Edward's inheritance of £2,000 (SS 276); £ 5 0 a year from the interest on Elinor's £ 1 , 0 0 0 inheritance (4) - Mrs. Ferrars mistakenly thinks Elinor has 'three' (373); £ 2 5 0 a year, 'at the utmost', from the Delaford living

147

EDWARD

COPELAND

(374), though valued by Colonel Brandon at only £ 2 0 0 a year (283); finally, £ 5 0 0 a year from Mrs. Ferrars' grudging marriage gift of £ 1 0 , 0 0 0 (374). 16 This is how her favourite niece, Fanny Knight, remembered her visits: 'Both the Aunts (Cassandra & Jane) were brought up in the most complete ignorance of the World & its ways (I mean as to fashion Sec) &C if it had not been for Papa's marriage which brought them into Kent, &C the kindness of Mrs. Knight, who used often to have one or the other of the sisters staying with her, they would have been, tho' not less clever & agreeable in themselves, very much below par as to good Society &c its ways.' Le Faye, Jane Austen: A Family Record, p. 2 5 3 . 1 7 Joseph Wiesenfarth, 'Introduction', Gothic Manners and the Classic English Novel (Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press, 1988), pp. 3 - 2 2 .

148

9 GARY

KELLY

Religion and politics

For J a n e A u s t e n and the majority of her c o n t e m p o r a r i e s ,

religion

and

politics w e r e inextricably intertwined a n d of central ideological a n d material interest, a n d h a d long been s o . A u s t e n belonged to the C h u r c h of E n g l a n d , or A n g l i c a n church, established as the state church in the sixteenth century. It w a s Protestant, headed b y the m o n a r c h , a n d episcopal in structure. Its theology a n d ecclesiastical structure w e r e a c o m p r o m i s e between R o m a n Catholicism

and

non-Calvinist

Protestantism.

Anglican

theology

was

A r m i n i a n , rejecting the C a l v i n i s t doctrine of predestination a n d affirming salvation by a combination of true faith a n d g o o d w o r k s , free will a n d divine grace. T h e r e w e r e some g r o u p s w h o rejected v a r i o u s aspects of the established church a n d its theology, h o w e v e r , a n d w h o w e r e accordingly k n o w n as 'Dissenters' o r ' N o n c o n f o r m i s t s ' a n d e x c l u d e d from certain civil rights. T h e s e differences a n d inequalities resulted in social, cultural, a n d political tensions that reached a particular crisis in A u s t e n ' s d a y . T h e C h u r c h of E n g l a n d itself w a s not monolithic, h o w e v e r . Since the late seventeenth century a ' H i g h C h u r c h ' g r o u p h a d a d v o c a t e d alliance w i t h government to suppress religious Dissent a n d b e c a m e associated w i t h the T o r y faction in politics. A ' L o w C h u r c h ' o r ' L a t i t u d i n a r i a n '

movement

a d v o c a t e d an ' E r a s t i a n ' policy subordinating church to state a n d tolerating religious differences within a national ' B r o a d C h u r c h ' . T h i s g r o u p b e c a m e associated with the W h i g political faction w h i c h f a v o u r e d a constitutional m o n a r c h y ruling in collaboration w i t h the landed class a n d supported by a broad coalition of public opinion that w o u l d include m o s t Dissenters. T h e Whigs dominated politics from the H a n o v e r i a n succession in 1 7 1 4 a n d brought the established church into the p a t r o n a g e system b y w h i c h the political, social, and e c o n o m i c life of the country w a s m a n a g e d . A s a result, the C h u r c h of E n g l a n d became increasingly secularized a n d integrated in the civil order a n d culture w h i c h w e r e d o m i n a t e d b y the upper a n d upper middle classes. These relations between religion a n d politics conditioned links between 149

GARY

religion a n d social class.

KELLY

C e r t a i n classes w e r e m o r e likely than others to

benefit from the social status a n d p a t r o n a g e connections conferred by m e m b e r s h i p in the established church. T h e s e included the upper class or landed gentry a n d m o s t of the u p p e r middle classes, including the elite professions

to w h i c h A u s t e n ' s family belonged, a n d

many

well-to-do

middle-class people in 'trade', o r c o m m e r c e a n d manufacture. M a n y of their lower-class dependents identified w i t h these interests and thus remained A n g l i c a n s . W i t h i n the C h u r c h of E n g l a n d , h o w e v e r , M e t h o d i s t and E v a n g e ­ lical m o v e m e n t s h a d developed in the eighteenth century, appealing mainly to g r o u p s within the w o r k i n g a n d middle classes. T h e various Dissenting sects a p p e a l e d m a i n l y to those outside the d o m i n a n t social order, especially the t o w n - b a s e d c o m m e r c i a l a n d professional middle class a n d the skilled w o r k i n g class, o r artisans. B y A u s t e n ' s d a y , h o w e v e r , m a n y Dissenters were demanding full civic rights a n d the social status a n d political influence they felt they merited. B y the time A u s t e n reached

adulthood

these relations and

tensions

between religion a n d politics h a d a g a i n b e c o m e the subject of intense public debate. In the late 1 7 8 0 s Dissenters r e n e w e d their c a m p a i g n for parliamen­ tary repeal of their civil disabilities. In the early 1 7 9 0 s the French R e v o l u ­ tionary g o v e r n m e n t legislated religious toleration, s h o w i n g Dissenters w h a t might be d o n e in Britain. M a n y Dissenters believed religious toleration c o u l d not be achieved in E n g l a n d w i t h o u t b r o a d e r political reform, and m a n y supported other reform m o v e m e n t s such as feminism, prison reorga­ nization, relief of the p o o r , a n d abolition of the slave trade. It s o o n became difficult to p r o p o s e the French R e v o l u t i o n as a m o d e l , h o w e v e r , with successive episodes of R e v o l u t i o n a r y violence, w a r between France and its neighbours, the J a c o b i n T e r r o r of 1 7 9 3 - 4 ,

t n e

r a m p a n t commercialism and

m o r a l permissiveness of the D i r e c t o r y period in the m i d - 1 7 9 0 s , a n d the long military and imperial struggle against N a p o l e o n i c France from the late 1 7 9 0 s to 1 8 1 5 . T h e term ' J a c o b i n ' , referring to radical French R e v o l u t i o n ­ aries, w a s used by counter-revolutionaries in Britain to discredit a n y kind of reformer, including Dissenters, M e t h o d i s t s , a n d Evangelicals. Austen w r o t e the early versions of

Sensibility just

Pride and Prejudice

and

Sense and

as public o p i n i o n in Britain w a s becoming decisively counter­

revolutionary. D u r i n g the m i d - 1 7 9 0 s , reform legislation w a s defeated in Parliament, A n t i j a c o b i n o r g a n i z a t i o n s harassed reformers, a n d government repression b r o k e up reform societies a n d d r o v e m a n y reformers into exile. B y the early 1 8 0 0 s , w h e n A u s t e n

Northanger Abbey,

finished

a n d sold the manuscript of

public o p i n i o n rallied against N a p o l e o n i c France in a

n e w ' R o m a n t i c ' nationalism. M a n y reformers subsumed their earlier aims in b r o a d schemes of social a n d e c o n o m i c improvement, some turned their

150

Religion and politics reformist political enthusiasm into zealous religious activism, a n d others promoted

c o m m o n social, cultural, a n d political identities rather

than

particular a n d contested ones. R e l i g i o n w a s used to p r o m o t e post-revolu­ tionary social mediation, h a r m o n y , and national unity, a n d to justify m o v e ­ ments

of

ideological indoctrination,

cultural

reformation,

and

social

control. Austen w r o t e the rest of her novels a n d r e w r o t e her earlier ones t o w a r d s the end of this period of p r o l o n g e d crisis, a crisis in w h i c h she a n d her family, closely connected to the established order in c h u r c h a n d state, had a direct interest. A s a novelist, A u s t e n h a d an additional interest in this crisis, h o w e v e r . A t that time novels of all kinds w e r e in effect fictitious a n d narrative ' c o n d u c t b o o k s ' , or manuals for social a n d private life in the u p p e r a n d u p p e r middle classes that comprised the reading public. Y e t m o s t p r o s e

fiction

was

considered inartistic, unrealistic, intellectually s h a l l o w , o v e r l y stimulating o r even addictive, and thus m o r a l l y and socially corrupting. T h e

'modern

novel', as it w a s often called, w a s distinguished from the ' r o m a n c e ' , w i t h the former supposedly representing

' p r o b a b l e ' characters

and

incidents

in

contemporary life, especially 'fashionable' or courtly society, w h i l e the latter w a s thought to present eccentric characters in i m p r o b a b l e circumstances and exotic or unusual locations. A c c o r d i n g l y , s o m e critics defended

the

'modern n o v e l ' as m o r e 'realistic', but others c o n d e m n e d it for s p r e a d i n g false upper-class values a n d social expectations. B o t h the ' m o d e r n n o v e l ' and the ' r o m a n c e ' w e r e c o n d e m n e d for distracting readers from 'solid a n d useful reading', a n d e n c o u r a g i n g imagination, fantasy, a n d desire t h r o u g h fictitious narratives of social a d v a n c e m e n t through love a n d m a r r i a g e , at the expense of the reason, self-discipline, a n d p r a g m a t i s m s u p p o s e d l y required in 'real' middle-class life. Since ' m o d e r n n o v e l s ' w e r e w i d e l y t h o u g h t to encourage social a n d cultural emulation of the decadent courtly

upper

classes by the middle classes, s o m e blamed them for contributing to the supposed m o r a l decline that h a d precipitated the R e v o l u t i o n a r y crisis in Britain. Since ' r o m a n c e s ' w e r e w i d e l y believed to inspire a taste for the improbable

and

sensational, some blamed them for e x p o s i n g gullible

readers to the a p p e a l of R e v o l u t i o n a r y 'speculation' a n d v i o l e n c e . S u c h negative associations w e r e reinforced by the belief that m o s t n o v e l s of a n y type w e r e written

b y a n d for w o m e n , w h o w e r e w i d e l y seen as

vulnerable point in class solidarity, the social order, a n d n a t i o n a l

the and

imperial strength. In fact, men w e r e as active as w o m e n in w r i t i n g a n d reading n o v e l s .

2

A s Austen w r o t e her first full-length novels, s o m e writers w e r e attempting to reform the novel artistically, morally, a n d intellectually, thereby m a k i n g it a m o r e effective instrument in the R e v o l u t i o n debate, since it c o u l d reach 151

GARY

KELLY

readers w h o w o u l d seldom pick up a polemical pamphlet or political treatise. T h e s e writers incorporated in their novels explicit social, cultural, a n d political critique; n e w aspects of social, cultural, and linguistic reality; a n d elements from m o r e prestigious learned a n d literary discourses. T h e y also d e v e l o p e d n e w formal devices a n d restructured

established ones,

especially narration, plot, a n d character. T h e m o s t prominent of these novelists w e r e 'English J a c o b i n s ' led by R o b e r t B a g e , W i l l i a m G o d w i n , M a r y H a y s , a n d M a r y Wollstonecraft a n d including D r . J o h n M o o r e , C h a r l o t t e Smith, M a r y R o b i n s o n , and perhaps A n n Radcliffe. Antijacobin o r ' l o y a l i s t ' critics c o n d e m n e d m a n y of these novels as unrealistic 'political r o m a n c e s ' . A n t i j a c o b i n novelists such as Elizabeth H a m i l t o n , J a n e West, a n d H a n n a h M o r e satirized their o p p o n e n t s ' politics, private lives, and literary i n n o v a t i o n s , a n d claimed to present 'reality' rather than political fantasy in their o w n w o r k . A u s t e n k n e w the w o r k of m o s t if not all of these novelists. In the i 8 o o s a n d 1 8 1 0 s , just before Austen w r o t e her later novels and r e w r o t e her earlier ones, certain writers tried a d a p t i n g the novel to create a post-Revolutionary

social consensus

for

national

unity

and

imperial

defence. N o v e l i s t s such as M a r i a E d g e w o r t h , S y d n e y O w e n s o n

(Lady

M o r g a n ) , J a n e Porter, a n d W a l t e r Scott a p p r o p r i a t e d elements from histor­ i o g r a p h y , p o p u l a r literature, social studies, and political e c o n o m y in order to represent

v a r i o u s kinds of relationship

between

'national'

history,

identity, a n d destiny a n d the individual and the local c o m m u n i t y . Both loyalist a n d reformist novelists used narration, characterization, and lan­ g u a g e in n e w w a y s to represent nation a n d empire as socially diverse and needing unifying values. Footnotes a n d other learned a p p a r a t u s w e r e often used to give authority to such representations. S o m e novelists, such as M a r i a E d g e w o r t h , A m e l i a O p i e , Elizabeth H a m i l t o n , a n d H a n n a h M o r e devised n e w techniques of formal realism a n d focused on supposedly 'ordinary'

characters

in

e v e r y d a y settings

experiencing

commonplace

events, thereby suggesting that the public political sphere w a s remote from 'reality' as lived by m o s t p e o p l e . Austen k n e w the w o r k of some, if not all of these novelists, t o o . She w o u l d h a v e k n o w n a n d understood

both the interconnection of

religion a n d politics a n d the w a y other writers used the novel to disseminate their religious a n d political v i e w s during the period w h e n she herself w a s w r i t i n g n o v e l s . She left little direct comment, h o w e v e r , in her novels or her letters, o n these matters. A c c o r d i n g to her family she practised an unostenta­ tious y e t consistent a n d m a i n s t r e a m A n g l i c a n faith. Scattered remarks on religion in her letters indicate that she placed great importance on taking h o l y c o m m u n i o n , r e g a r d e d religiosity u n f a v o u r a b l y , a n d sometime between

152

Religion and politics 1 8 0 9 and 1 8 1 4 came to v i e w the E v a n g e l i c a l s with less d i s a p p r o v a l than before (L 1 7 0 , 2 8 0 ) . She also left three highly penitential prayers (MW

manuscript

4 5 3 - 7 ) . L i k e m o s t A n g l i c a n s of her time, she seems to h a v e

had a 'latitudinarian'

o u t l o o k , t h o u g h she preferred T h o m a s S h e r l o c k ' s

High Anglican sermons

' a l m o s t to a n y ' (L 2 7 8 ) . She left even fewer

comments on politics, though her letters s h o w that she f o l l o w e d current events and especially n a v a l affairs, as they involved t w o of her brothers. H e r few references to the novels of her time d o not constitute a significant b o d y of criticism. Paucity of direct c o m m e n t does not necessarily m e a n indifference

to

issues of religion and politics a n d their representation in the n o v e l , a n d it is likely that she s a w these issues a n d representations

as a w o m a n of her

religion and class. H e r father a n d t w o of her brothers w e r e C h u r c h of England clergymen, so she h a d both a familial a n d a personal c o m m i t m e n t to the established C h u r c h . She a l s o h a d a n interest in the social hierarchy that supported and w a s supported b y the C h u r c h . H e r brother E d w a r d w a s adopted as heir by a gentry family a n d thereby joined the historically dominant social class. It w a s he w h o p r o v i d e d his sisters C a s s a n d r a a n d J a n e with the h o m e at C h a w t o n w h e r e J a n e w r o t e (or rewrote) all her novels. Y e t Austen could sympathize w i t h reformers' claims for merit o v e r inherited rank and status. T w o of her brothers, Francis a n d C h a r l e s , w e n t into the n a v y , a profession open to merit, a n d did well. In addition, A u s t e n w o u l d k n o w that writers from M a r y Wollstonecraft to H a n n a h M o r e called for w o m e n of merit to reform the domestic a n d local sphere a n d thus, indirectly, the public a n d political sphere. It seems likely, then, that a w o m a n like Austen w o u l d s u p p o r t the historic hierarchical social structure and constitution of church a n d state, yet c o u l d recognize that they s h o u l d be open to merit - including female merit in the domestic sphere - if they w e r e to a v o i d the closedness a n d rigidity that m a n y b l a m e d for causing the social and political upheavals of the R e v o l u t i o n a n d its aftermath.

Since Austen's d a y , critical a n d scholarly interest in her religion a n d politics has focused on her novels. Interest in their religious aspect a p p e a r e d s o o n after she died but reflected changes in religion a n d the C h u r c h that t o o k place after her time. M u c h of this interest has centred o n her representation of clergymen - the R e v . H e n r y T i l n e y a n d the R e v . R i c h a r d M o r l a n d in

Northanger Abbey,

Sense and Sensibility, the R e v . W i l l i a m Collins in Pride and Prejudice, the R e v . Philip Elton in Emma, E d m u n d Bertram a n d the R e v . D r . G r a n t in Mansfield Park, a n d the R e v . Charles H a y t e r a n d the R e v . D r . Shirley in Persuasion. T h e y h a v e been seen Edward

Ferrars

in

as realistic representations of w h a t one twentieth-century historian calls 'the

153

GARY

KELLY

church in a n age of negligence' a n d w h a t another sees as the culmination of a century

of secularization or laicization of the A n g l i c a n c h u r c h .

3

By

A u s t e n ' s d a y c l e r g y m e n of all sects engaged in party politics, the patronage systems in church a n d state w e r e intertwined,

and the A n g l i c a n clergy

increasingly c a m e from the landed gentry a n d pursued that class's w a y of life. T h e clergy w a s v i e w e d as one 'learned' o r elite profession

among

others, not necessarily requiring a special spiritual calling, though there w e r e exceptions, especially a m o n g Methodists a n d E v a n g e l i c a l s . O n l y after her death did such movements effect w i d e s p r e a d changes in religion a n d the established church, a n d these changes affected the w a y readers a n d critics interpreted A u s t e n ' s treatment of religious a n d ecclesias­ tical matters in her n o v e l s . A s early as 1 8 1 8 her brother H e n r y felt it necessary to assure readers that the m o s t important fact a b o u t her life w a s that she ' w a s t h o r o u g h l y religious and d e v o u t ' , w a s 'well-instructed' on 'serious [i.e., religious! subjects', and that 'her opinions accorded strictly w i t h those of o u r Established C h u r c h ' . B y the 1 8 3 0 s , w h e n her novels began to be regarded as literary classics, the C h u r c h of E n g l a n d h a d changed c o n s i d e r a b l y from w h a t she h a d experienced in life a n d represented fiction.

in

In 1 8 3 7 , for e x a m p l e , J o h n H e n r y N e w m a n , leader of the O x f o r d

a n d T r a c t a r i a n m o v e m e n t s for spiritual a n d ecclesiastical reform of the C h u r c h of E n g l a n d , found that her parsons w e r e 'vile creatures' a n d that she herself h a d 'not a d r e a m of the high C a t h o l i c [i.e., A n g l i c a n ] ethos'. Such v i e w s persisted into the twentieth century: in 1 9 3 1 a magazine for religious Dissenters concluded, ' w e need never regret that the d a y s of J a n e A u s t e n are g o n e b e y o n d recall a n d that her type of c l e r g y m a n n o longer controls the religious life of rural E n g l a n d ' . Others a p p r o v e d

4

of A u s t e n ' s apparent

reticence a b o u t

secularized attitude to it. In 1 8 1 6 a reviewer praised

Emma

religion

and

'because it does

not d a b b l e in religion; of fanatical novels a n d fanatical authoresses w e are a l r e a d y sick'. In 1 8 7 0 , R i c h a r d S i m p s o n praised A u s t e n because she 'let the church stand in the c h u r c h y a r d , a n d did not attempt to transport it into her n o v e l s ' . Twentieth-century a c a d e m i c a n d professional critics, predominantly secular in o u t l o o k , h a v e questioned the relevance of A u s t e n ' s religion to her fictional

art. In a n e x c h a n g e of letters in the

Times Literary Supplement for

J a n u a r y a n d F e b r u a r y 1 9 4 4 , Q. D . L e a v i s a r g u e d that A u s t e n ' s personal beliefs could only interest the literary critic if they w e r e manifested in the novels. In 1 9 6 7 L a u r e n c e L e r n e r argued that, h o w e v e r pious Austen the person m a y h a v e been, A u s t e n the novelist did not believe in G o d , because 'a belief or a value only matters artistically if it is artistically present' in the writer's w o r k .

5

Others did find A u s t e n ' s religion to be 'artistically present' in her novels. 154

Religion and politics R i c h a r d W h a t e l y w a s a latitudinarian

a n d anti-Evangelical a n d later a n

anti-Tractarian and reforming A