Memoir of Jane Austen

by Austen-Leigh, James Edward; Sutherland, Kathryn;

  S. T. Coleridge° would sometimes burst out into high encomiums of Miss Austen’s novels as being, ‘in their way, perfectly genuine and individual productions.’

  I remember Miss Mitford’s° saying to me: ‘I would almost cut off one of my hands, if it would enable me to write like your aunt with the other.’

  The biographer of Sir J. Mackintosh° says: ‘Something recalled to his mind the traits of character which are so delicately touched in Miss Austen’s novels … He said that there was genius in sketching out that new kind of novel … He was vexed for the credit of the “Edinburgh Review” that it had left her unnoticed.1… The “Quarterly” had done her more justice … It was impossible for a foreigner to understand fully the merit of her works. Madame de Staël,° 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 “vulgaire”: 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 Miss Austen. She did not need the common materials for a novel, strong emotions, or strong incidents.’2

  It was not, however, quite impossible for a foreigner to appreciate these works; for Mons. Guizot° writes thus: ‘I am a great novel reader, but I seldom read German or French novels. The characters are too artificial. My delight is to read English novels, particularly those written by women. “C’est toute une école de morale.” Miss Austen, Miss Ferrier, & c., form 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 thy quick pulse o’er Inchbald’s thrilling leaf,

  Brunton’s high moral, Opie’s deep wrought grief?

  Has the mild chaperon claimed thy yielding heart,

  Carroll’s dark page, Trevelyan’s gentle art?

  Or is it thou, all perfect Austen? Here

  Let one poor wreath adorn thy early bier,

  That scarce allowed thy modest youth to claim

  Its living portion of thy certain fame!

  Oh! Mrs. Bennet! Mrs. Norris too!

  While memory survives we’ll dream of you.

  And Mr. Woodhouse, whose abstemious lip

  Must thin, but not too thin, his gruel sip.

  Miss Bates, our idol, though the village bore;

  And Mrs. Elton, ardent to explore.

  While the clear style flows on without pretence,

  With unstained purity, and unmatched sense:

  Or, if a sister e’er approached the throne,

  She called the rich ‘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 Trevelyan, for stating that he had intended to undertake the task upon which I have ventured. He purposed to write a memoir of Miss Austen, with criticisms on her works, 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 Cathedral. Oh! that such an idea had been realised! 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 give the following quotation from his printed but unpublished recollections of his past life: —

  ‘I have the picture 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 Austen’s novels, of which he was never wearied. I well recollect the time when these charming novels, almost unique in their style of humour, 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 Denis Le Marchant,° has supplied me with the following anecdotes from his own recollections: —

  ‘When I was a student at Trinity College, Cambridge, Mr. Whewell,° then a Fellow and afterwards Master of the College, often spoke to me with admiration of Miss Austen’s novels. On one occasion I said that I had found “Persuasion” rather dull. He quite fired up in defence of it, 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 Caernarvon, where he had the charge of some pupils, that he was weary of his stay, for he had read the circulating library twice through.

  ‘During a visit I paid to Lord Lansdowne,° at Bowood, in 1846, one of Miss Austen’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 Austen should once have been living some weeks in his neighbourhood without his knowing it.

  ‘I have heard Sydney Smith,° more than once, dwell with eloquence on the merits of Miss Austen’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 favourites.’

  I close this list of testimonies, this long ‘Catena Patrum,’° with the remarkable words of Sir Walter Scott, taken from his diary for March 14, 1826:1 ‘Read again, for the third time at least, Miss Austen’s finely 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 Bow-Wow strain I can do myself like any now going; but the exquisite touch which renders ordinary common-place things and characters interesting from the truth of the description and the 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 attests 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 favour, 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 the 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° which it had been her amusement to collect, through means of her friends. This list contains much of warm-hearted sympathising praise, interspersed with some opinions which may be considered surprising.

  One lady could say nothing better of ‘Mansfield Park,’ than that it was ‘a mere novel.’

  Another owned that she thought ‘Sense and Sensibility’ and ‘Pride and Prejudice’ downright nonsense; but expected to like ‘Mansfield Park’ better, and having finished the first volume, hoped 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’ were so bad that they could not be reported to the author.

  ‘Quot homines, tot sententiæ.’°

  Thirty-five years after her death there came also a voice of praise from across the Atlantic. In 1852 the following letter was received by her brother Sir Francis Austen: —

  ‘Boston, Massachusetts, U.S.A.

  6th Jan. 1852.

  ‘Since high critical authority has pronounced the delineations of character in the works of Jane Austen second only to those of Sha
kspeare, transatlantic admiration appears superfluous; yet it may not be uninteresting to her family to receive an assurance that the influence of her genius is extensively recognised 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 Miss Austen, 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 prefixed to her works.

  ‘Having accidentally heard that a brother of Jane Austen 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 her relations with the kindness and urbanity characteristic of Admirals of her creation. Sir Francis Austen, 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 who delight in the companionship of Jane Austen, and who present this petition, are of English origin. Their ancestor held a high rank among the first emigrants 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 Quincey, care of the Honble Josiah Quincey, Boston, Massachusetts, would reach its destination.’

  Sir Francis Austen returned a suitable reply to this application; and sent a long letter of his sister’s,° which, no doubt, still occupies the place of honour promised by the Quincey family.

  CHAPTER X

  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 from an observation 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 and practice then prevalent among respectable and conscientious clergymen before their minds had been stirred, first by the 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 and 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, Mr. Collins, and the Thorpes stand out from the canvas with a vigour 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 over-written 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 Chawton.

  Some persons have surmised that she took her characters from individuals with whom she had been acquainted. They were so life-like that it was assumed that they must once have 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 lineaments as exist, and as he has 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 mould 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 come before his eyes; just as honey can be obtained only from the natural flowers which the bee has sucked; yet it is not a reproduction of the odour or flavour of any particular flower, but becomes something different when it has gone through the process of transformation which that little insect is able to effect. 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 contending for Garrick, than when he merely took a likeness of that actor.° The same difference exists in writings between the original conceptions of Shakspeare and some other creative geniuses, and such full-length likenesses of individual persons, ‘The Talking Gentleman’ 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. Bennet, but the author did not know him. Her own relations never recognised any individual in her characters; and I can call to mind several of her acquaintance 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 to reproduce; ‘besides,’ she added, ‘I am too proud of my gentlemen to admit 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 favourites, 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 favourite; 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 Philip’s clerks, and was content to be considered a star in the society of Meriton; 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 ‘Northanger Abbey’ and ‘Persuasion’ we know nothing 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 for ever.

  CHAPTER XI

  Declining health of Jane Austen—Elasticity of her spirits—Her

  resignation and humility—Her death

  EARLY in the year 1816 some family troubles° disturbed the usually tranquil course of Jane Austen’s life; and it is probable that the inward malady, which was to prove ultimately fatal, was already felt by her; for some distant friends,1 whom she visited in the spring of that year, thought that her health was somewhat impaired, and observed that she went about her old haunts, and recalled old recollections connected with them in a particular manner, as if she did not expect ever to see them again. It is not surprising that, under these circumstances, some of her letters were of a graver tone than had been customary with her, and expressed resignation rather than cheerfulness. In reference to these troubles in a letter to her brother Charles,° after mentioning that she had been laid up with an attack of bilious fever, she says: ‘I live up stairs for the present and am coddled. I am the only one of the party who has been so silly, but a weak body must excuse weak nerves.’ And again, to another correspondent:° ‘But I am getting too near complaint; it has been the appointment of God, however secondary causes may have operated.’ But the elasticity of her spirits soon recovered their tone. It was in the latter half of that year that she addressed the two following lively letters to a nephew, one while he was at Winchester School, the other soon after he had left it:—