 Chapter 5 Description of Jane Austen's Person, Character, and Tastes As my memoir has now reached the period when I saw a great deal of my aunt and was old enough to understand something of her value, I will hear attempt a description of her person, mind, and habits. In person she was very attractive, her figure was rather tall and slender, her step light and firm, and her whole appearance expressive of health and animation. In complexion she was a clear brunette with a rich color, she had full round cheeks, with mouth and nose small and well formed, bright hazel eyes and brown hair forming natural curls close round her face. If not so regularly handsome as her sister, yet her countenance had a peculiar charm of its own to the eyes of most beholders. At the time of which I am now writing she never was seen either morning or evening without a cap. I believe that she and her sister were generally thought to have taken to the garb of middle age earlier than their years or their looks required, and that, though remarkably neat in their dress, as in all their ways, they were scarcely sufficiently regardful of the fashionable or the becoming. She was not highly accomplished according to the present standard. Her sister drew well, and it is from a drawing of hers that the lightness prefix to this volume has been taken. Jane herself was fond of music and had a sweet voice, both in singing and in conversation. In her youth she had received some instruction on the piano forte, and at Chauten she practiced daily, chiefly before breakfast. I believe she did so partly that she might not disturb the rest of the party who were less fond of music. In the evening she would sometimes sing to her own accompaniment some simple old songs, the words and airs of which, now never heard, still linger in my memory. She read French with facility and knew something of Italian. In those days German was no more thought of than Hindostani as part of a ladies education. In history she followed the old guides, Goldsmith, Hume, and Robertson. Critical inquiry into the usually received statements of the old historians was scarcely begun. The history of the early kings of Rome had not yet been dissolved into legend. Historic characters lay before the reader's eyes in broad light or shade, not much broken up by details. The virtues of King Henry VIII were yet undiscovered, nor had much light been thrown on the inconsistencies of Queen Elizabeth. The one was held to be an unmitigated tyrant and an embodied old blue-beard, the other a perfect model of wisdom and policy. Jane, when a girl, had strong political opinions, especially about the affairs of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. She was a vehement defender of Charles I and his grandmother Mary, but I think it was rather from an impulsive feeling than from any inquiry into the evidences by which they must be condemned or acquitted. As she grew up the politics of the day occupied very little of her attention, but she probably shared the feeling of moderate tourism which prevailed in her family. She was well acquainted with the old periodicals from the spectator downwards. Her knowledge of Richardson's works was, such as no one is likely again to acquire, now that the multitude and the merits of our light literature have called off the attention of readers from that great master. Every circumstance narrated in Sir Charles Grandison, all that was ever said or done in the cedar parlor, was familiar to her, and the wedding days of Lady L and Lady G were as well remembered as if they had been living friends. Amongst her favorite writers, Johnson in prose, Crab in verse, and Cowper in both, stood high. It is well that the native good taste of herself, and of those with whom she lived, saved her from the snare into which a sister novelist had fallen, of imitating the grand eloquent style of Johnson. She thoroughly enjoyed Crab, perhaps on account of a certain resemblance to herself in minute and highly finished detail, and would sometimes say, in jest, that if she ever married it all she could fancy being Mrs. Crab, looking on the author quite as an abstract idea, and ignorant and regardless what manner of man he might be. Scott's poetry gave her great pleasure. She did not live to make much acquaintance with his novels. Only three of them were published before her death, but it will be seen by the following extract from one of her letters that she was quite prepared to admit the merits of waverly, and it is remarkable that, living as she did, far apart from the gossip of the literary world, she should even then have spoken so confidently of his being the author of it. Mother Scott has no business to write novels, especially good ones. It is not fair. He has fame and profit enough as a poet, and ought not be taking the bread out of other people's mouths. I do not mean to like waverly, if I can help it, but I fear I must. I am quite determined, however, not to be pleased with Mrs. S's, should I ever meet with it, which I hope I may not. I think I can be stout against anything written by her. I have made up my mind to like no novels really, but Miss Edwards' ease and my own. It was not, however, what she knew but what she was that distinguished her from others. I cannot better describe the fascination which she exercised over children than by quoting the words of two of her nieces. One says, As a very little girl I was always creeping up to Aunt Jane and following her whenever I could, in the house and out of it. I might not have remembered this but for the recollection of my mothers telling me privately that I must not be troublesome to my Aunt. Her first charm to children was great sweetness of manner. She seemed to love you and you loved her in return. This as well as I can now recollect was what I felt in my early days, before I was old enough to be amused by her cleverness. But soon came the delight of her playful talk. She could make everything amusing to a child. Then as I got older, when cousins came to share the entertainment, she would tell us the most delightful stories, chiefly a fairyland, and her fairies all had characters of their own. The tale was invented, I am sure, at the moment, and was continued for two or three days if occasion served. Again, when staying at Chotten, with two of her other nieces, we often had amusements in which my Aunt was very helpful. She was the one to whom we always looked for help. She would furnish us with what we wanted from her wardrobe. She would be the entertaining visitor in our make-believe house. She amused us in various ways. Once I remember in giving a conversation, as between myself and my two cousins, supposing we were all grown up the day after a ball. Very similar is the testimony of another niece. Aunt Jane was a general favorite with children, her ways with them being so playful, and her long, circumstantial stories so delightful. These were continued from time to time, and were begged for on all possible and impossible occasions, woven as she proceeded out of nothing but her own happy talent for invention. Ah! If but one of them could be recovered! And again as I grew older, when the original seventeen years between our ages seemed to shrink to seven, or to nothing, it comes back to me now how strangely I missed her. It had become so much a habit with me to put by things in my mind with a reference to her, and say to myself, I shall keep this for Aunt Jane. A nephew of hers, used to observe that his visit to Chotten, after the death of his Aunt Jane, were always a disappointment to him. From old associations he could not help expecting to be particularly happy in that house, and never till he got there could he realize to himself how all his peculiar charm was gone. It was not only that the chief lied in the house was quenched, but that the loss of it had cast a shade over the spirits of the survivors. Enough has been said to show her love for children and her wonderful power of entertaining them, but her friends of all ages felt her enlivening influence. Her unusually quick sense of the ridiculous led her to play with all the common places of everyday life, whether as regarded persons or things, but she never played with its serious duties or responsibilities, nor did she ever turn individuals into ridicule. With all her neighbors in the village she was unfriendly though not on intimate terms. She took a kindly interest in all their proceedings and liked to hear about them. They often served for her amusement, but it was her own nonsense that gave zest to the gossip. She was as far from possible from being sensorious or satirical. She never abused or quizzed them. That was the word of the day, an ugly word, now obsolete, and the ugly practice which it expressed is much less prevalent now than it was then. The laugh which she occasionally raised was imagined for her neighbors as she was equally ready to imagine for her friends or herself impossible contingencies, or by relating in prose or verse some trifling anecdote, colored to her own fancy, or in writing a fictitious history of what they were supposed to have said or done which could deceive nobody. The following specimens may be given of the liveliness of mind which imparted an agreeable flavor both to her correspondence and her conversation. On reading in the newspapers the marriage of Mr. Gel to Miss Gill of Eastbourne—at Eastbourne Mr. Gel, from being perfectly well, became dreadfully ill for love of Miss Gill, so he said with some size, I'm the slave of your eyes, O restore if you please by accepting my ease. On the marriage of a middle-aged flirt with a Mr. Wake, whom it was supposed she would scarcely have accepted in her youth, Maria, good-humored and handsome and tall, for a husband, was at her last stake, and having in vain danced at many a ball, is now happy to jump at a Wake. We were all at the play last night to see Miss O'Neill in Isabella. I do not think she was quite equal to my expectation. I fancy I want something more that can be. Acting seldom satisfies me. I took two pocket-hanker-chips, but had very little occasion for either. She is an elegant creature, however, and hugs Mr. Young delightfully. So Miss B is actually married, but I never have seen it in the papers, and one may as well be single if the wedding is not to be in print. Once too she took it into her head to write the following mock panagiric on a young friend, who really was clever and handsome. 1. In measured verse I'll now rehearse the charms of lovely Anna, and first her mind is unconfined like any vast savannah. 2. Ontario's Lake may fitly speak, her fancies ample bound, its circuit may, on strict survey, five hundred miles be found. 3. Her wit descends on foes and friends like famed Niagara's Fall, and travellers gaze in wild amaze and listen one and all. 4. Her judgment sound, thick black profound, like transatlantic grooves, dispenses aid and friendly shade to all that in it roves. 5. If thus her mind to be defined America exhausts, and all that's grand in that great land, in similes it costs. 6. Oh, how can I her person try to image and portray? How paint the face, the form, how trace, in which those virtues lay? 7. Another world must be unfurled, another language known, ere tongue or sound can publish round her charms of flesh and bone. I believe that all this nonsense was nearly extempore, and that the fancy of drawing the images from America arose at the moment from the obvious rhyme which presented itself in the first stanza. The following extracts are from letters addressed to a niece who was at that time amusing herself by attempting a novel, probably never finished, certainly never published, and of which I know nothing but what these extracts tell. They show the good natured sympathy and encouragement which the aunt, then herself occupied in writing Emma, could give to the less matured powers of the niece. They bring out, incidentally, some of her opinions concerning compositions of that kind. Extracts. Chotten. August 10th, 1814. Your aunt's seed is not like dulcetory novels, and is rather fearful that yours will be too much so, that there will be too frequent a change from one set of people to another, and that circumstances will be sometimes introduced of apparent consequence which will lead to nothing. It will not be so great an objection to me. I allow much more latitude than she does, and think nature and spirit cover many sins of a wandering story, and people in general do not care much about it for your comfort. September 9th. You are now collecting your people delightfully, getting them exactly into such a spot as is the delight of my life. Three or four families in a country village is the very thing to work on, and I hope you will write a great deal more, and make full use of them while they are so favorably arranged. September 28th. Devereux Forester, being ruined by his vanity, is very good, but I wish you would not let him plunge into a vortex of dissipation. I do not object to the thing, but I cannot bear the expression. It is such a thorough novel slang, and so old that I dare say Adam met with it in the first novel that he opened. November 1814. I have been very far from finding your book an evil, I assure you. I read it immediately, and with great pleasure. Indeed I do think you get on very fast. I wish other people of my acquaintance could compose as rapidly. Julian's history was quite a surprise to me. You had not very long known it yourself, I suspect, but I have no objection to make to the circumstance. It is very well told, and his having been in love with the odd gives Cecilia an additional interest with him. I like the idea, a very proper compliment to an aunt. I rather imagine, indeed, that nieces are seldom chosen but in complement to some aunt or other. I dare say your husband was in love with me once, and would never have thought of you if he had not supposed me dead of a scarlet fever. Jane Austen was successful in everything that she attempted with her fingers. None of us could throw spillikins in so perfect a circle, or take them off with so steady a hand. Her performances with cup and ball were marvellous. The one used at Chawton was an easy one, and she has been known to catch it on the point above a hundred times its accession, till her hand was weary. She sometimes found a resource in that simple game, when unable, from weakness in her eyes, to read or write long together. A specimen of her clear, strong handwriting is here given. Happy would the compositors for the press be if they had always so legible a manuscript to work from. But the writing was not the only part of her letters which showed superior handiwork. In those days there was an art in folding and sealing. No adhesive envelopes made all easy. Some people's letters always looked loose and untidy, but her paper was sure to take the right folds and her sealing wax to drop into the right place. Her needlework, both plain and ornamental, was excellent, and might almost have put a sewing machine to shame. She was considered especially great in satin stitch. She spent much time in these occupations, and some of her merriest talk was over-close, which she and her companions were making, sometimes for themselves and sometimes for the poor. There still remains a curious specimen of her needlework made for a sister-in-law, my mother. In a very small bag is deposited a little rolled-up housewife, furnished with minnican needles and fine thread. Then the housewife is a tiny pocket, and in the pocket is enclosed a slip of paper, on which, written as with a crowquill, are the lines, This little bag, I hope, will prove to be not vainly made, for should you thread and needles want it will afford you aid. And as we are about to part, to will serve another end, for when you look upon this bag you will recollect your friend. It is the kind of article that some benevolent fairy might be supposed to give as a reward to a diligent little girl. The hole is a floured silk, and having been never used and carefully preserved it is as fresh and bright as when it was first made seventy years ago, and shows that the same hand which painted so exquisitely with the pen could work as delicately with the needle. I have collected some of the bright qualities which shown, as it were, on the surface of Jane Austen's character, and attracted most notice, but underneath them there lay the strong foundations of sound sense and judgment, rectitude of principle and delicacy of feeling, qualifying her equally to advise, assist, or muse. She was in fact as ready to comfort the unhappy or to nurse the sick, as she was to laugh and jest with the light-hearted. Two of her nieces were grown up, and one of them was married before she was taken away from them. As their minds became more matured, they were admitted into closer intimacy with her, and learned more of her graver thoughts. They know what a sympathizing friend and judicious adviser they found her to be in many little difficulties and doubts of early womanhood. I do not venture to speak of her religious principles. That is a subject on which she herself was more inclined to think and act than to talk, and I shall imitate her reserve, satisfied to have shown how much of Christian love and humility abounded in her heart, without presuming to lay bare the roots once those graces grew. Some little insight, however, into these deeper recesses of the heart must be given when we come to speak of her death. CHAPTER VI. Habits of composition resumed after a long interval. First publication. The interest taken by the author in the success of her works. Red by Chloe Winters, April 2008. It may seem extraordinary that Jane Austen should have written so little during the years that elapsed between leaving Stevenson and settling at Choughton, especially when the cessation from work is contrasted with her literary activity, both before and after that period. It might rather have been expected that fresh scenes and new acquaintance would have called forth her powers, while the quiet life which the family led both at Bath and Southampton must have afforded abundant leisure for composition, but so it was that nothing which I know of, certainly nothing which the public have seen, was completed in either of those places. I can only state the fact without assigning any cause for it, but as soon as she was fixed in her second home she resumed the habits of composition which had been formed in her first and continued them to the end of her life. The first year of her residence at Choughton seems to have been devoted to revising and repairing for the press sense and sensibility and pride and prejudice. But between February 1811 and August 1816 she began and completed Mansfield Park, Emma, and Persuasion, so that the last five years of her life produced the same number of novels with those which had been written in her early youth. How she was able to affect all this is surprising, for she had no separate study to retire to, and most of the work must have been done in the general sitting-room, subject to all kinds of casual interruptions. She was careful that her occupation should not be suspected by servants or visitors or any persons beyond her own family party. She wrote upon small sheets of paper which could easily be put away or covered with a piece of blotting paper. There was, between the front door and the offices, a swing door which creaked when it was opened, but she objected to having this little inconvenience remedied because it gave her notice when anyone was coming. She was not, however, troubled with companions like her own Mrs. Allen in Northanger Abbey, whose vacancy of mind and incapacity for thinking were such that, as she never talked a great deal, so she could never be entirely silent, and therefore while she sat at work, if she lost her needle or broke her thread or saw a speck of dirt on her gown, she must observe it, whether there were any one at leisure to answer her or not. In that well-occupied female party there must have been many precious hours of silence during which the pen was busy at the little mahogany writing desk, while Fanny Price, or Emma Woodhouse, or Anne Elliot, was growing into beauty and interest. I have no doubt that I and my sisters and cousins in our visits to Chotten frequently disturbed this mystic process without having any idea of the mischief that we were doing. Certainly we never should have guessed it by any signs of impatience or irritability in the writer. As so much had been previously prepared, when once she began to publish her works came out in quick succession. Sense and sensibility was published in 1811, Pride and Prejudice at the beginning of 1813, Mansfield Park in 1814, Emma, early in 1816, Northanger Abbey and Persuasion did not appear till after her death in 1818. It will be shown farther on why Northanger Abbey, though amongst the first written, was one of the last published. Her first three novels were published by Egerton, her last three by Murray. The profits of the four which had been printed before her death had not at that time amounted to seven hundred pounds. I have no record of the publication of Sense and Sensibility, nor of the author's feelings at this, her first appearance before the public, but the following extracts from three letters to her sister give a lively picture of the interest with which she watched the reception of Pride and Prejudice, and show the carefulness with which she corrected her compositions and rejected much that had been written. CHARTON, FRIDAY, JANUARY 29, 1813 I hope you received my little parcel by Jay Bond on Wednesday evening, my dear Cassandra, and that you will be ready to hear from me again on Sunday, for I feel that I must write to you to-day. I want to tell you that I have got my own darling child from London. On Wednesday I received one copy sent down by Falkner, with three lines from Henry to say that he had given another to Charles and sent a third by the coach to Godmusham. The advertisement is in our paper to-day for the first time. Eighteen Schillings. He shall ask one pound one Schilling for my two next, and one pound eight Schillings for my stupidest of all. Miss B. dined with us on the very day of the books coming, and in the evening we fairly sat at it, and would half the first volume to her, prefacing that, having intelligence from Henry that such a work would soon appear, we had desired him to send it whenever it came out, and I believe it passed with her unsuspected. She was amused both all—that she could not help, you know, with two such people to lead the way, but she really does seem to admire Elizabeth. I must confess that I think her as delightful a creature has ever appeared in print, and how I shall be able to tolerate those who do not like her, at least I do not know. There are a few typical errors, and a said he or a said she would sometimes make the dialogue more immediately clear, but I do not right for such dull elves, as have not a great deal of ingenuity themselves. The second volume is shorter than I could wish, but the difference is not so much in reality as in look. There being a larger proportion of narrative in that part. I have lopped and cropped so successfully, however, that I imagine it must be rather shorter than sense and sensibility altogether. Now I will try and write if something else. CHOTEN, THURSDAY, FEB. 4, 1813 My dear Cassandra, your letter was truly welcome, and I am much obliged to you for all your praise. It came at a right time, for I had had some fits of disgust. Our second evening's reading to Miss B. had not pleased me so well, but I believe something must be attributed to my mother's too rapid way of getting on, though she perfectly understands the characters herself, she cannot speak as they ought. From the whole, however, I am quite vain enough and well satisfied enough. The work is rather too light and bright and sparkling. It wants shade. It wants to be stretched out here and there with a long chapter of sense, if it could be had. If not, of solemn specious nonsense, about something unconnected with the story, an essay on writing, a critique on Walter Scott, or the history of Bonaparte, or something that would form a contrast, and bring the reader with increased delight to the playfulness and epigrammatism of the general style. The greatest blunder in the printing that I have met with is in page 220, volume 3, where two speeches are made into one. There might as well be no suppers at long-born, but I suppose it was the remains of Mrs. Bennet's old merit and habits. The following letter seems to have been written soon after the last two, in February 1813. This will be a quick return for yours, my dear Cassandra. I doubt it's having much else to recommend it, but there is no saying. It may turn out to be a very long and delightful letter. I am exceedingly pleased that you can say what you do, after having gone through the whole work, and Fanny's praise is very gratifying. My hopes were tolerably strong of her, but nothing like a certainty. Her liking Darcy and Elizabeth is enough. She might hate all the others, if she would. I have her opinion under her own hand this morning, but your transcript of it, which I read first, was not, and is not, the less acceptable. To me it is, of course, all praise, but the more exact truth which she sends you is good enough. Our party on Wednesday was not unagreeable, though we wanted a master of the house less anxious, infidity, and more conversable. Upon Mrs. Bennet's mention that she had sent the rejected addresses to Mrs. H, I began talking to her a little about them, and expressed my hope of Vera having amused her. Her answer was, oh, dear yes, very much, very droll indeed, the opening of the house, and the striking up of the fiddles. What she meant, poor woman, who shall say? I sought no farther. As soon as a wist party was formed, and a round table threatened, I made my mother an excuse and came away, leaving just as many for their round table as there were at Mrs. Grant's. I wish they might be as agreeable a set. My mother is very well, and finds great amusement and gloven knitting, and at present wants no other work. We quite run over with books. She has got Sir John Carr's travels in Spain, and I am reading a Society Octovo, an essay on the military police and institutions of the British Empire, by Captain Thaisley of The Engineers, a book which I protested against at first, but which upon trial I find delightfully written and highly entertaining. I am as much in love with the author as I ever was with Clarkson or Buchanan, or even the two Mr. Smiths of the city. The first soldier I ever sighed for, but he does write with extraordinary force and spirit. Yesterday moreover, brought us Mrs. Grant's letters with Mr. White's compliments, but I have disposed of them, compliments and all, to Miss P., and amongst so many readers or retainers of the books as we have in Chardon, I dare say there will be no difficulty in getting rid of them for another fortnight, if necessary. I have disposed of Mrs. Grant for the second fortnight to Mrs. N. It can make no difference to her which of the twenty-six fortnights in the year the three volumes lie on her table. I have been applied to for information as to the oath taken in former times, a bell, book, and candle, but have none to give. Perhaps you may be able to learn something of its origin where you now are. Ladies who read those enormous, great, stupid, thick, quarter volumes, which one always sees in the breakfast-pillar there, must be acquainted with everything in the world. I detest a quarter. Captain Thaisley's book is too good for their society. They will not understand a man who condenses his thoughts into an octavo. I have learned from Sir J. Carr that there is no government house at Gibraltar. I must alter it to the commissioners. The following letter belongs to the same year but treats of a different subject. It describes a journey from Chardon to London in her brother's critical, and shows how much could be seen and enjoyed in course of a long summer's day by leisurely travelling amongst scenery, which the traveller in an express train now rushes through in little more than an hour but scarcely sees at all. Sloan Street, Thursday, May 20, 1813 My dear Cassandra, before I say anything else, I claim a paper full of half-pence on the drawing-room mantelpiece. I put them there myself, and forgot to bring them with me. I cannot say that I have yet been in any distress for money, but I choose to have my do as well as the devil. How lucky we were in our weather yesterday! This wet morning makes one more sensible of it. We had no rain of any consequence. The head of the coracle was put half up three or four times, but our share of the showers was very trifling, though they seemed to be heavy all round us when we were on the hog's back, and I fancied it might then be raining so hard at Chardon as to make you feel for us much more than we deserved. Three hours into quarter took us to Goldfoot, where we stayed barely two hours and had only just time enough for all we had to do there, that is, eating a long and comfortable breakfast, watching the carriages, paying Mr. Harrington, and taking a little stroll afterwards. From some views which that stroll gave us, I think most highly of the situation of Guildford. We wanted all our brothers and sisters to be standing with us in the bowling-green, and looking towards Horsham. I was very lucky in my gloves, got them at the first shop I went to, though I went into it rather because it was near than because it looked at all like a glove-shop, and gave only four shillings for them, after which everybody at Chotten will be hoping and predicting that they cannot be good for anything, and their worth certainly remained to be proved. But I think they look very well. We left Guildford at twenty minutes before twelve, I hope somebody cares for these minutiae, and were at Ayrshire in about two hours more. I was very much pleased with the country in general, between Guildford and Ripley I thought a particularly pretty, also about Paines Hill, and from a Mr. Spice's grounds at Ayrshire, which we walked into before dinner, the views were beautiful. I cannot say what we did not see, but I should think there could not be a wood, or a meadow, or palace, or remarkable spot in England that was not spread out before us on one side or another. Claremont is going to be sold. Eh! Mr. Ellis has it now. It is a house that seems never to have prospered. After dinner we walked forward to be overtaken at the coachman's time, and before he did overtake us we were very near Kingston. I fancy it was about half past six when we reached this house, a twelve-hours business, and the horses did not appear more than reasonably tired. I was very tired too, and glad to get to bed early, but in quite well to-day. I am very snug in the front drawing-room all to myself, and would not say thank you for any company but you. The quietness of it does me good. I have contrived to pay my two visits, though the weather made me a great while about it, and left me only a few minutes to sit with Charlotte Craven. She looks very well, and her hair is done up with an elegance to do credit to her education. Her manners are as unaffected and pleasing as ever. She had heard from her mother to-day. Mrs. Craven spends another fortnight at Chilton. I saw nobody but Charlotte which pleased me best. I was shown upstairs into a drawing-room where she came to me, and the appearance of the room so totally on school-like amused me very much. It was full of modern elegancies. It was very effectively J.A. The next letter, written in the following year, contains an account of another journey to London, with her brother Henry, and reading with him the manuscript of Mansfield Park. Henrietta Street, Wednesday, March 2, 1814 My dear Cassandra, you were wrong in thinking of us at Guildford last night. We were at Cobham. Under reaching G. we found that John and the Horses were gone on. We therefore did no more than we had done at Farnham. Sit in the carriage while fresh horses were put in, and proceeded directly to Cobham, which we reached by seven, and about eight were sitting down to a very nice roast-fowl. We had altogether a very good journey, and everything at Cobham was comfortable. I could not pay Mr. Harrington. That was the only alas of the business. I shall therefore return his bill and my mother's to L, that you may try your luck. We did not begin reading till Bentley Green. Henry's approbation is hitherto even equal to my wishes. He says it is different from the other two, but does not appear to think it at all inferior. He has only married Mrs. R. I am afraid he has gone through the most entertaining part. He took to Lady B and Mrs. N. most kindly, and gives great praise to the drawing of the characters. He understands them all, likes Fanny, and, I think, foresees how it will all be. I finished the heroine last night, and was very much amused by it. I wondered James did not like it better. It diverted me exceedingly. We went to bed at ten. I was very tired, but slept to a miracle, and am lovely to-day, and at present Henry seemed to have no complaint. We left Cobham at half-past eight, stopped to bait and breakfast at Kingston, and were in this house considerably before too. Nice smiling Mr. Barlow met us at the door, and, in reply to inquiries after news, said that peace was generally expected. I have taken possession of my bedroom, unpacked my bandbox, sent Miss P.'s two letters to the two-penny post, then visited by Mr. B, and am now writing by myself at the new table in the front room. It is snowing. We had some snowstorms yesterday, and a smart frost at night, which gave us a hard road from Cobham to Kingston, but as it was then getting dirty and heavy, Henry had a pair of litres put on to the bottom of Sloan Street. His own horses, therefore, cannot have had hard work. I watched for veils as we drove through the streets, and had the pleasure of seeing several upon vulgar heads. And now, how do you all do, you in particular? After the worry of yesterday and the day before, I hope Martha had a pleasant visit again, and that you and my mother could eat your beef pudding. Depend upon my thinking of the chimney-sweeper as soon as I wake to-morrow, places are secured at Dury Lane for Saturday, but so great is the rage for seeing keen that only a third and fourth row could be got. As it is in a front box, however, I hope we shall do pretty well. Shylock, a good play for Fanny. She cannot be much affected, I think. Mrs. Perrigan has just been there. She tells me that we owe her master for the silk-dying. My poor muslin has never been dyed yet. It has been promised to be done several times. What wicked people-dyers are! They begin with dipping their own souls in scarlet sin. It is evening. We have drank tea, and have torn through the third volume of the heroine. I do not think it falls off. It is a delightful burlesque, particularly on the Radcliffe style. Henry is going on with Mansfield Park. He admires H. Crawford. I mean properly, as a clever, pleasant man. I tell you all the good I can, as I know how much you will enjoy it. We hear that Mr. Keane is more admired than ever. There are no good places to be got in Drury Lane for the next fortnight, but Henry means to secure some for Saturday fortnight, when you are reckoned upon. Give my love to little Cass. I hope she found my bed comfortable last night. I have seen nobody in London yet with such a long chin as Dr. Syntax, nor anybody quite so large as Gog McCollochus. Yours effectively, J. Austin. CHAPTER VII. SECLUTION FROM THE LITERARY WORLD NOTICE FROM THE PRINCE REGENT CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR. SUGGESTIONS TO ALTER HER STYLE OF WRITING Jane Austen lived an entire seclusion from the literary world. Neither by correspondence nor by personal intercourse was she known to any contemporary authors. It is probable that she never was in company with any person whose talents or whose celebrity equaled her own, so that her powers never could have been sharpened by collision with superior intellects. Nor her imagination aided by their casual suggestions. Whatever she produced was a genuine homemade article. Even during the last two or three years of her life, when her works were rising in the estimation of the public, they did not enlarge the circle of her acquaintance. Few of her readers knew even her name, and none knew more of her than her name. I doubt whether it would be possible to mention any other author of note whose personal obscurity was so complete. I can't think of none like her, but of many to contrast with her, in that respect. Fanny Burnie, afterwards Madame d'Ablée, was at an early age petted by Dr. Janssen, and introduced to the wits and scholars of the day at the tables of Miss Israel and Sir Joshua Reynolds. Anna Silwood, in her self constituted shrine at Litchfield, would have been miserable had she not trusted that the eyes of all lovers of poetry would devoutly fix on her. Joanna Bailey and Maria Edgeworth were indeed far from cut in publicity. They loved the privacy of their own families, one with their brother and sister in their hamstered villa, the other in her more distanced retreat in Ireland. But Faine pursued them, and they were the favorite correspondents of Sir Walter Scott. Crabbe, who was usually buried in a country parish, yet sometimes visited London, and dined at Holland House, and was received as a fellow poet by Campbell, Moore, and Rogers, and on one memorable occasion he was Scott's guest at Edinburgh, engaged with wandering eyes on the incongruous pageantry with which George IV was entertained in that city, even those great writers who hid themselves amongst lakes and mountains associated with each other. And though little seen by the world was so much in its thoughts that a new term Lakers was coined to designate them, the chief part of Charlotte's Bronte's life was spent in a wild solitude, compared with which Stevenson and Charlton might be considered to be in the gay world, and yet she attained a personal distinction which never fought James Lott. When she visited her kind publisher in London, literary men and women were invited purposely to meet her. Thackeray bestowed upon her the honor of his notice, and once, in Willis's rooms, she had to walk shy and trembling through an avenue of lords and ladies, drawn up for the purpose of gazing at the author of Jane Eyre. Miss Mitford, too, lived quietly in our village, devoted her time and talents to the benefit of her father's casually worthy of her, but she did not live there unknown. Her tragedies gave her a name in London. She numbered Millman and Talford amongst her correspondents, and her works were the passport to the society of many who would not otherwise have sought her. Hundreds admired Miss Mitford on account of her writings for one who ever connected the idea of Miss Austen with the press. A few years ago, a gentleman visiting Winchester Cathedral desired to be shown Miss Austen's grave. The verger, as he pointed it out, asked, "'Praise her. Can you tell me whether there was anything particular about that lady? So many people want to know where she was buried.'" During her life, the ignorance of the verger was shared by most people. Few knew that there was anything particular about that lady. It was not till towards the close of her life, when the last of the works that she saw published was in the press, that she received the only mark of distinction ever bestowed upon her. And that was remarkable for the high porter once it emanated, rather than for any actual increase of fame that it conferred. It happened thus. In the autumn of 1815, she nursed her brother, Henry, through a dangerous fever and his local valescence at his house in Han's place. He was attended by one of the Prince Regent's physicians. All attempts to keep her name secret had at this time seized, and though it had never appeared on a title page, all who cared to know might easily learn it. And the friendly physician was aware that his patient's nurse was the author of Pride and Prejudice. Accordingly, he informed her one day that the Prince was a great admirer of her novels, that he read a muffin, and kept a set in every one of his residences, that he himself, therefore, had thought it writing from his royal highness that Miss Austin was staying in London, and that the Prince had desired Mr. Clark, the librarian of Carton Halls, to wait upon her. The next day, Mr. Clark made his appearance and invited her to Carton Halls, saying that he had the Prince's instructions to show her the library and other apartments and to pay her every possible attention. The invitation was, of course, accepted, and during the visit to Carton Halls, Mr. Clark declared himself commissioned to say that if Miss Austin had any other novel forthcoming, she was at liberty to dedicate it to the Prince. Accordingly, such dedication was immediately prefixed to Emma, which was at the time in the press. Mr. Clark was the brother of Dr. Clark, the traveler and mineralogist, whose life has been written by Bishop Otter. Jane found him not only a very courteous gentleman, but also a warm admirer of her talents, though it would be seen by his letters that he did not clearly apprehend the limits of her powers or the proper field for their exercise. The following correspondence took place between them. Feeling some apprehension, lest she should make a mistake in acting on the verbal permission which she had received from the Prince, Jane addressed the following letter to Mr. Clark. November 15, 1815 Sir, I must take the liberty of asking you a question. Among the many flattering attentions which I received from you at Carton Halls on Monday, lest was the information of my being at liberty to dedicate any future work to his royal highness, the Prince Regent, without the necessity of any solicitation on my part. Certainly, I believe to be your words, but as I am very anxious to be quite certain of what was intended, I even treated to have the goodness to inform me how such a permission is to be understood, and whether it is incumbent on me to show my sense of the honour by inscribing the work now in the press to his royal highness. I should be equally concerned to appear either presenters or ungrateful. The following gracious answer was returned by Mr. Clark, together with the suggestion which must have been received with some surprise. Carton Halls, November 16, 1815 Dear Madam, it is certainly not incumbent on you to dedicate your work now in the press to his royal highness, but if you wish to do the regent that honour, either now or at any future period, I am happy to send you that permission which need not require any more trouble or solicitation on your part. Your late works, Madam, and in particular Mansfield Park, reflect the highest honour on your genius and your principles. In every new work, your mind seems to increase its energy and power of discrimination. The regent has read and admired all your publications. Accept my best thanks for the pleasure your volumes have given me. In the perils of them, I fought a great inclination to write and say so, and I also, dear Madam, wish to be allowed to ask you to delineate in some future work the habits of life and character and enthusiasm of a clergyman who should pass his time between the metropolis and the country, who should be something like Biddy's maestro. Silent went glad, affectionate though shy, and in his looks was mostly merely sad, and now he left aloud he had known new why. Neither Goldsmith nor Lafontaine, in his tabloid for me, have in my mind quite delineated an English clergyman, at least of the present day, found of an entirely engaged in literature, no man's enemy but his own. Pray, dear Madam, think of these things. Believe me at all times with sincerity and respect, you are faithful and obliged servant, J.S. Clark, librarian. The following letter, written in reply, will show how unequal the author of Pride and Prejudice felt herself to delineate an enthusiastic clergyman of the present day who should resemble Biddy's maestro. December 11th Dear Sir, my Emma is now so near publication that I feel the right to assure you of my not having forgotten your kind recommendation of an early copy for Colton House and that I have Mr. Murray's promise of its being sent to His Royal Highness undercover to you three days previous to the work being really out. I must make use of this opportunity to thank you, dear Sir, for the very high praise bestowed on my other novels. I am too vain to wish to convince you that you haven't praised them beyond their merits. My greatest anxiety at present is that this fourth work should not disgrace what was good in the others. But on this point I would do myself the justice to declare that, whatever may be my wishes for its success, I am strongly haunted with the idea that to those readers who have preferred Pride and Prejudice, it will appear inferior in width and to those who have preferred Mansfield Park, inferior in good sense. Such as it is, however, I hope you will do me the favor of accepting a copy. Mr. Murray will have directions for sending one. I am quite honored by your thinking incapable of drawing such a clergyman as you gave the sketch of in your note of November 16th, but I assure you I am not. The common part of the character may be equal to, but not the good, the enthusiastic, the literary. Such a man's conversation must at times be on subjects of science and philosophy, of which I know nothing, or at least be occasionally abundant in quotations and allusions, which a woman who, like me, knows only her own mother tongue and has read little in that, would be totally without the power of giving. A classical education, or at any rate a very extensive acquaintance with English literature, ancient and modern, appears to me quite indispensable for the person who would do any justice to your clergyman. And I think I may boast myself to be, with all possible vanity, the most unlearned and uninformed female who ever dared to be unauthorized. Believe me, dear sir, your obliged and faithful humble servant, Jane Austen. Mr. Clark, however, was not to be discouraged from proposing another subject. He had recently been appointed chaplain and private English secretary to Prince Leopold, who was then about to be united to the princess Charlotte, and when he again wrote to express the gracious thanks of the prince regent for the copy of Emma, which had been presented, he suggested that an historical romance illustrative of the August House of Coburg would just now be very interesting and might very properly be dedicated to Prince Leopold. This was much as if Sir William Ross had been set to paint a great battle piece, and it is amusing to see with what grave civility she declined a proposal which must have struck her as ludicrous in the following letter. My dear sir, I am honored by the princess' thanks and very much obliged to yourself for the kind manner in which you mentioned the work. I have also to acknowledge a formal letter awarded to me from Han's place. I assure you I felt very grateful for the friendly tenor of it and hope my silence will have been considered, as it was truly meant, to proceed only from an unwillingness to tax your time with idle thanks. Under every interesting circumstance with which your own talents and literary labors have placed you in, or the favor of the regent bestowed, you have my best wishes. Your recent appointments, I hope, are a step to something still better. In my opinion, the service of a court can hardly be too well paid, for immense must be the sacrifice of time and feeling required by it. You are very kind in your hands as to the sort of composition which might recommend me yet present, and I am fully sensible that an historical romance, founded on the house of Saxe Coburg, might be much more to the purpose of profit and popularity than such pictures of domestic life in country villages as I deal in. But I could no more write a romance than an epic poem. I could not sit seriously down to write a serious romance under any other motive than to save my life, and if it were indispensable for me to keep it up and have a relaxed into laughing at myself or at other people, I am sure I should be hung before I had finished the first chapter. No, I must keep to my own style and go on in my own way, and though I may never succeed again in that, I am convinced that I should totally fail in any other. I remain, my dear sir, your very much obliged and sincere friend, J. Austin. CHALTON, NEAR ALTON, APRIL 1, 1816 Mr. Clark should have recollected the warning of the wise man, force not the course of the river. If you divert it from the channeling which nature taught it to flow and force it into one arbitrary cut by yourself, you will lose its grace and beauty. But when his free course is not hindered, he makes sweet music with the animal stones. Given a gentle kiss to Avis said, he overtakeeth in his pilgrimage, and so by many winding nooks his strays with willing sport. All writers of fiction, who have geniuses strong enough to work out a course of their own, resist every attempt to interfere with its direction. No two writers could be more unlike each other than J. Austin and Charlotte Bronte, so much so that the latter was unable to understand why the former was admired and confessed that she herself should hardly like to live with her ladies and gentlemen in the elegant but confined houses. But each writer equally resisted interference with their own natural style of composition. Miss Bronte, in reply to a friendly critic, who had warned her against being too melodramatic and had ventured to propose Miss Austin's works to her as a study, writes this. Whenever I do write another book, I think I will have nothing of what you called melodrama. I think so, but I am not sure. I think, too, I will endeavor to follow the counsel which shines out of Miss Austin's mild eyes to finish more and be more subdued. But neither am I sure of that. When authors write best, or at least when they write most fluently, an influence seems to awaken in them which becomes their master, which will have its way, putting out a view all behest but its own, dictating certain words and insisting on their being used, whether vehement or measured in their nature, new-molding characters, given a thought of turns of incidents, rejecting carefully elaborated old ideas, and suddenly creating and adopting new ones. Is it not so? And should we try to counteract this influence? Can we indeed counteract it? The playful radially with which the one parries an attack on her liberty and the vehement eloquence of the other in pleading the same cause and maintaining the independence of genius are very characteristic of the minds of the respective writers. The suggestions which Jane received as to the sort of story that she ought to write were, however, an amusement to her, though they were not likely to prove useful. And she has left amongst her papers, one entitled, Plan of a Novel, according to hints from various quarters. The names of some of those advisors are written on the margin of the manuscript opposite to their respective suggestions. Herring, to be the daughter of a clergyman, who after having lived much in the world, had retired from it and settled on a curiosity with a very small fortune of his own. The most excellent man that can be imagined, perfect in character, temper, and manner, without the smallest drawback or peculiarity to prevent his being the most delightful companion to his daughter from one year's end to the other. Herring fought less in character, beautiful in person, and possessing every possible accomplishment. Booked to open with father and daughter conversing in long speeches, elegant language, and a tone of high-series sentiment. The father induced, at his daughter's earnest request, to relate to her the past events of his life. Narrative to reach through the greater part of the first volume, as besides all the circumstances of his attachment to her mother and their marriage, it will comprehend his going to see as chaplain to a distinguished neighbor character about the court, and his going afterwards to court himself, which involved him in many interesting situations, concluding with his opinion of the benefits of ties being done away with. From this outset the story will proceed and contain a striking variety of adventures. Father, an exemplary parish priest, and devoted to literature, but Herring and father were never above a fortnight in one place, he being driven from his curiosity by the vile arts of some totally unprincipled and heartless young men, desperately in love with the Herring, and pursuing Herring with their unrelenting passion. No sooner sat alone in one country of Europe, than they are compelled to quit it and retire to another, always making new acquaintance, and always obliged to leave them. This will, of course, exhibit the wide variety of character. This scene will be forever shifting from one set of people to another, but there will be no mixture, all the good will be unexceptionable in every respect. There will be no foibles or weaknesses, but with a wicked, who will be completely depraved and infamous, hardly resemblance of humanity left in them. Early in her career, the Herring must meet with the hero, all perfection, of course, and only prevented from paying his addresses to her by some excess of refinement. Wherever she goes, somebody falls in love with her, and she receives repeated offers of marriage, which she refers wholly to her father, exceedingly angry that he should not be the first applied to, often carried away by the anti-hero, by rescued either by her father or the hero, often reduced to support herself and her father by her talents and work for her bread, continually cheated and defolded of her hire, worn down to skeleton, and now in the install to death. At last, hunted out of civilized society, denied the poor shelter of the humblest cottage, they are compelled to retreat into Kam's Chaktika, where the poor father, quite worn down, finding his end-approaching, throws himself from the ground, and after four or five hours of tender advice and parental admonition to his miserable child, expires in a fine burst of literary enthusiasm, intermingled with invectives, against the holders of tithes. Heroine inconsolable for some time, but afterwards crawls back towards her former country, having at least twenty narrow escapes of falling to the hands of anti-hero. And at last, in the very nick of time, turning a corner to avoid him, runs into the arms of the hero himself, who, having just shaken off the scruples which fettered him before, was, at the very moment, setting off in pursuit of her. The tenderest and completed Syclercy's amour takes place, and they are happily united, throughout the whole work herring to be in the most elegant society, and living in high style. Since the first publication of this memoir, Mr. Murray of Auburn Mall Street has very kindly sent to me copies of the following letters, which his father received from Jane Austen, when engaged in the publication of Emma. The increasing cordiality of the letters shows that the author felt that her interests were duly cared for, and was glad to find herself in the hands of a publisher, whom she could consider as a friend. Her brother had addressed to Mr. Murray a strong complaint of the tiredness of the printer. 23 Hans Place, Thursday, November 23, 1815 Sir, my brother's note last Monday has been so fruitless that I am afraid there can be but little chance of my writing to any good effect. But yet, I am so very much disappointed and vexed by the delays of the printers that I cannot help begging to know whether there is no hope of their being quickened. Instead of their work being ready by the end of the present month, it will hardly, as written we now proceed, be finished by the end of the next. And as I expect to leave London early in December, it is of consequence that no more time should be lost. Is it likely that the printers will be influenced to greater dispatch and punctuality by knowing that the work is to be dedicated by permission to the Prince Regent? If you can make that circumstance operate, I shall be very glad. My brother returns waterly with many thanks for the low end of it. We have heard much of Scott's account of Paris. If it be not incompatible with other arrangements, would you favour us with it, supposing you have any set already opened? You may depend upon its being careful Hans. I remain, sir, your obstinate humble servant, J. Austin. Hans plays December 11th, 1815. Dear sir, as I find that Emma is advertised for publication as early as Saturday next, I think it best to lose no time in settling all that remains to be settled on the subject and adopt this method as involved in the smallest tax on your time. In the first place, I beg you to understand that I leave the terms on which the trade should be supplied with the work entirely to your judgment in treating you to be guided in every such arrangement by your own experience of what is most likely to clear off the decision rapidly. I shall be satisfied with whatever you feel to be best. The title page must be Emma, dedicated by permission to His Royal Highness the Prince Regent And it is my particular wish that one such should be completed and sent to His Royal Highness two or three days before the work is generally public. It should be sent under cover to Reverend J. S. Clarke, Librarian, Colton House. I shall also join a list of those persons to whom I must trouble you to forward also set each when the work is out, all unbound from the author's and the first page. I return you with very many thanks the books you have so obligingly supplied me with. I am very sensible, I assure you, of the tension you have paid to my convenience and amusement. I return also Mansfield Park as ready for a second edition I believe as I can make it. I am in hands placed to the sixteenth. From that day, inclusive, my direction will be chotton, altered hands. I remain, dear sir, your faithful humble servant, J. Austin. I wish you would have the goodness to send a line by the bearer, stating the day on which the set will be ready for the Prince Regent. Hands placed December eleventh, 1815. Dear sir, I am much obliged by yours and very happy to feel everything arranged to our mutual satisfaction. As to my direction about the title page, it was arising from my ignorance only and from my having never noticed the proper place for dedication. I thank you for putting me right. Any deviation from what is usually done in such cases is the last thing I should wish for. I feel happy in having a friend to save me from the ill effect of my own blunder. Yours, dear sir, etc., J. Austin. Chotton, April first, 1816. Dear sir, I return you the quarterly review with many thanks. The authoress of Emma has no reason, I think, to complain of her treatment in it, except in the total omission of Mansfield Park. I cannot but be sorry that so clever a man as a reviewer of Emma should consider it as unworthy of being noticed. You will be pleased to hear that I have received the prince's thanks for the handsome copy I sent him of Emma. Whatever he may think of my share of the work, yours seems to have been quite right. In consequence of the late event in Harriet Street, I must request that if you should at any time have anything to communicate by letter, you will be so good as to write by the post directing to me, Miss J. Austin. Chotton, dear Alton, and that for anything of a larger bulk, you will add to the same direction by Collier Samton coach. I remain, dear sir, yours very faithfully, J. Austin. About the same time the following letters passed between the Countess of Morley and the writer of Emma. I do not know whether they were personally acquainted with each other, nor in what disinterchange of civilities originated. The Countess of Morley to Miss J. Austin. Chotton, December 27th, 1815 Madam, I have been most anxiously waiting for an introduction to Emma, and I am infinitely obliged to you for your kind recollection of me, which will procure me the pleasure of your acquaintance some day sooner than I should otherwise have had it. I am already become intimate with the Woodhouse family and feel that they will not amuse and interest me less than the Bennets, Bertrams, Norises, and all their admirable predecessors. I can give them no higher praise. I am, Madam, your much obliged, F. Morley. Miss J. Austin to the Countess of Morley. Madam, accept my thanks for the honor of your note and for your kind disposition in favor of Emma. In my present state of doubt as to her reception in the world, it is particularly gratifying to me to receive so early an assurance of her ladyship's approbation. It encourages me to depend on the same share of general a good opinion which Emma's predecessors have experienced, and to believe that I have not yet, as almost every writer fancy the sooner or later, overwritten myself. I am, Madam, your obliged and faithful servant, J. Austin, December 31st, 1815. End of Chapter 7. Chapter 8 Of Memoir of Jane Austin This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Leanne Howlett. Memoir of Jane Austin by James Edward Austin Lee. Chapter 8 Slow growth of her fame, ill success of first attempts at publication, two reviews of her works contrasted. Seldom has any literary reputation been of such slow growth as that of Jane Austin. Readers of the present day know the rank that is generally assigned to her. They have been told by Archbishop Watley in his review of her works and by Lord McCauley in his review of Madame Darblaze the reason why the highest place is to be awarded to Jane Austin as a truthful drawer of character and why she is to be classed with those who have approached nearest in that respect to the great master Shakespeare. They see her safely placed by such authorities in her niche not indeed amongst the highest orders of genius but in one confessedly her own and our British temple of literary fame and it may be difficult to make them believe how coldly her works were at first received and how few readers had any appreciation of their peculiar merits. Sometimes a friend or neighbor who chanced to know of our connection with the author would condescend to speak with moderate approbation sense and sensibility or pride and prejudice but if they had known that we and our secret thoughts classed her with Madame Darblaze or Miss Edgeworth or even with some other novel writers of the day whose names are now scarcely remembered they would have considered it an amusing instance of family conceit. To the multitude her works appeared tame and commonplace poor in coloring and sadly deficient in incident and interest. It is true that we were sometimes cheered by hearing that a different verdict had been pronounced by more competent judges. We were told how some great statesman or distinguished poet held these works in high estimation. We had the satisfaction of believing that they were most admired by the best judges and comforted ourselves with Horace's satis equitum, Mihi Pader. So much was this the case that one of the ablest men of my acquaintance said and that kind of jest which is made earnest in it that he had established it in his own mind as a new test of ability whether people could or could not appreciate Miss Austen's merits. But those such golden opinions were now and then gathered in yet the wide field of public taste yielded no adequate return either in praise or profit. Her reward was not to be the quick return of the cornfield but the slow growth of the tree endured to another generation. Her first attempts at publication were very discouraging. In November 1797 her father wrote the following letter to Mr. Cadel. Sir, I have in my possession a manuscript novel comprising three volumes about the length of Miss Bernie's Avelina. As I am well aware of what consequence it is that a work of this sort should make its first appearance under a respectable name I apply to you. I shall be much obliged, therefore, if you will inform me whether you choose to be concerned in it, what will be the expense of publishing it at the author's risk, and what you will venture to advance for the property of it if on perusal it is approved of. Should you give any encouragement I will send you the work. I am, sir, your humble servant George Austen, Steventon, near Overton, in November 1797. This proposal was declined by return of post. The work thus summarily rejected must have been pride and prejudice. The fate of Northanger Abbey was still more humiliating. It was sold in 1803 to a publisher in Bath for ten pounds, but it found so little favor in his eyes that he chose to abide by his first lost rather than risk farther expense It seems to have lain for many years unnoticed in his drawers somewhat as the first chapters of Waverly looked forgotten amongst the old fishing tackle in Scott's cabinet. Tilney's, Thorpe's, and Moreland's consigned apparently to eternal oblivion. But when four novels of steadily increasing success had given the writer some confidence in herself, she wished to recover the copyright of this early work. One of her brothers undertook the negotiation. He found the purchaser very willing to receive back his money and to resign all claim to the copyright. When the bargain was concluded and the money paid, but not till then, the negotiator had the satisfaction of informing him that the work which had been so lightly esteemed was by the author of pride and prejudice. I do not think that she was herself much mortified by the want of early success. She wrote for her own amusement. Money, though acceptable, was not necessary for the moderate expenses of her quiet home. Above all, she was blessed with a cheerful contented disposition and a humble mind. And so lowly did she esteem her own claims that when she received 150 pounds from the sale of sense and sensibility, she considered it a prodigious recompense for that which had cost her nothing. It cannot be supposed, however, that she was altogether insensible to the superiority of her own workmanship over that of some contemporaries who were then enjoying a brief popularity. Indeed, a few touches in the following extracts from two of her letters show that she was as quick-sighted to absurdities and composition as to those in living persons. Mr. C's opinion has gone down in my list, but as my paper relates only to Mansfield Park, I may fortunately excuse myself from entering Mr. D's. I will redeem my credit with him for the imitation of self-control as soon as I can. I will improve upon it. My heroine shall not only be wafted down an American river in a boat by herself, she shall cross the Atlantic in the same way and never stop till she reaches Gravesend. We have got Rosanne in our society and find it much as you describe it, very good and clever, but tedious. Mrs. Hawkins' great excellence is on serious subjects. There are thoughtful conversations and reflections on religion, but on lighter topics I think she falls into many absurdities and as to love, her heroine has very comical feelings. There are a thousand improbabilities in the story. Do you remember the two Ms. Ormston's introduced just at last? Very flat and unnatural. Mademoiselle Cussart is rather my passion. Two notices of her works appeared in 2015 and another more than three years after her death in January 1821. The latter article is known to have been from the pen of Watley afterwards Archbishop of Dublin. They differ much from each other in the degree of praise which they award and I think also it may be said in the ability with which they are written. The first bestows some approval, but the other expresses the warmest admiration. One can scarcely be satisfied the critical acumen of the former writer who, in treating of sense and sensibility, takes no notice whatever of the vigor with which many of the characters are drawn but declares that the interest and merit of the piece depends all together upon the behavior of the elder sister. Nor is he fair when in pride and prejudice he represents Elizabeth's change of sentiments towards Darcy as caused by the side of his house and grounds. But the chief discrepancy between the two reviewers is to be found in their appreciation of the commonplace and silly characters to be found in these novels. On this point the difference almost amounts to a contradiction such as one sometimes sees drawn up in parallel columns when it is desired to convict some writer or some statesman of inconsistency. The reviewer in 1815 says the faults of these works arise from the minute detail which the author's plan comprehends. Characters of folly or simplicity such as those of old Woodhouse and Miss Bates are ridiculous when first presented. But if too often brought forward or too long dwelt on their prosing is apt to become as tiresome in fiction as in real society. The reviewer in 1821 on the contrary singles out the fools as a special instances of the writer's abilities and declares that in this respect she shows a regard to character hardly exceeded by Shakespeare himself. These are his words. Like him, Shakespeare she shows as admirable a discrimination in the character of fools as of people of sense a merit which is far from common. To invent indeed a conversation full of wisdom or of wit requires that the writer should himself possess ability. But the converse does not hold good. It is no fool that can describe fools well and many who have succeeded pretty well in painting superior and painting superior characters have failed in giving individuality to those weaker ones which it is necessary to introduce in order to give a faithful representation of real life. They exhibit to us mere folly in the abstract forgetting that to the eye of the skillful naturalist the insects on a leaf present as wide differences as exist between the lion and the elephant. Slender and shallow and egg cheek as Shakespeare has painted them though equally fools resemble one another no more than Richard and Macbeth and Julius Caesar and Miss Dawson's Mrs. Bennett Mr. Rushworth and Miss Bates are no more alike than her Darcy Knightley and Edmund Bertram. Some have complained indeed of finding her fools too much like nature and consequently tiresome. There is no disputing about tastes all we can say is that such critics must whatever deference they may outwardly pay to receive opinions find the merry wives of Windsor and Twelfth Night very tiresome and that those who look with pleasure at Wilkie's pictures or those of the Dutch school must admit that excellence of imitation making for attraction on that which would be insipid or disagreeable in the reality. Her minuteness of detail has also been found fault with but even where it produces at the time a degree of tediousness we know not whether that can justly be reckoned a blemish which is absolutely essential to a very high excellence. Now it is absolutely impossible without this to produce that thorough acquaintance with the characters which is necessary to make the reader heartily interested in them. Let anyone cut out from the Iliad or from Shakespeare's plays everything we are far from saying that either might not lose some parts with advantage but let him reject everything which is absolutely devoid of importance and interest and he will find that what is left will have lost more than half its charms. We are convinced that some writers have diminished the effect of their works by being scrupulous to admit nothing into them which had not some absolute and independent merit. They have acted like those who strip off the leaves of a fruit tree as being of themselves good for nothing with the view of securing more nourishment to the fruit which in fact cannot attain its full maturity and flavor without them. The world, I think, has endorsed the opinion of the later writer that it would not be fair to set down the discrepancy between the two entirely to the discredit of the former. The fact is that in the course of the intervening five years these works have been read and re-read by many leaders in the literary world. The public taste was forming itself all this time and grew by what it fed on. These novels belong to a class which gain rather than lose by frequent perusals and it is probable that each reviewer represented fairly enough the prevailing opinions of readers in the year when each wrote. Since that time the testimonies in favor of Jane Austen's works have been continual and almost unanimous. They are frequently referred to as models nor have they lost their first distinction of being especially acceptable to minds of the highest order. I shall indulge myself by collecting into the next chapter instances of the homage paid to her by such persons. End of Chapter 8 Chapter 9 of Memoir of Jane Austen Chapter 9 of Memoir of Jane Austen This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Gemma Blythe Memoir of Jane Austen by James Edward Austen-Lee Chapter 9 Opinions expressed by eminent persons Opinions of others of less eminence Opinion of American readers Into this list of the admirers of my aunt's works I admit those only whose eminence will be universally acknowledged. No doubt the number might have been increased. Sothe in a letter to Sir Eckerton Bridges says You mentioned Miss Austen. Her novels are more true to nature and have, for my sympathies passages of finer feeling than any others of this age. She was a person of whom I have heard so well and think so highly that I regret not having had an opportunity of testifying to her the respect which I felt for her. It may be observed that Sothe had probably owed from his own family connections of the charm of her private character a friend of hers and daughter of Mr. Big Wither of many downbark near Basingstrobe was married to Sothe's uncle the reverend Herbert Hill who had been useful to his nephew in many ways and especially in supplying him with the means of attaining his extensive knowledge of Spanish and Portuguese literature. Mr. Hill had been chaplain to the British factory at Lisbon where Sothe visited him and had the use of a library of his which his uncle had collected. Sothe himself continually mentions his uncle Hill in terms of respect and gratitude. Estee Goldridge would sometimes burst out into high incomiums of Ms. Austin's novels as being in their way perfectly genuine and individual productions. I remember Ms. Mitford saying to me I would almost cut off one of my hands if it would enable me to write like you're armed with the other. The biographer of Sir J. Mappentard says, something recalled to his mind the traits of character which also delicately touched in Ms. Austin's novels. He said that there was genius in sketching out that new kind of novel. He was vexed for the credit of the Endenberg review that it had left her unnoticed. The quarterly had done her more justice. It was impossible for a foreigner to understand fully the merit of her works. Madame Dostoev, to whom he had recommended one of her novels, found no interest in it and in her note to him in reply said it was vulgar and yet he said nothing could be more true than what he wrote in answer. There is no book which that word would so little suit. Every village could furnish matter for a novel to Ms. Austin. She did not need the common materials strong emotions or strong incidents. It was not, however, quite impossible for a foreigner to appreciate these works. For Missouri Giseaux writes thus, I am a great novel reader and I seldom read German or French novels. The characters are too artificial. My delight is to read English novels, particularly those written by women. Say, too, on, tell de bras. Miss Ferrier, et cetera, from a school which in the excellence and profusion of its productions resembles the cloud of dramatic poets of the great Athenian age. In the keepsake of 1825 the following lines appeared written by Lord Morpeth afterwards seventh Earl of Carlisle and Lord Lieutenant of Ireland accompanying an illustration of a lady reading a novel Beats like wick-pulse or inch-bald's thrilling leaf Brunton's eye-moral Opie's deep wrought grief as the mild chaperone claimed thy yielding art Geralt's dark page Develion's gentle art or is it thou all-perfect Austin here let one poor wreath adorn thy early bear that scarce allow thy modest youth to claim its living portion of thy certain fame. Oh, Mrs. Bennet Mrs. Norris too while memory survives will dream of you and Mr. Woodhouse whose obstimous lip must thin but not too thin his gruel's zip Miss Bates, our idol though the village bore and Mrs. Elton oughtn't to explore while the clear style flows on without pretence with unstained purity as her heir approached the throne she called the rich an inheritance her own. The admiration felt by Lord Macaulay would probably have taken a very practical form if his life had been prolonged I have the authority of his sister Lady Trevalion for stating that he had intended to undertake the task upon which I have ventured he purposed to write a memoir of Miss Austin to prefix it to a new edition of her novels and from the proceeds of the sale to erect a monument to her memory in Winchester Castle Oh, that such an idea had been realized that portion of the plan in which Lord Macaulay's success would have been most certain might have been almost sufficient for his object a memoir written by him would have been a monument I am kindly permitted by Sir Henry Holland to print it but unpublished recollections of his past life I have the pictures still before me of Lord Holland lying on his bed when attacked with gout his admirable sister Miss Fox beside him reading aloud as she always did on these occasions some one of Miss Austin's novels of which he was never worried I well recollect the time when these charming novels almost unique in their style of humor burst suddenly on the world it was sad that their writer did not live to witness the growth of her fame my brother-in-law, Sir Dennis Limuschon has supplied me with the following anecdotes from his own recollections when I was a student at Trinity College Cambridge Mr. Wewell then a fellow and afterwards master of the college often spoke to me with admiration of Miss Austin's novels on one occasion I said that I had found persuasion rather dull he quite fired up in defense of that insisting that it was the most beautiful of her works this accomplished philosopher was deeply versed in works of fiction I recollect his writing to me from Carnivone where he had the charge of some pupils that he was weary of his day for he had read the circulating library twice through during a visit I paid to Lord Lansdowne at Bowwood in 1846 when a Miss Austin's novels became the subject of conversation and of praise especially from Lord Lansdowne who observed that one of the circumstances of his life which he looked back upon with vexation was that Miss Austin should once have been living some weeks in his neighborhood without his knowing it I have heard Sidney Smith more than once dwell with eloquence on the merits of Miss Austin's novels he told me he should have enjoyed giving her the pleasure of reading her praises in the Edinburgh review Fanny Price was one of his prime favorites I close this list of testimonies this long Katina Potrom with the remarkable words of Sir Walter Scott taken from his diary from March 14th 1826 read again at the time at least Miss Austin's finally written novel of pride and prejudice that young lady had a talent for describing the involvements and feelings and characters of ordinary life which is to me the most wonderful I ever met with the big farewell strain I can do myself like any now going but the exquisite touch which renders ordinary commonplace things and characters interesting from the truth and sentiment is denied to me what a pity such a gifted creature died so early the well-worn condition of Scott's own copy of these works a test that they were much read in his family when I visited Abbotsford a few years after Scott's death I was permitted as an unusual favor to take one of these volumes in my hands one cannot suppress the wish that she had lived to know what such men thought of her powers and how gladly they would have cultivated a personal acquaintance with her I do not think that it would at all have impaired the modest simplicity of her character or that we should have lost our own dear Aunt Jane in a blaze of literary fame it may be amusing to contrast with these testimonies from the great the opinions expressed by other readers of more ordinary intellect the author herself has left a list of criticisms that had been her amusement to collect through means of her friends this list contains much of warm-hearted sympathizing braids interspersed with some opinions which may be considered surprising one lady could say nothing better of Mansfield Park than it was a mere novel another owned that she thought sense and sensibility and brightened prejudice downright nonsense but expected to like Mansfield Park better and having finished the first volume hope that she had got through the worst another did not like Mansfield Park nothing interesting in the characters language poor one gentleman read the first and last chapters of Emma but did not look at the rest because he had been told that it was not interesting the opinions of another gentleman about Emma was so bad that they could not be reported to the author quite almonds, tots and thinsher 35 years after her death there came also a voice of praise from across the Atlantic in 1855 the following letter was received by her brothers of Francis Alston Boston, Massachusetts USA 6 January 1852 since high critical authority has pronounced the delineations of character in the works of Jane Alston second only to those of Shakespeare transatlantic admiration of her superfluous yet it may not be uninteresting to her family to receive an assurance that the influence of her genius is extensively recognized in the American Republic even by the highest judicial authorities the late Mr. Chief Justice Marshall of the Supreme Court of the United States and his associate Mr. Justice Story highly estimated and admired Ms. Alston and to them we owe our introduction to her society for many years her talents have brightened our daily path and her name and those of her characters are familiar to us as household words we have long wished to express to some of her family the sentiments of gratitude and affection she has inspired and request more information relative to her life than is given in the brief memoir Prefects to her works having accidentally that a brother of Jane Alston held a high rank in the British Navy we have obtained his address from our friend Admiral Wormley now resident in Boston and we trust this expression of our feeling will be received by our relations with the kindness and vanity characteristic of admirals of her creation Sir Francis Alston or one of his family would confer a great favour by complying with our request the autograph of his sister or a few lines in her handwriting would be placed among our chief treasures the family of a delight and the companionship of Jane Alston and who present this petition are of English origin their ancestor held a high rank among the first immigrants to New England and his name and character have been ably represented by his descendants in various public stations of trust and responsibility to the present time in the colony and state of Massachusetts a letter addressed to Miss Quincy care of the honourable Joshua Quincy Boston, Massachusetts would reach its destination Sir Francis Alston returned a suitable reply to this application and sent a long letter of his sisters which no doubt still occupies the place of honour promised by the Quincy family end of Chapter 9 recording by Gemma Blythe Chapter 10 of memoir of Jane Austen this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org memoir of Jane Austen by James Edward Austin Lee Chapter 10 Observations on the Novels it is not the object of these memoirs to attempt a criticism on Jane Austen's novels those particulars only have been noticed which could be illustrated by the circumstances of her own life but I now desire to offer a few observations on them and especially on one point on which my age renders me a competent witness the fidelity with which they represent the opinions and manners of the class of society in which the author lived early in this century they do this the more faithfully on account of the very deficiency with which they have been sometimes charged namely that they make no attempt to raise the standard of human life but merely represent it as it was they certainly were not written to support any theory or inculcate any particular moral except indeed the great moral which is to be equally gathered in the course of the course of actual life namely the superiority of high over low principles and of greatness over littleness of mind these writings are like photographs in which no feature is softened no ideal expression is introduced all is the unadorned reflection of the natural object and the value of such a faithful likeness must increase as time gradually works more and more changes in the face of society itself a remarkable instance of this is to be found in her portraiture of the clergy she was the daughter and the sister of clergymen who certainly were not low specimens of their order and she has chosen three of her heroes from that profession but no one in these days can think that either Edmund Bertram or Henry Tilney had adequate ideas of the duties of a parish minister such however were the opinions practiced then prevalent among respectable and conscientious clergymen before their minds had been stirred first by evangelical and afterwards by the high church movement which this century has witnessed the country may be congratulated which on looking back to such a fixed landmark can find that it has been advancing instead of receding from it the long interval that elapsed between the completion of Northanger Abbey in 1798 and the commencement of Mansfield Park in 1811 may sufficiently account for any difference of style which may be perceived between her three earlier and her three later productions if the former showed quite as much originality in genius they may perhaps be thought to have less of the faultless finish and high polish which distinguish the latter the characters of the John Dashwoods and the Thorps stand out from the canvas with a vigor and originality which cannot be surpassed but I think that in her last three works are to be found a greater refinement of taste a more nice sense of propriety and a deeper insight into the delicate anatomy of the human heart marking the difference between the brilliant girl and the mature woman far from being one of those who have overwritten themselves it may be affirmed that her fame would have stood on a narrower and less firm basis if she had not lived to resume her pen at Chaunton some persons have surmised that she took her characters from individuals with whom she had been acquainted they were so lifelike that it was assumed that they must have once lived and have been transferred bodily as it were into her pages but surely such a supposition betrays an ignorance of the high prerogative of genius to create out of its own resources imaginary characters who shall be true to nature and consistent in themselves perhaps however the distinction between keeping true to nature and servilely copying any one specimen of it is not always clearly apprehended it is indeed true both of the writer and of the painter that he can use only such liniments as exist and as he observed to exist in living objects otherwise he would produce monsters instead of human beings but in both it is the office of high art to mold these features into new combinations and to place them in the attitudes and impart to them the expressions which may suit the purposes of the artist so that they are nature but not exactly the same nature which had to come before his eyes just as honey can be obtained from natural flowers which the bee has sucked yet it is not a reproduction of the odor or flavor of any particular flower but becomes something different when it has gone through the process of transformation which that little insect is able to affect hence in the case of painters arises the superiority of original compositions over portrait painting Reynolds was exercising a higher faculty when he designed comedy and tragedy then when he merely took a likeness of that actor the same difference exists in writings between the original conceptions of Shakespeare and some other creative geniuses and such full length likenesses of individual persons the talking gentlemen for instance as are admirably drawn by Miss Mitford Jane Austen's powers whatever may be the degree in which she possessed them were certainly of that higher order she did not copy individuals but she invested her own creations with individuality of character a reviewer in the quarterly speaks of an acquaintance who ever since the publication of Pride and Prejudice had been called by his friends Mr. Bennett but the author did not know him her own relations never recognized any individual in her characters and I can call to mind several of her acquaintances whose peculiarities were very tempting and easy to be caricatured of whom there are no traces in her pages she herself when questioned on the subject by a friend expressed a dread of what she called such an invasion of social proprieties she said that she thought it quite fair to note peculiarities and weaknesses but that it was her desire to create not reproduce besides she added I am too proud of my gentlemen that they were only Mr. A or Colonel B she did not however suppose that her imaginary characters were of a higher order than are to be found in nature for she said when speaking of two of her great favorites Edmund Bertram and Mr. Knightley they are very far from being what I know English gentlemen often are she certainly took a kind of parental interest in the beings whom she had created and did not dismiss them from her thoughts when she had finished her last chapter we have seen in one of her letters her personal affection for Darcy and Elizabeth and when sending a copy of Emma to a friend whose daughter had been lately born she wrote thus I trust you will be as glad to see my Emma as I shall be to see your Jemima she was very fond of Emma but did not reckon on her being a general favorite for when commencing that work she said I am going to take a heroine whom no one but myself will much like she would if asked tell us many little particulars about the subsequent career of some of her people in this traditionary way we learned that Miss Steele never succeeded in catching the doctor that Kitty Bennet was satisfactorily married to a clergyman near Pemberley while Mary obtained nothing higher than one of her Uncle Phillips' clerks and was content to be considered a star in the Society of Maritain that the considerable sum given by Mrs. Norris to William Price was one pound that Mr. Woodhouse survived his daughter's marriage and kept her and Mr. Knightley from settling at Donwell about two years and that the letters placed by Frank Churchill before Jane Fairfax which she swept away unread contained the word pardon of the good people in North Enger Abbey and Persuasion more than what is written for before those works were published their author had been taken away from us and all such amusing communications had ceased forever End of Chapter 10