Читать книгу The Real Jane Austen: A Life in Small Things - Paula Byrne - Страница 10
ОглавлениеThere are three of them. Each is inscribed on the cover in careful handwriting, in imitation of a three-decker novel or a set of complete works: Volume the First, Volume the Second, Volume the Third. The first – a collection of little stories, plays, poems and satires – ends with the date 3 June 1793, but it is clear that some of the pieces were written much earlier, at the age of as little as eleven or twelve, and then transcribed in a fair hand when the author was in her eighteenth year. The notebook, purchased ready-made from a stationer, is bound in tanned sheepskin over marbled boards. It is now in the Bodleian Library in Oxford.
Volume the Second, illustrated here, is another miscellany, including two epistolary novelettes, a parodic ‘History of England’ and various ‘Scraps’, all probably composed when the author was in her mid-teens. It is another stationer’s notebook, this time headed with the acknowledgement, in Latin, ‘a gift from my father’. In small quarto format, it is bound in full parchment – vellum – pasted on to millboard. It is now in the British Library, London. So is Volume the Third, which is very similar in size and also covered in vellum, the front disfigured by a water-stained splodge. This final volume contains only two works: a fragmentary story called ‘Evelyn’ and the much longer, though still unfinished, ‘Catharine, or the Bower’. The first page is signed and dated ‘Jane Austen – May 6th 1792’. A pencil note on the inside of the board opposite, in her father’s hand, sounds a note of paternal pride: ‘Effusions of Fancy by a Very Young Lady consisting of Tales in a Style entirely new’.1
These are the earliest works of Jane Austen, copied in her best hand and preserved by her. Why did she write them out in this way? First and foremost, for the amusement of her family. Pasted to the inside front board of Volume the First, the most worn of the three, is a note penned by Cassandra after her sister’s death: ‘For my brother Charles. I think I recollect that a few of the trifles in this Vol. were written expressively for his amusement.’ But Jane Austen also took the trouble of creating these books, which involved much labour with goose quill and inkwell, so as to present herself, at least in her own imagination, as a professional author. Though written by hand, the volumes have the accoutrements of proper published books: contents lists, dedications, chapter divisions. Even as a teenager, Jane Austen knew what she wanted from life: to be a writer.
Her literary career began in 1787, the year that she turned twelve. One could almost say that, like Mozart, she was a child prodigy. Throughout her teens she continued to write stories and plays, sketches and histories, burlesques and parodies. Their original manuscripts are lost, but the fair copies in the vellum notebooks amount to some ninety thousand words. This body of work has become known as her ‘juvenilia’. Though the contents of the vellum notebooks are now well known to scholars, they are still often neglected by readers and even biographers. Yet these early works provide extraordinary insight into the vivid and often wild imagination of the real Jane Austen.
Virginia Woolf was the first to observe that Jane Austen’s juvenile writings were ‘meant to outlast the Christmas holidays’. That, at the tender age of fifteen, she was writing ‘for everybody, for nobody, for our age, for her own’. Woolf’s admiration for the sheer exhilaration and breathless energy of Austen’s earliest comic sketches expresses itself in the adjectives ‘astonishing’ and ‘unchildish’.2 What do we make of a sentence such as this from Austen’s first ‘novel’, which has an endearingly youthful spelling mistake in its title, ‘Love and Freindship’? ‘She was nothing more than a mere good-tempered, civil and obliging Young Woman; as such we could scarcely dislike her – she was only an Object of Contempt.’3 Good girls the object of contempt? Not exactly the image of Austen that her family members sought to establish in the memoirs of her that they wrote after her death. ‘The girl of fifteen is laughing, in her corner, at the world,’ observed Woolf. ‘Girls of fifteen are always laughing,’ she adds – to which we might add: especially when like Austen and Woolf herself they are one of a pair of sisters in a household full of boys.
Very near the end of her life Jane Austen passed on a message to her niece that her one regret as a writer was that she wrote too much at an early age. She advised her niece to spend her time reading rather than taking up the pen too early.4 So perhaps she would not be entirely pleased to know that her early teenage work is now widely read. But although the early stories were not intended for public consumption, she continued to enjoy and indeed to amend and edit her youthful writings well into her thirties.5 Because she was writing for herself and her family, she allowed herself a lack of restraint unthinkable in the published novels. In this sense, the vellum notebooks give access to the authentic interior life of Jane Austen, free from the shackles of literary convention and the mask of respectability required by print. If the child is father to the man, as her contemporary William Wordsworth claimed, then the girl is mother to the woman. The not so secret life of Jane Austen aged eleven to seventeen is as a writer of wonderful exuberance and self-confidence. She also shows herself to be a young woman of firm opinions and strong passions.
A turning point was being allowed a room of her own. Shortly after Jane and Cassandra returned from boarding school for good in 1786 they were given the use of an upstairs drawing room, adjoining their bedroom. In her letters she referred to it as her Dressing Room. It had blue wallpaper and blue striped curtains and a chocolate-brown carpet. The room contained Jane’s piano and her writing desk. There was a bookcase and a table for the sisters’ workboxes.
Jane Austen was a supreme social satirist. Wit was valued highly in the Austen family. Most of the early stories are lampoons, burlesques or parodies. The point of such writing is that it copies or caricatures the style or spirit of serious works so as to excite laughter, often by ludicrous exaggeration. The great exemplar of the form in the eighteenth century was Henry Fielding, whose works Austen knew well. His Tragedy of Tragedies, or the History of Tom Thumb the Great was the classic burlesque of stage tragedy. The ‘great’ Tom Thumb is a heroic warrior who happens to be a midget. He is offered in marriage to the Princess Huncamunca, which makes Queen Dollalolla passionately jealous. Tom dies as a result of being swallowed by a cow, but his ghost returns. The ghost is put to death in turn and nearly all the rest of the cast kill each other in duels or take their own lives in grief. The young Jane Austen loved this sort of thing, and when she uses such names as Crankhumdunberry and Pammydiddle she is paying homage to Fielding.
Fielding’s great rival Samuel Richardson had pioneered the heroine-centred courtship novel when he published the smash hit Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded. Pamela is a lowly maidservant who refuses the sexual advances of her master, Mr B, and tames him by her virtue and religious principles into making her an offer of marriage. Fielding loathed the hypocrisy of the idea that the reward for virtue should be so patently material: marriage to a wealthy man with a large house. He responded with his lampoon Shamela, in which the heroine, far from being an innocent and virtuous victim, is a scheming unscrupulous hussy who entraps her master into marriage. Reading Shamela is like reading the original novel through a distorted mirror. In the original novel, Pamela is distressed by her master’s sexual advances, but in Fielding she is playing a long and sly game of sexual conquest:
He took me by the Hand, and I pretended to be shy: Laud, says I, Sir, I hope you don’t intend to be rude; no, says he, my Dear, and then he kissed me, ’till he took away my Breath – and I pretended to be Angry, and to get away, and then he kissed me again, and breathed very short, and looked very silly; and by Ill-Luck Mrs Jervis came in, and had like to have spoiled Sport. – How troublesome is such Interruption!6
Jane Austen loved to make her family laugh out loud when reading out her lampoons, but like Fielding she also approved of burlesque as a literary medium for exposing moral and social hypocrisy. And also like Fielding, she had a sharp eye for the absurdities and limitations of much of the fiction of her age.
The first story that she copied into her precious notebook was ‘Frederic and Elfrida’, a very funny parody of the sentimental novels of the day. For those who begin reading Jane Austen with Pride and Prejudice and come to the vellum notebooks only after the six mature novels, it is a disorienting experience to read ‘Frederic and Elfrida: a novel’. Early in the story comes the news that a new family has taken a house near by. Frederic, Elfrida and her friend Charlotte go to pay their respects. The arrivals in the neighbourhood are Mrs Fitzroy and her two daughters. The conversation initially turns on the relative merits of Indian and English muslins. So far, so Pride and Prejudice. But one of the sisters is beautiful and foolish, the other ugly and clever. In this topsy-turvy world it is the ugly and hump-backed Rebecca who garners the compliments: ‘Lovely and too charming Fair one, notwithstanding your forbidding Squint, your greazy tresses and your swelling Back, which are more frightfull than imagination can paint or pen describe, I cannot refrain from expressing my raptures, at the engaging Qualities of your Mind, which so amply atone for the Horror with which your first appearance must ever inspire the unwary visitor.’7
As in Fielding, the lampoon depends upon the pitch-perfect rendering of the stylistic clichés of the sentimental novel. In a serious novel of the day you would read such sentences as ‘From this period, the families of Etherington and Cleves lived in the enjoyment of uninterrupted harmony and repose, till Eugenia … had attained her fifteenth year.’ In ‘Frederic and Elfrida’ Jane Austen writes ‘From this period, the intimacy between the Families … grew to such a pitch, that they did not scruple to kick one another out of the window on the slightest provocation.’8
‘During this happy period of Harmony,’ Austen continues, ‘the eldest Miss Fitzroy ran off with the Coachman and the amiable Rebecca was asked in marriage by Captain Roger of Buckinghamshire.’ The world of the vellum notebooks is so knowing and so uninhibited that one cannot be entirely confident that the young Austen was blissfully unaware of the Georgian slang meaning of the verb ‘to roger’.9 Mrs Fitzroy disapproves of the match ‘on account of the tender years of the young couple’: Rebecca is only thirty-six and Captain Roger sixty-three. Charlotte then becomes engaged to two men simultaneously. Realizing her breach of social decorum, she commits suicide by jumping into a stream, while Elfrida, who has a most delicate constitution, is reduced to ‘a succession of fainting fits’ in which ‘she had scarcely patience enough to recover from one before she fell into another’.10
The second story, ‘Jack and Alice: a novel’, is dedicated by Austen to her older brother Frank, ‘Midshipman on board his Majesty’s Ship the Perseverance’. Jane presumably sent a copy with a letter. We need to imagine Frank receiving it several months later, somewhere in the East Indies, and smiling at the deadpan humour of his clever sister. She has perfected the satirist’s art of bathos or ‘sinking’, the abrupt transition from an elevated style to a ludicrous conclusion. An elegant evening party is described, until at the end of the chapter the whole party ‘were carried home, Dead Drunk’.11 And a character called Lady Williams waxes lyrical about her governess:
‘Miss Dickins was an excellent Governess. She instructed me in the Paths of Virtue; under her tuition I daily became more amiable, and might perhaps by this time have nearly attained perfection, had not my worthy Preceptoress been torn from my arms e’er I had attained my seventeenth year. I never shall forget her last words. “My dear Kitty” she said “Good night t’ye.” I never saw her afterwards’ continued Lady Williams wiping her eyes, ‘She eloped with the Butler the same night.’12
So many of Austen’s greatest gifts are here in embryo: not only the comic timing and the revealing gestures (that sentimental teardrop), but also the sense of mischief and the sheer delight in human foibles – the incongruity of the ‘worthy Preceptoress’ in the ‘Paths of Virtue’ eloping with the butler. Already Austen has absolute control of her tone, and elsewhere in ‘Jack and Alice’ there are hints of the more deadly because more understated irony that is to come in the mature novels: ‘Every wish of Caroline was centered in a titled Husband.’13
‘Henry and Eliza: a novel’ might be described as Fielding’s Tom Jones meets Austen’s Emma – in parody. Eliza, like Tom, is a foundling. She is taken into the household of the goodly Sir George and Lady Harcourt, who are first seen superintending the labours of their haymakers, rewarding the industrious with smiles of approbation and punishing the idle with a good cudgelling. They bring up Eliza in ‘a Love of Virtue and a Hatred of Vice’. She grows up to be a delight to all who know her. Then the next sentence begins like an anticipation of Emma but ends with a twist: ‘Beloved by Lady Harcourt, adored by Sir George and admired by all the World, she lived in a continued course of uninterrupted Happiness, till she had attained her eighteenth year, when happening one day to be detected in stealing a banknote of 50£, she was turned out of doors by her inhuman Benefactors.’14 From being a somebody, an Emma, she turns into a nobody, a Jane Fairfax, who has to seek a position ‘in the capacity of Humble Companion’. She gains one in the household of a duchess, where Henry Cecil, the wealthy fiancé of the only daughter, falls in love with her. The Chaplain, who has also fallen in love with her, marries them privately (and illegally) and they run off to the continent.
A family of alcoholics and gamblers, a young woman whose leg is fractured by a steel mantrap set for poachers in the grounds of the gentleman she is pursuing, a child who bites off her mother’s fingers, a jealous heroine who poisons her sisters, numerous elopements: the vellum notebooks do not contain the subject matter one might expect of a parson’s daughter. But then Steventon rectory was not the typical parson’s household. The family were all broad-minded and clearly loved black humour. Like Shakespeare, whose works they read aloud together, they knew that ‘the web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together’.15 Seeing the absurdity of the perpetual diet of virtue and piety in the orthodox literature in the family library, they relished the unshockable young Jane’s array of loose women, drunkards, thieves and murderers.
‘Lesley Castle’, dedicated to Henry, begins with a married woman called Louisa leaving her child and her reputation behind her as she runs off with a certain Rakehelly Dishonor Esq. (a name straight out of Restoration comedy). But within a few pages the husband ‘writes in a most chearfull Manner, says that the air of France has greatly recovered both his Health and his Spirits; that he has now entirely ceased to think of Louisa with any degree either of Pity or Affection, that he even feels himself obliged to her for her Elopement, as he thinks it very good fun to be single again’.16 After Jane’s death, Henry, by that time in holy orders, would write a brief memoir emphasizing his sister’s piety. By then, he had long forgotten, or made a point of forgetting, the youthful story dedicated to him in which the consequence of a woman’s adultery is a new life of ‘very good fun’ for the jilted husband.
‘Very good fun’ is indeed the watchword for the vellum notebooks. Brought up in a house full of boys, sharing jokes with the male lodgers and wanting to cheer up young Frank as he endured the rigorous conditions of a midshipman, she laid on the slapstick and revelled in the sheer joy of words. Every page of the vellum notebooks sparkles with Jane Austen’s love of language. The story called ‘A Collection of Letters’, towards the end of Volume the Second, is a tour de force even in its dedication: ‘To Miss Cooper – Cousin: Conscious of the Charming Character which in every Country, and every Clime in Christendom is Cried, Concerning you, With Caution and Care I Commend to your Charitable Criticism this Clever Collection of Curious Comments, which have been Carefully Culled, Collected and Classed by your Comical Cousin – The Author’.17
Two of Cassandra’s watercolours in her sister’s ‘History of England’: Henry V (left) perhaps resembles Henry Austen and Edward IV (right) cousin Edward Cooper
***
By the time she reached Volume the Second, she was writing fuller, more sophisticated parodies. This time Oliver Goldsmith was the target of her satire, and even Cassandra got in on the joke. Jane Austen’s ‘History of England’ with illustrations by Cassandra is a pro-Stuart, pro-Catholic skit which makes fun of the standard school history books of the time. It mocks the very textbook that her father used in his own schoolroom. She clearly loved teasing her father. Oliver Goldsmith’s popular four-volume History of England from the Earliest Times to the Death of George II (1771) was itself a heavily biased abridgement of David Hume’s History of England from the Invasion of Julius Caesar to the Revolution in 1688 (six volumes, 1754–62). Jane Austen had her own copy of Hume’s work, which is greatly superior to Goldsmith. Goldsmith later published a one-volume abridgement of his History. Thus part of her joke was to abridge the already abridged history.
The Steventon copy of Goldsmith’s History, inscribed with the name of her eldest brother James, contains marginal annotations in her hand. The volumes of Goldsmith are still in the family’s possession and Jane Austen’s annotations have recently been published in full for the first time.18 Her first known scribbling had been a defacement of a book: her French textbook, from when she was eight, has her signature ‘Jane Austen., 5th Decr. 1783’ and then ‘Mothers angry fathers gone out’ and ‘I wish I had done.’19 Once she had a pen in her hand she couldn’t stop herself from writing. Reading Goldsmith’s biased opinions on English history, she displays the almost uncontainable urge to scribble that is the mark of the born writer.
The annotations on Goldsmith clearly reveal her own passionately royalist feelings. In Jane Austen’s eyes, Oliver Cromwell was a ‘Detestable Monster!’20 Goldsmith informs us that he ‘inherited a very small paternal fortune’, to which Austen adds: ‘And that was more than he deserved.’ She praises Lady Fairfax (‘Charming Woman!’) for making loyalist remarks from the public gallery when the King was put on trial. The King’s execution drew her most forceful denunciations. ‘Such was the fortitude of the Stuarts when oppressed and accused!’ she wrote of King Charles I. She finished and dated her parodic ‘History of England’ 26 November 1791, her hatred of the English revolution heightened by the French.21
In an account of the death of the Parliamentarian John Hampden, Goldsmith wrote of his character: ‘affability in conversation, temper, art, eloquence in debate, and penetration in counsel’. Austen responded in the margin: ‘what a pity that such virtues sh[oul]d be clouded by Republicanism’. Of other anti-royalists she wrote, ‘Shame to such members’ and ‘Impudent Fellows’. She often substituted the word ‘guilt’ for ‘innocence’ in relation to anti-royalists. ‘Fiddlededia’, she writes – meaning nonsense or fiddledeedee.
Jane Austen adored the Stuarts. A touching speech attributed to Bonnie Prince Charlie is annotated ‘Who but a Stuart could have so spoken?’ Her loyalty was inspired by her Leigh ancestry. Of the Stuarts the young Jane Austen noted in her pencil marks: ‘A family, who were always ill-used, BETRAYED or NEGLECTED, Whose virtues are seldom allowed, while their Errors are never forgotten’. These were strong opinions for a young girl. Her Jacobite sympathies meant that she shared Goldsmith’s hostility to the Whigs, who dominated politics in the Georgian era. He claimed that ‘the Whigs governed the Senate and the court … bound the lower orders of people with severe laws, and kept them at a distance by vile distinctions; and then taught them to call this – Liberty’, and she agreed: ‘Yes, This is always the Liberty of Whigs and Republicans.’ To his comment that ‘all the severe and most restrictive laws were enacted by that party that are continually stunning mankind with a cry of freedom’, she writes, ‘My dear Dr G. – I have lived long enough in this World to know that it is always so.’ She felt that the Whigs represented new money, selfishness and self-aggrandizement. Her sympathies were with the poor and oppressed. Beside an account of an impoverished couple who were forced to the last resort of cutting their child’s throat and hanging themselves, she wrote, ‘How much are the Poor to be pitied and the Rich to be blamed.’ She shared with her father and all her family a paternalistic Christian Toryism.
In another of her Steventon books, Vicesimus Knox’s anthology of Elegant Extracts: or Useful and Entertaining Passages in Prose Selected for the Improvement of Scholars, she disagreed with every slight on the character of her heroine, Mary Queen of Scots: ‘No’, ‘No’, ‘A lie’, ‘Another lie’, ‘she was not attached to him’. Correspondingly, she vehemently opposed any praise for Queen Elizabeth I: ‘a lie’, ‘a Lie – an entire lie from beginning to end’.22
Having defaced Goldsmith’s History she eventually decided that she would write a sustained parody, showing up his inadequacies as a historian. She gave her work the title ‘The History of England from the reign of Henry the 4th to the death of Charles the 1st. By a partial, prejudiced and ignorant Historian’, dedicated it to Cassandra and added a nota bene: ‘There will be very few dates in this History.’ Austen parodies the tone and style of Goldsmith with unerring accuracy, pinpointing his incongruities and omissions.
Jane Austen made her dislike of Elizabeth I very clear, though she did cast some of the blame on to her male advisers: ‘It was the peculiar Misfortune of this Woman to have bad Ministers – Since wicked as she herself was, she could not have committed such extensive Mischief, had not these vile and abandoned Men connived at, and encouraged her in her Crimes.’ All her sympathies were with Mary Queen of Scots: ‘firm in her Mind; Constant in her Religion; and prepared herself to meet the cruel fate to which she was doomed, with a magnanimity that could alone proceed from conscious Innocence’. Mary, she says, was friendless apart from the Duke of Norfolk and her only friends now ‘are Mr Whitaker, Mrs Lefroy, Mrs Knight, and myself’. Whitaker was the author of a book called Mary Queen of Scots Vindicated, just published in 1787. Mrs Knight was, of course, the wife of Thomas Knight, who had adopted young Edward Austen and who would play an important part in Jane’s future literary career. Mrs Lefroy was a friend and mentor, who lived in a nearby parsonage.
Jane Austen also makes a series of knowing jokes about the homosexual preferences of King James I and his circle. The ‘attentions’ of his courtier Sir Henry Percy ‘were entirely confined to Lord Mounteagle’, while ‘His Majesty was of that amiable disposition that inclines to Friendships and in such points was possessed of a keener penetration in Discovering Merit than many other people’. The nature of these ‘Friendships’ might be hinted at in the phrase ‘keener penetration’,23 but it is made explicit in the charade that Austen then slips into her ‘History’: ‘My first is what my second was to King James the 1st, and you tread on my whole.’ The answer is of course, car-pet, an allusion to Sir Robert Carr, the most notorious of King James’s homosexual lovers.24 Those who believe that Jane Austen could never have made a joke about sodomy in the navy (‘Rears, and Vices’) may want to reconsider their opinion in the light of her King James joke, made as a teenager. And read aloud to family and friends. The Georgians, as is clear from the thriving trade in caricatures riddled with double entendres, were a far cry from the prudish Victorians.
Like all big families, the Austens had their own private language, their in-jokes. Many of the allusions are no doubt lost on us, but certain ones can be deduced. Jane was known to have red cheeks, so there are several jokes about young women who have too much red in their cheeks. Again, Jane drew on the names of family members in stories such as ‘The Beautifull Cassandra’ and ‘Henry and Eliza’. It is hardly a coincidence that a story dedicated to Frank includes a pious young man who is torn between entering the Church and joining the navy, and thus becomes a chaplain on board a man of war. Another story describes a boy who, like Charles and Frank, is ‘placed at the Royal Academy for Seamen at Portsmouth when about thirteen years old’. On graduating he is ‘discharged on board one of the vessels of a small fleet destined for Newfoundland … from whence he regularly sent home a large Newfoundland Dog every Month to his family’.25 And one suspects some sort of family joke in a story dedicated to Austen’s mother, in which Jane writes, ‘I saw you thro’ a telescope, and was so struck by your Charms that from that time to this I have not tasted human food.’26
The little ‘History of England’ in Volume the Second is a genuine family production: it is peppered with caricature illustrations of the kings and queens of England, drawn by Jane’s sister Cassandra. They are jokily responsive to Jane’s narrative. Cassandra’s portrait of Queen Elizabeth presents her as shrewish and ugly with a long witch-like nose, while Mary Queen of Scots is full of face, pink-cheeked and beautiful with dark, curly hair. Edward IV, whom Jane notes is ‘famous for his beauty’, is drawn to look like a pig-farmer.
Comparison of the cartoons with surviving portraits has led to the recent suggestion that ‘The History of England’ may be even more of a family affair than previous biographers have realized.27 Henry V, the exemplary soldier-king, bears an uncanny resemblance to Henry Austen, who was seriously considering a career in the army. James I looks somewhat like James Austen and Edward VI like Edward Austen. The ugly Edward IV, who appears to be wearing the garb of an Evangelical clergyman, is the spitting image of a cousin whom Jane heartily disliked – Edward Cooper, an Evangelical clergyman. Elizabeth I has Mrs Austen’s hooked nose. If this hypothesis is correct, there can be only one candidate for resemblance to the heroine of the piece, Mary Queen of Scots. It would appear that Cassandra painted her in the likeness of her sister Jane. Mary Queen of Scots has red cheeks, a small mouth, large eyes and a strong nose, a small but perfectly formed miniature of the seventeen-year-old Jane. This could well be the biggest joke of all: that the young author might just be visible before our eyes.
***
‘Run mad as often as you chuse; but do not faint –’: so says Sophia, one of the (anti-) heroines of ‘Love and Freindship’.28
Though Jane Austen was a great advocate of the novel as a literary form, she was well aware of its limitations. In order to break the mould with her writing, she had to establish what she disliked and what didn’t work. Jane Austen loved the novels of Samuel Richardson and Fanny Burney, but she was not afraid to parody their conventions. Thus one of her characters, Sir Charles Adams, is based on Richardson’s idealized hero Sir Charles Grandison. In a sly dig at Richardson, showing a finely tuned comic touch beyond her years, Austen has her egocentric hero remark: ‘I expect nothing more in my wife than my wife will find in me – Perfection.’29
Cassandra’s drawing of Mary Queen of Scots in Jane Austen’s ‘History of England’
Anybody reading through the vellum notebooks will notice a seemingly endless succession of heroines weeping and fainting. At the end of ‘Edgar and Emma’, the heroine retires to her room and continues in tears for ‘the remainder of her Life’. In ‘A beautiful description of the different effects of Sensibility on different Minds’, Melissa drapes herself in her bed – somewhat diaphanously wrapped in ‘a book muslin bedgown, a chambray gauze shift, and a french net nightcap’ – so that the devoted Sir William can minister to her in her distressed fit of extreme sensibility. A doctor asks whether she is thinking of dying, to which the reply is that ‘She has not strength to think at all.’ ‘Nay then,’ replies the witty doctor, ‘she cannot think to have Strength.’30
It is tricky for modern readers fully to understand the genius of the vellum notebooks without placing them in the context of ‘sentimentalism’ and the late eighteenth-century ‘novel of sensibility’. Sentimentalism is a slippery concept, not least because what was first an approbatory term increasingly became pejorative. The cult of sensibility or sentimentalism was acted out in a code of conduct which placed emphasis on the feelings rather than on reason. A heightened sensitivity to emotional experience and an acute responsiveness to nature were perceived as the marks of the person of sensibility. Medical writers of the era connected sensibility to madness, over-taxed nerves and hysteria. In a sense, it was the eighteenth century’s term for what we now call manic depression. In the literature of the time, suicide was sometimes seen as the ultimate manifestation of extreme sensibility.
Sensibility had its orgins in philosophy, but it became a literary movement, particularly in the newly emerging genre of the novel. Characters in sentimental novels are often fragile individuals, prone to sensibility, which manifests itself in tears, fainting fits and nervous excitability. Laurence Sterne’s Sentimental Journey, Goldsmith’s The Vicar of Wakefield and Henry Mackenzie’s The Man of Feeling were exemplars of the genre which emphasized ‘feeling’ and aimed to elicit an emotional or sentimental response from the reader, usually by relating scenes of distress or tenderness. The most notorious of all sentimental novels was Goethe’s The Sorrows of Young Werther, which depicted a highly sensitive hero who kills himself because of unrequited love. It was said that every teenager in the land identified with the hero and shed tears when reading the novel, some even going so far as to commit copycat suicide.
The flip-side of this popular sentimental craze was the contention that such extreme behaviour was mere narcissism and self-indulgent histrionics. Furthermore, anti-sentimental thinkers associated the emotional volatility of sensibility with the violence of the French Revolution. After all, Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s La Nouvelle Héloïse was one of the bibles of sensibility and it was that same Rousseau whose Social Contract and theory of the ‘general will’ underpinned the ideology of the Jacobins. The young, passionately anti-revolutionary Jane Austen belonged firmly to the camp of anti-sensibility – though twenty years later her first published novel, Sense and Sensibility, would reveal a more nuanced and complex response to the phenomenon.
During the exact period when Jane Austen was preparing the vellum notebooks, her brothers were also engaged in a literary project that centred on the critique of sensibility. James Austen, sophisticated, creative and ambitious, went at the age of fourteen to his father’s alma mater, St John’s College, Oxford. He was already showing some talent as a poet. In 1786 he went on a Grand Tour on the continent, including a visit to cousin Eliza de Feuillide’s estate in Guienne, France. After his return home he took holy orders and was ordained deacon in December 1787. While serving as a curate in Hampshire, but still spending most of his time in Oxford, he launched, with the assistance of his brother Henry, who was himself a St John’s undergraduate by this time, a weekly literary periodical called the Loiterer. It was initially aimed at an Oxford student audience, but James eventually managed to get wider distribution for it, engaging a London publisher called Thomas Egerton and also advertising in the Reading Mercury, the local paper that served Steventon and the rest of East Hampshire. The periodical ran for a little over a year from 1789 to 1790. It eventually closed because, as James put it, the publisher’s bills were too long and the readers’ subscription list too short. James gave up on his ambition to be a published author, though he continued writing poetry for his own pleasure (when he wasn’t riding to hounds) throughout his career in the Church.
The Loiterer contains a lot of undergraduate humour – a typical paper concerns ‘tuft-hunting’, the art of trailing on the coat-tails of an aristocratic student. The essays are witty, but frequently laboured. There is an epigrammatic turn of phrase, but never with quite the crispness of the brothers’ younger sister. Thus James: ‘NOTHING has so often interrupted the harmony of private families, and set the whole genealogical table of Relations in arms against each other, as that unfortunate propensity which the old and the young have ever discovered to differ as much as possible in their opinion on almost every subject that comes in their way.’31
But where there is exact alignment between the Loiterer and the vellum notebooks is in their shared attitude to excessive sensibility and its debilitating effects on novels and their readers:
What I here allude to, Sir, is, that excess of sentiment and susceptibility, which the works of the great Rousseau chiefly introduced, which every subsequent Novel has since foster’d, and which the voluptuous manners of the present age but too eagerly embrace. I shall not here enumerate the many baneful effects which are produced by it in the morals of mankind, when under the mask of feeling and liberality are concealed the grossest allurements of sense … For though these Heroes and Heroines of sentimental memory be only imaginary characters, yet we may fairly presume, they were meant to be probable ones; and hence too we may conclude, that all who adopt their opinions will share their fate; that they will be tortured by the poignant delicacy of their own feelings, and fall the Martyrs to their own Susceptibility.32
Jane says the same in rather fewer words.
The tone is closer to hers in some of the essays written by brother Henry. For example this, on the rules for the education of a fine lady: ‘As soon as she can understand what is said to her, let her know that she is to look forwards to matrimony, as the sole end of existence, and the sole means of happiness; and that the older, the richer and the foolisher her Husband is, the more enviable will be her situation.’33
But the wittiest and most stylish contribution in the entire run of the Loiterer appears in issue number nine. It is written in the voice of a female reader:
To the AUTHOR of the LOITERER … You must know, Sir, I am a great reader, and not to mention some hundred volumes of Novels and Plays, have, in the last two summers, actually got through all the entertaining papers of our most celebrated periodical writers … I assure you my heart beat with joy when I first heard of your publication, which I immediately sent for, and have taken in ever since.
I am sorry, however, to say it, but really, Sir, I think it the stupidest work of the kind I ever saw: not but that some of the papers are well written; but then your subjects are so badly chosen, that they never interest one. – Only conceive, in eight papers, not one sentimental story about love and honour, and all that … Why, my dear Sir – what do you think we care about the way in which Oxford men spend their time and money – we, who have enough to do to spend our own. For my part, I never, but once, was at Oxford in my life, and I am sure I never wish to go there again … Get a new set of correspondents, from among the young of both sexes, but particularly ours; and let us see some nice affecting stories, relating the misfortunes of two lovers, who died suddenly, just as they were going to church. Let the lover be killed in a duel, or lost at sea, or you may make him shoot himself, just as you please; and as for his mistress, she will of course go mad; or if you will, you may kill the lady, and let the lover run mad; only remember, whatever you do, that your hero and heroine must possess a great deal of feeling, and have very pretty names. If you think fit to comply with this my injunction, you may expect to hear from me again, and perhaps I may even give you a little assistance: – but, if not – may your work be condemned to the pastry-cook’s shop, and may you always continue a bachelor, and be plagued with a maiden sister to keep house for you.
Your’s, as you behave,
SOPHIA SENTIMENT.
A young female reader from outside Oxford, who is a passionate reader and has a wicked sense of humour, who takes her name from a character in a play in the library at Steventon (William Hayley’s The Mausoleum), who loves to mock the novel of sensibility (‘let the lover run mad’), and who ends the letter with a joke about being plagued with a sister … There is a very strong probability that the letter from ‘Sophia Sentiment’ to the editor of the Loiterer is the first published work of Jane Austen.34
If Jane really was ‘Sophia Sentiment’, then, remarkably, her first appearance to an audience beyond the Oxford cognoscenti was at the hands of a Dublin ‘pirate’. After the magazine folded, the remaining sheets were bound up and published in Oxford, but in 1792 an independent edition was printed in book form by P. Byrne and W. Jones of Dublin. Patrick Byrne was Ireland’s leading Catholic publisher. He was later accused of involvement in a plot against King George III. He was arrested, accused of high treason and consigned to Newgate gaol, where he became ill. A petition for release was finally successful and he emigrated to Philadelphia, where he ran a successful printing business until his death in 1814, in the middle of the Anglo-American War.35 He was an unlikely first publisher for Jane Austen.
The vellum notebooks exist in a dialogue with the essays in the Loiterer. There are many parallels of both phrasing and theme. At the beginning of Jane Austen’s literary career, as in its maturity, there is a close relationship between her brothers and her path into print. ‘Lesley Castle: an unfinished Novel in Letters’ in Volume the Second is dedicated to Henry, with a joke imagining he has managed to get a very good book deal for her: ‘Messrs Demand and Co – please to pay Jane Austen Spinster the sum of one hundred guineas on account of your Humbl. Servant. H. T. Austen’.36 In later years, he would indeed act as her literary agent.
But the very best writing in the notebooks, the two works in which the modern reader can really see the seeds of the future novelist, were written for the all-important women in her family. One might have expected the dedications to have been the other way round: ‘Catharine, or the Bower’, with its East Indian connection and its political edge, is for Cassandra when it sounds more like Eliza de Feuillide’s fare, whereas ‘Love and Freindship’ is for Eliza when it consists of comic versions of the kinds of letter that would later pass between Jane and Cassandra.
‘Love and Freindship’ is the young Austen’s very best satire on the novel of sensibility. Emotional excess – the indulgence of luxuriance in feeling for its own sake – was the particular target of her satire. Many sentimental novels contained clichés such as lost orphans, swooning heroines, emotional reunions between lost children and parents, improbable chance meetings. ‘Love and Freindship’ mocks all these with a ruthless brilliance. Above all, Austen shows how bad moral conduct, selfishness and hypocrisy can be disguised behind the façade of sensibility.
Her heroines Laura and Sophia lie, cheat and steal – all in the name of sensibility. It was, after all, a code of conduct that unashamedly placed the individual first. When Sophia is caught stealing money, or in her words ‘majestically removing the 5th bank-note’ from a drawer, she responds in the injured tones of a virtuous heroine: ‘The dignity of Sophia was wounded; “Wretch (exclaimed she, hastily replacing the Bank-note in the draw) how darest thou accuse me of an Act, of which the bare idea makes me blush?”’37 The heroines are overcome with excessive ‘feeling’. When they witness an emotional reunion, they faint alternately on a sofa. At a moment of distress, one of them shrieks and faints on the ground, while the other screams and runs instantly mad.
‘Love and Freindship’ is in part a parody of Jane’s cousin Cassandra Hawke’s novel Julia de Gramont (1788), a book that contains many of the clichés that she satirized with such clear-eyed precision. Austen mirrors the plot-lines and sentimental language of Julia. She also borrows the name of the hero, Augustus, for her own unprincipled leading man.
Another of the clichés of the sentimental novel that Jane Austen parodies is the use of natural settings as a place of solace. In Julia, the heroine enters a shady grove which reminds her of the frequent visits that she made there with Augustus. ‘Each seat, each shrub, recall[s] a dear idea to her mind.’38 In ‘Love and Freindship’, Sophia and Laura enter a shaded grove, and turn to thoughts of their lovers:
‘What a beautifull Sky! (said I) How charmingly is the azure varied by those delicate streaks of white!’
‘Oh! my Laura (replied she, hastily withdrawing her Eyes from a momentary glance at the sky) do not thus distress me by calling my Attention to an object which so cruelly reminds me of my Augustus’s blue Satin Waistcoat striped with white! In pity to your unhappy freind, avoid a subject so distressing.’39
After reading this sort of thing in ‘Love and Freindship’ it is hard to take the eighteenth-century sentimental novel altogether seriously.
Jane Austen loved burlesque and never altogether abandoned it. From her earliest full-length satire on the Gothic and sentimental novel, Northanger Abbey, to her final uncompleted novel, Sanditon, she continued to use elements of it in her work. But her critique of sensibility is serious as well as playful. Shortly after the vellum notebooks were completed, Samuel Taylor Coleridge lectured in Bristol on the slave trade:
True Benevolence is a rare Quality among us. Sensibility indeed we have to spare – what novel-reading Lady does not over flow with it to the great annoyance of her Friends and Family – Her own sorrows like the Princes of Hell in Milton’s Pandemonium sit enthroned bulky and vast, while the miseries of our fellow creatures dwindle into pygmy forms, and are crowded, an unnumbered multitude, into some dark corner of the Heart where the eye of sensibility gleams faintly on them at long Intervals – a keen feeling of trifling misfortunes is selfish cowardice not virtue.40
As will be seen, Austen was a great admirer of Coleridge’s friend, the leading abolitionist Thomas Clarkson. Coleridge’s argument that ‘sensibility’ was fundamentally selfish and thus an impediment to that true ‘Benevolence’ which guides Christian behaviour – and which should make every true Christian an abolitionist – is one with which Jane Austen heartily concurred.
