Your obliged friend,
Philla Hancock
A tear fell on the paper as she wrote and I wondered again, could it be possible that they were lovers? But surely not; my mother was devoted to Papa. But yet it may be as well to be sensitive on such a matter. If they had been, then surely this would be all the more reason for him to be sympathetic to our plight.
‘There, Mama,’ I said. ‘He will respond soon I am sure.’
‘It cannot be soon, my love. Only consider how long letters take to reach India, but I will send this one by my bank. Mr Philips at Hoare’s Bank may perhaps have a faster mode of correspondence.’
Mr Philips said he would help us and was as good as his word. Though the response from my godfather was not swift, in seven months or so we heard that Mr Hastings had settled a further £1,500 upon us. That and the interest from the considerable fortune he had already settled upon me would enable us to live tolerably well. We began to enjoy ourselves and the only sadness was the loss of our dear Clarinda, who died later in the year.
In truth I had not initially wanted to leave England when we did a year or so ago. We had a nice house in Bolton Street and I enjoyed my lessons with the teachers Mama engaged for me. I learned music, too, and best of all, I was taught to ride in Rotten Row in Hyde Park. When my dear Papa had learned that I had become a tolerably accomplished horsewoman he allowed Mama to purchase a horse for me.
‘The dear man is so anxious for you to have all the accomplishments of a lady,’ said Mama, showing me his letter, which had this time taken more than a year to reach us, so that I had in fact changed the first horse for one more easy for me to manage.
I am glad Betsy is happy with her horse. My intention in giving it to her is more on account of her health than to please her. I am convinced that riding is the most wholesome exercise in the world, and tho I think fox hunting not only dangerous but in some degree an indecent amusement for a lady, I wish my daughter to sit gracefully on a horse and to ride without fear
‘Oh Mama, we could not hunt foxes in Hyde Park could we?’ I said, and she laughed.
Our manservant Peter would come with me on my rides and I was especially proud of the green velvet riding habit trimmed with black that Mama had had made for me in Bond Street.
We spent a good deal of time with our cousins in Hampshire and it was most agreeable to meet my boy cousins particularly. James and Henry were always friendly, and I liked Frank and Edward, too. Sadly though, Frank was to be sent away to sea within two years.
‘Tell me cousin,’ he said, ‘about your voyage from India. I long to be on the high seas.’
I thought him very young to be going on his own but knew that the navy was a good career for a young man who had no money of his own. I thought his brother Edward infinitely more fortunate in what had happened to him. Some cousins who had no children of their own had taken a great fancy to him when he was but twelve years old and had adopted him. I thought it very romantic, but Mama was as ever very practical.
‘Why child, it is not romance that drives my sister Austen to persuade my brother to let him go to their rich cousins the Knights, but money.’
‘How so? Have they sold him?’ I had recently read a story in which a child was sold to a prince.
She laughed. ‘No, of course not, but the Knights are rich while my brother- and sister-in-law are always short of money. Your aunt Cassandra was candid in her explanation to me and said that it would do no harm to please those who are rich and have the means of helping others.’
‘And then of course their family is large is it not?’
She looked sad, as she often did. ‘Yes, my love. I shall never have any child but you, so you are most precious to me.’
I put my arms around her. ‘Have no fear, my dear Mama. I shall not leave you for another family, no matter how rich.’
‘No.’ She laughed, cheered up as ever by my nonsense. ‘And I doubt that you will go away to sea either, will you? Come, it is time for your harp lesson.’
We also visited our other cousins in Kent, where I made the acquaintance of my cousin Philadelphia—named for my mother but always called Philly in the family. We are exactly the same age and played many happy games together. She is rather timid and sometimes I feel she does not quite approve of me and Mama, but I can never quite understand why.
Anyway, with all these connections and occupation I was not very pleased at the idea of going to live in a strange country, even though I knew it had been an urgent wish of my father’s that I should learn the French language and also the refinements of French society.
‘I am tired of London, my dear, and do not feel quite at home here’ was my mother’s explanation.
‘Then could we not take a cottage in the country as we did last year when we went to Byfleet?’ I asked.
‘No, I want a change from English society as much as a change of location, I think.’
I had guessed before that my mother somehow had not the right position in society to please her. We lived a proper life, but our level was not right. My uncle George had his place in Hampshire, my uncle John his in Kent, but ours was strange. My mother thought it was because our money had been made in India.
Mr Hastings was much respected now that he was governor of India and very rich, and he was after all my godfather. I would have thought that this would have counted for a great deal, but my mother was not easy for some reason.
And so we removed to the Continent and now that we have arrived in Paris I am sure I shall like it well enough. The country about is pretty and I am sure we shall pass our time agreeably. Unlike London, where the world seems to depart during the summer months, Paris seems to be a city for residence the whole year round. If the heat during July and August becomes insupportable Mama has had the promise of a house in the country from a lady of her acquaintance. Meantime, I shall walk and ride and attend salons with Mama and the friends we are beginning to make here.
May 1780
I have just returned from our first visit to the court at Versailles and am so overwhelmed by all we have seen and experienced. We were actually in the same salon as Their Majesties! We were able in fact to see the whole royal family dine and sup. It is a curious arrangement that one is allowed to peer at them as though they were so many animals in a pen, but it is what the world does here.
The queen is a very fine woman with a beautiful complexion and is indeed exceedingly handsome. Her gown was beyond everything—most elegant. She had on a corset and petticoat of pale green lutestring, covered with a transparent silver gauze, the petticoat and sleeves puckered and confined in different places with large bunches of roses. The same flower, together with gauze, feathers, ribbon, and diamonds, intermixed with her hair. Her neck was entirely uncovered and ornamented by a most beautiful chain of diamonds, of which she had likewise very fine bracelets. She was without gloves. I said to Mama that I supposed this was to show her hands and arms, which are without exception the whitest and most beautiful I have ever beheld. The king was much more plainly dressed but he too had likewise some fine diamonds. The rest of the family were very elegant and indeed I may say that the court of France is, I believe, one of the most magnificent in all Europe.
While we were in the Hall of Mirrors—the most magnificent apartment I ever did see—I thought Mama looked as though she might faint.
‘May I find you a seat Mama? Do you need your salts?’
She looked into my eyes—I have lately grown to the same height as hers—and said softly, ‘I am well, dear child, only scarce able to believe that I, Philla Austen, milliner, am here at the French court—on the same level as the many others in this great room and with a daughter as elegant as Her Majesty herself.’
‘Shall you tell uncle Austen of our adventures here?’ I asked
‘Of course I shall, and when we take the house in Fontainebleau I shall ask him and my sister to visit us there, so that they may share some of them.’
I was overjoyed at the t
hought of seeing dear uncle George again.
‘Oh how nice—will they indeed make the journey here?’
‘I doubt it,’ said my mother. ‘Your aunt is in the increasing way yet again, you know, and would not be able to travel even if they could afford it.’
I understood.
‘It is fortunate is it not, Mama, that our dear benefactor has provided for us so well?’
‘We shall never cease to be grateful to him, of course.’ Her face took on that faraway look to which I had become accustomed. ‘And of course to Mr Hancock, that he took such pains to ensure that your education was so extensive that you can hold your own in an assembly such as this. It is so sad that he is not here to protect you and guide you now that you are nearly of an age to be married.’
FOUR
Mrs George Austen at Steventon
1781
Mr Austen, it is not to be borne. You must forbid it. You cannot allow our niece to marry this, this adventurer.’
My husband looked at me over the spectacles he had recently begun to need. They had lost a rivet and sat oddly upon his face. A face I noticed was wreathed in smiles.
Without allowing him to answer, I went on: ‘How can you smile so? You surely do not wish to contend that this news gives you pleasure? What are you about? You are her guardian and must surely protect her.’
‘My dear, calm yourself. I beg you to consider the facts. I may be Eliza’s trustee but I am not her legal guardian, and if my sister, who is, considers this Comte to be a suitable match, how can—’
I interrupted: ‘Eliza is not of age and needs guidance in these matters as she herself says. Where is the line…’
I took the letter up and read it again. Eliza had always had a neat hand, no doubt as a result of her father’s nagging her, since Philla’s scrawl is almost impossible to decipher.
‘Yes here it is:
I have acted much less from my own judgement than that of those whose councils and opinions I am bound to follow—
‘She cannot mean her mother, as she refers to those who are of rank and title.’
‘No’ was my husband’s response. ‘I daresay she means Sir John Lambert—you remember that rich baronet she met in Paris last year, who now seems to have such influence with my sister.’
‘What do we know of him? Ten to one he has something to gain from this betrothal.’
‘Cassandra, what can you mean?’
‘Why, ’tis obvious to anyone with half a worldly eye, which as we know my dear, you sadly lack, and your sister is too easily influenced by powerful men, as we have reason to know from her past mis—’
‘My dear, you know we agreed never to refer to that sad business again.’
‘Yes, well as I was saying…’ I knew such a reference would displease him. He is a loyal brother. He is a loyal father and husband, too. A good man—too good perhaps to understand what was afoot in France.
I took a deep breath and decided to tell him my worst fears, even though I doubted he would take them seriously. At that moment we were interrupted by little Charles, who came toddling in, his rosy face cheerful as ever.
‘Cassy,’ I called, ‘come mind the babe for a few moments longer, your father and I need to talk.’
‘But Mama,’ I heard Jane’s voice, ‘Cassy and I were just set to pick apples and Charles cannot climb the trees with us.’
‘Hush, Jane.’ Cassy’s voice contrasted in its soothing tones with Jane’s complaining ones. ‘We can as well pick the apples tomorrow. Let us take Charlie to watch Frank riding his dear little pony Squirrel in the lane.’
Cassy is always the peacemaker and always does as she is bid—unlike Jane. When Cassy goes away to school we shall have to take Jane in hand.
I returned to my task of trying to make my husband see what was very obvious to me.
‘Mr Austen, you know that Eliza is an heiress—not a great one perhaps, but good enough for most men. When she marries, all her property, all her wealth, becomes her husband’s. Perhaps Sir John, of whom after all we know nothing, has made a bargain with this Frenchman, that he—Sir John I mean—shall have part of her fortune in return for making the match.’
‘Oh come, dear wife, I may have permitted you too much freedom in your reading—’tis the plot of a novel you are setting out here. Besides, my sister says that the Comte has great connections and expectations. She also says the match is entirely to her satisfaction, so how can we possibly—’
Again I interrupted, not something I was in the habit of doing to my husband.
‘As I have said, your sister is too easily influenced by men and no doubt dazzled by this supposed Comte’s title and such. You know she told you how amused she was to have Eliza introduced as the ward of Lord Hastings.’
‘You do seem to be excessively concerned by this news, my dear. Could it be perhaps that you had hoped our niece would make a match with one of her cousins?’
‘To which cousins are you referring?’
‘Why, our own sons of course. Did you and Philla not once talk of the desirability of cousins marrying?’
‘Mr Austen, you take delight in vexing me.’ I was angry and showed it. ‘Eliza is far too old for any of our sons, as you know well.’
‘Oh come, my dear, there are barely four years between her and James.’
‘Yes, and you know full well that James is to become a clergyman and take over this parish after you. You cannot seriously be suggesting to me that Eliza, with all that fancy education, would be content as the wife of a country clergyman—still less make him a suitable one?’
His eyes twinkled as he responded. ‘No one knows better than I how important a suitable wife is to a clergyman and how fortunate I have been in my choice.’
He always knew how to placate me, and I could not help but smile back.
‘I fear you must hold on to your doubts and bear it well, however hard you find it,’ he said, apparently not at all perturbed, ‘though I do confess that one thing does worry me.’
I heard this with some relief. ‘Pray, what is that?’
‘Why, the question of Eliza’s religion, of course. I would be highly concerned if I thought she was to become a Roman Catholic.’
‘So you do not mind if she is at risk of being drained of every shilling as long as she is not a papist?’
‘If I thought there was a risk of her being pauperised by this alliance I would intervene, I assure you, but as we have heard, the young man has great estates in the south and loves her violently, so I do not think we need fear for her too much. And I do assure you that neither I nor Mr Woodman shall ever consent to having her fortune transferred to the hands of French bankers. Let us invite them to come to Steventon on a wedding visit, and then we can judge his character for ourselves.’
‘I do not believe the French are to be trusted, ‘I warned, ‘but it shall be as you wish.’
I knew when to close such a conversation.
The visit, however, was not to be paid for some considerable time, but so began the situation in which we were constant witness to what Eliza herself called ‘a racketing life’ by means of her correspondence with us and other members of the family. In fact, her most frequent and fullest letters went to her cousin Philly, but that minx often forwarded them to us or allowed us to read them on our visits to Kent or hers to us. I knew my girls were very interested in Eliza’s doings and adventures, especially Jane, and I did not consider that the letters from France were always entirely suitable for the ears of young girls. I did not so much mind the ones in which she wrote of fashions, powder, curls in the hair, and jewels, or even the long descriptions of life at the French court.
Paris has been remarkably gay this year on account of the birth of the Dauphin. This event was celebrated by illuminations, fireworks, balls, etc. The entertainment of the latter kind given at court was amazingly fine. The court of France is at all times brilliant but on this occasion the magnificence was beyond conception. The ball was given in a mos
t noble saloon, adorned with paintings, sculpture, gildings, etc. Eight thousand lights disposed in the most beautiful forms showed to advantage the richest and most elegant dresses, the most beautiful women, and the noblest Assembly perhaps anywhere to be beheld; nothing but gold, silver, and diamonds and jewels of all kinds were to be seen on every side. In short, altogether it was the finest sight I ever beheld and I cannot give you a better idea of it than the one that struck me at the time, which is this: it answered exactly to the description in the Arabian Nights entertainments of enchanted palaces.
No, I did not object to hearing these accounts, but when she came to accounts of her relationship with her husband, I would ensure that the girls were not present—or the boys, for that matter, for on one occasion Henry and Frank accompanied us on a visit to Kent, where we were shown a letter that in my view said far too much about her marriage. It is simply not fitting to talk so freely—I wonder if she realises that Philly does not approve?
If I may be allowed to judge of the future from the past and the present I must esteem myself the most fortunate of my sex. The man to whom I have given my hand is everyways amiable both in mind and person. It is too little to say he loves since he literally adores me; entirely devoted to me and making my inclinations the guide of all his actions, the whole study of my life seems to contribute to the happiness of mine.
I was glad she felt thus but could not remove from my mind the uneasiness I had always had about the French and things I had read, though never even related to my husband, about most French nobles expecting to keep a mistress. Still, I must say that in her letters I always found two redeeming features. She continued to be devoted to her mother.
My situation is everyways agreeable, certain of never being separated from my dear Mama, whose presence enhances every other blessing I enjoy.
I also was impressed that she seemed genuinely to be devoted to her wider family, especially dear uncle George.
I have reason to be grateful to Providence for the lot fallen to my share; the only thing that can make me uneasy is the distance I am from my relations and country.
Dearest Cousin Jane Page 4