On the surface she did not change. She was lucky to have her mother’s support, and a great deal of domestic help, which allowed her to continue her social round much as usual. Henry spent his month in town with her in April, and came home happy and pleased with himself. He kept up his studies for Oxford—like James, he would claim a “Founder’s Kin” scholarship—and prepared brilliant futures in his imagination. He and Eliza were concocting a plan that he should accompany her to France the following year, an arrangement “particularly harped upon on both sides” according to family gossip.24
Eliza next descended on Tunbridge Wells and struck even that sophisticated place into admiration. Her dress was “the richest in the room” and her capacity for extravagant shopping notable. “On Friday morning the countess & I hunted all the Milliners’ shops for hats . . . She presented me with a very pretty fancy hat to wear behind the hair, on one side, and as a mixture of Colours is quite the thing I chose green & pink, with a wreath of pink roses & feathers; but the taste is all the most frightful colours,” reported Cousin Phila, divided between admiration and disapproval. They went to the races, heard some celebrated Italian singers, danced with a party of gentlemen until midnight and attended the local theatre. Eliza bespoke a special performance of Which is the Man? and Bon Ton , the first an up-to-date play by a woman writer, Hannah Cowley, about a fascinating widow who cannot make up her mind among several admirers, the second a decidedly risqué farce by Garrick about a couple, both on the brink of adultery and only saved from it by a hair’s breadth. Bad French behaviour is contrasted with good old English morality, and Miss Tittup, thoroughly infected with French ways, declares, “We must marry, you know, because other people of fashion marry; but I should think very meanly of myself, if, after I was married, I should feel the least concern at all about my husband.” Eliza liked both these plays so much that she proposed them for performance at Steventon. No doubt Henry and Jane read them over together; Jane knew Hannah Cowley’s plays well enough to quote lines from them in her letters.
While Cousin Phila was with her in Tunbridge Wells, Eliza confided to her that, although the Count her husband loved her “violently,” she did not love him at all, but felt only respect and esteem. After this they had another evening in the ballroom, staying until two in the morning and ending with an energetic French country dance, “La Boulangère,” six couples keeping going without a break for half an hour, with constantly changing figures. Dancing like this, continuous and unrestrained, was a liberating pleasure, a permitted high in women’s lives. Even staid Phila felt this, as Eliza appreciated when she wrote to her subsequently, hoping that “your favourite amusement dancing has exhilerated [sic] your spirit.” It was something women understood among themselves; for Eliza, tormented by anxiety over her baby son, it must have been a heavenly release to dance.
The next family event was the return of James from his continental trip in the autumn. He was half in love with France, somewhat shocked by the easy French manners, and eager to set up more theatricals at Steventon. 25 Encouraged by Eliza’s enthusiasm, he and Henry started to plan for a Christmas even better than last year’s. Mr. Austen agreed that they might fit up the barn with proper painted scenery, everyone set to work, and two plays were settled on, both old favourites on the London stage. Neither was Mrs. Cowley’s Which is the Man?, but the first at least was by a woman, Susannah Centlivre, and called The Wonder! a Woman Keeps a Secret. The “Wonder” is that Donna Violante, the daughter of a Portuguese nobleman, risks losing her lover by sheltering his sister, escaping from an arranged marriage; even when her own reputation and marriage are at risk, Violante keeps the secret. Eliza played the heroine and spoke the epilogue written by James in praise, if not quite of the emancipation of women, at least of their increased power over men since the days when Portuguese noblemen oppressed their ladies:
But thank our happier Stars, those times are o’er
And Woman holds a second place no more.
Now forced to quit their long held usurpation,
These Men all wise, these “Lords of the Creation,”
To our superior sway themselves submit,
Slaves to our charms and vassals to our wit;
We can with ease their ev’ry sense beguile,
And melt their Resolutions with a smile . . .
For James, the writing of the prologues and epilogues seems to have been half the fun of the enterprise. His prologue was in praise of Christmas, its cheerful customs “imported from the mirthful shores of France”—a compliment to Eliza and the Count no doubt—and wickedly interrupted when “Cromwell and his Gang” found “rank Popery in a Christmas pye.” There were two performances of The Wonder! after Christmas, and then, such was the enthusiasm, they followed it up in January with another old comedy, The Chances.26 On top of this they did finally put on Bon Ton, so that Eliza got her chance to play Miss Tittup. 27
Theatrical fever reigned. All this was offered as entertainment to local friends, but everyone knows it is the participants who have the most fun, and that the most exciting and emotional exchanges take place backstage. Henry felt he had an already established claim to Eliza, but James was five years older; since she was married, any dispute over her was out of the question; but Eliza was a flirt by her own account—“highly accomplished, after the French rather than the English mode” wrote James’s son carefully, eighty years later—and both brothers were fascinated by her.28 Their younger sister watched and listened to the arguments over casting, costume arrangements, readings and rehearsals. When Jane dedicated a play of her own to James some time after this, she began with the words “The following Drama, which I humbly recommend to your Protection & Patronage, tho’ inferior to those celebrated Comedies called ‘The School for Jealousy’ & ‘The travelled Man’. . .” What can she have been thinking of?
Before Christmas, Eliza had predicted “a most brilliant party & a great deal of amusement, the House full of Company & frequent Balls,” and she at least was not disappointed. Plays and dancing provided a distraction from her anxieties over her son, who had yet to be seen by his father; indeed, she herself had not set eyes on him for more than two years. She appeared to be in no great hurry to leave for France.
The return of Mr. Austen’s pupils in February meant that Eliza had to leave Steventon at least. She went back to Orchard Street, leaving the Austens to get up yet another entertainment, this time Fielding’s Tom Thumb, a burlesque on the grand tragic style. It may have been about now that Jane produced three scenes of a play of her own, called The Mystery. It was dedicated to her father, and strikes a distinctly twentieth-century note:
ACT THE FIRST
Scene the 1st
A garden
Enter Corydon
CORY But Hush! I am interrupted
Exit Corydon
Enter Old Humbug & his Son, talking
OLD HUM It is for that reason I wish you to follow my advice. Are you convinced of its propriety?
YOUNG HUM I am Sir, and will certainly act in the manner you have pointed out to me.
OLD HUM Then let us return to the House.
Exeunt
In London, Eliza now had her godfather to worry about as well as her son. Warren Hastings had returned from India to be put on trial, accused of a whole catalogue of crimes against the people over whom he had ruled, and facing an array of parliamentary prosecutors renowned for their oratorical skills: Burke, Sheridan and Fox. The trial, terrible and humiliating for him, was treated by the public as the fashionable entertainment of the season, and crowds gathered at dawn to queue for the next day’s show in Westminster Hall, where Sheridan’s eloquence reduced men to tears and women to fainting fits, and Hastings, pale-faced, slight and disdainful, evoked sympathy from many, but was completely outshone by his famous accusers.29
At the same time, he remained a very rich man. During the trial he lived with his wife in St. James’s Square, keeping a second mansion at Windsor. They entertained Eliza and
, one assumes, Mrs. Hancock, offering them the use of their box at the opera and receiving them in splendid style in spite of the ordeal he was undergoing. Eliza also went to Westminster Hall, where she sat one day from ten until four to hear him attacked. The Austens were naturally fervent supporters of Hastings; and the case against him did eventually collapse, although not until 1795, too late to restore him to anything like his former wealth or position. Here was another crack in the fabric of Eliza’s world.
Her plan to take Henry to France fell through because he was obliged to go—reluctantly—up to Oxford, to join James at St. John’s. In July, Eliza and her mother entertained Mr. and Mrs. Austen, accompanied by Cassandra and Jane, in Orchard Street, on their homeward journey from a visit to Kent. Then Eliza decided to visit James and Henry in Oxford. Her account of the entertainment provided by her cousins is delicious:
We visited several of the colleges, the museum etc & were very elegantly entertained by our gallant relations at St. John’s, where I was mightily taken with the garden & longed to be a Fellow that I might walk in it every day, besides I was delighted with the black gown & thought the square cap mighty becoming. I do not think you would know Henry with his hair powdered and dressed in a very tonish style, besides he is at present taller than his father. We spent a day in seeing Blenheim. I was delighted with the park & think it a most charming place, I liked the outside of the mansion too, but when I entered it I was disappointed at finding the furniture very old-fashioned & very shabby . . . 30
So much for Blenheim; and there is no doubt which of her cousins pleased her best. As for her husband, he did not see his son Hastings until the boy was two and a half, in the winter of 1788, when at last his wife and mother-in-law appeared in Paris again. What he made of the heir to the Marais was never told. He is unlikely to have shared his wife’s determined optimism; fathers look with a colder eye at disappointing children. He was in any case distracted by financial difficulties, and the political unrest all over France increased his anxieties. It must have taken an effort to laugh with Eliza when Hastings tried to chatter in a mixture of English and French, and generously offered his “half-munched apples or cakes to the whole company.” 31
“We have not been fortunate here. The Ct de Feuillide has had an intermitting Fever which he brought from the Country,” wrote Mrs. Hancock. Eliza was also “thinner than ever” this winter, and troubled with headaches; only “our dear little Boy” was really well.32 Mrs. Hancock and Eliza were back in London in June 1789, on financial business; they brought their own maid and stayed in Mr. Woodman’s house, mother and daughter sharing a bed to save trouble. After this there is a gap in the letters. The date explains why. On 14 July the people of Paris attacked and destroyed the Bastille, symbol of the despotic power of the French crown. The revolution transformed France and Europe; and on the smaller scale of this narrative it changed everything, for Capot de Feuillide and his schemes, for his wife, and for her English family.
6
Bad Behaviour
In the summer of 1788 the Austens took a holiday in Kent. They dined in Sevenoaks with Uncle Francis, at ninety still keeping a patriarchal eye on the fortunes of his clan. Phila Walter was at the dinner, and conveyed the liveliness of the family in a letter to Eliza; they were all, she said, “in high spirits & disposed to be pleased with each other.”1 In the same letter, Phila also gave a bad report on Jane. Its importance is that it is the first direct description of Jane, in which she is singled out within the Austen family, and we are at once made aware of the power of her personality. Jane, wrote Phila, was “whimsical and affected,” “not at all pretty,” or feminine, it seems, since she was “very like her brother Henry”; also “very prim,” and generally not what Phila expected a girl of twelve to be. Cassandra, on the other hand, was pretty, sensible and pleasing. Phila was not always an amiable witness, and she said herself that it was a hasty judgement, but it does suggest that Jane did not conform to the conventional pattern of girlhood. An exceptional child is not always lovable; perhaps she made jokes Phila found disconcerting, or laughed in the wrong places when Phila and Cass were enjoying their “very sensible and pleasing” conversation; or simply fixed her bright attentive eyes on Phila in a way that made her uneasy.2
On their way home from this trip the Austens dined with Eliza and her mother in Orchard Street, and found them starting to pack up the house in preparation for their return to France. Eliza mentioned the visit in her answer to Phila’s letter, did not argue with her unkind remarks about Jane beyond a tactful, “I believe it was your first acquaintance with Cassandra & Jane.” She did, however, sing her uncle’s praises: “he appeared more amiable than ever to me. What an excellent and pleasing man he is; I love him most sincerely as indeed I do all the family.”3 His hair was now white, and Mrs. Austen had lost several front teeth, but they continued as vigorous as ever, steadily meeting the triple demands of parish, school and farm. They were no longer in financial difficulties, although they knew they would have to go on working into their sixties. The girls could not be expected to marry for some years yet; meanwhile they helped their mother with her household and garden routines, and with making clothes for themselves and shirts for their father and brothers. They had their conventional young ladies’ accomplishments too. Cassandra had taken up drawing, and a visiting piano teacher, George Chard, assistant organist at Winchester Cathedral, was arranged for Jane. Jane’s other skill, the ability to turn out stories and plays, already noticed in the family, was not quite classed as an accomplishment; but it did keep them entertained.
The futures of the boys promised well. At Christmas, Francis left naval school with a high recommendation and, after coming home to say goodbye, sailed for the East Indies aboard the frigate Perseverance. He was not fifteen, and did not reach the rank of Midshipman for another year. He took with him his father’s beautifully composed letter of advice on how to conduct himself. He was urged to remember the importance of religion and prayer; to write letters to those who might be in a position to do him good; and to keep careful accounts. Mr. Austen assured him that he could count on regular letters from the family, and told him, Your behaviour as a member of society, to the individuals around you may be also of great importance to your future well-doing, and certainly will to your present happiness and comfort. You may either by a contemptuous, unkind and selfish manner create disgust and dislike; or by affability, good humour and compliance, become the object of esteem and affection; which of these very opposite paths ’tis your interest to pursue I need not say. 4
This is a fine statement of Mr. Austen’s ethos, which saw practical as well as moral advantages in good humour and compliance, and encouraged his son to cultivate the virtues of corporate man in the closed world of his ship. His younger daughter would later suggest that there were times when affability, good humour and compliance must be set aside for the greater virtues of honesty and a clear conscience. For the moment her writing was more concerned with violence and vice.
Francis did not see his family again for five years. In the navy so long a separation from family, even for a boy as young, was accepted as part of the job; and in his case the bonds with his family held very firm. Jane wrote and inscribed stories proudly to “Francis William Austen Esqr Midshipman on board his Majesty’s Ship the Perseverance.” All her early works were given these dedications to friends and members of the family, whether present or absent, and she inscribed Jack and Alice to Francis more than a year after his departure. It must have made him laugh, this story of a quiet country village with a cast of bad girls, ambitious, affected, “Envious, Spitefull & Malicious” as well as “short, fat and disagreeable.” One girl is found with her leg broken in a steel mantrap; subsequently she is poisoned by a rival, and the rival is hanged. The ambitious girl captures an old Duke, the affected one leaves the country and becomes the favourite of a Mogul prince. Another village family is so “addicted to the Bottle & the Dice” that a son dies of drink and a daughter starts
a fight with the local widow, the pious Lady Williams, who is herself carried home “dead drunk” after a masquerade. Particular interest is shown in the effect of drink on women; Jane sagely notes that their heads are said to be “not strong enough to support intoxication.” This sounds so like an older brother’s piece of worldly wisdom that it is not surprising Jane crossed it out; perhaps she and Francis had started on the story together before he went to sea. Two children intensely curious about the adult world, laughing at drunkenness, cruelty and death, seem plausible originators of Jack and Alice. Jane had already faced death when she was away at school, Francis might now face it even further from home; better to die laughing than be pitiable, was tough Jane’s word for tough Francis.5
Frank was gone, and Edward settled in Kent after returning from his Grand Tour, but Charles remained at home, and James and Henry were often with them, the Oxford term being short and the attractions of hunting and shooting around Steventon considerable: both had game licences, and their contribution to feeding the household would have been appreciated.6 And there was more theatrical business at Christmas 1788, when they put on two well-known farces, The Sultan and High Life Below Stairs. In the first an English girl puts down the harem system single-handed by sheer cheek and courage, in the second a group of servants on the fiddle are caught out aping their masters’ ways.7 Eliza was in Paris, but she was sent a report of the performances, in which Jane Cooper—now seventeen and a beauty— played opposite Henry. Eliza passed on the news to Cousin Phila with, “I hear that Henry is taller than ever.”8
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