[316] _Memoir_, p. 157.
[317] Mr. Gifford.
[318] f.a.n.n.y Knight.
[319] Mary Cooke.
[320] f.a.n.n.y Knight.
[321] Mary Cooke.
[322] Mr. Clarke.
[323] Mr. Sherer.
[324] Mary Cooke.
[325] Many critics.
[326] Mary Cooke.
[327] f.a.n.n.y Knight.
[328] Mrs. Pea.r.s.e of Chilton Lodge.
[329] f.a.n.n.y Knight.
[330] Mrs. Craven.
[331] Mr. H. Sanford.
CHAPTER XIX
AUNT JANE
1814-1817
Any attempt at depicting the charm and attractiveness of Jane Austen"s character must be quite incomplete if it fails to take into account the special manner in which she showed these qualities as an aunt. She herself says in joke to a young niece that she had always maintained the importance of aunts; and she evidently felt, in all seriousness, the responsibility of that relationship, though she would have been one of the last to display her sense of it by any didactic or authoritative utterance. The author of the _Memoir_ tells us that her two nieces who were grown up in her lifetime could say how valuable to them had been her advice in "the little difficulties and doubts of early womanhood"; and Lord Brabourne quotes here and there extracts from his mother"s diary, such as these: "Aunt Jane and I had a very interesting conversation"; "Aunt Jane and I had a delicious morning together"; "Aunt Jane and I very snug"; and so on, until the sad ending: "I had the misery of losing my dear Aunt Jane after a lingering illness."
Some letters of hers to three of her nieces give a good idea of her value and importance to them, whether as grown women or as children.[332]
f.a.n.n.y Knight, sensible as she was, and early accustomed to responsibility, felt at a loss how to distinguish in her own mind between inclination and love when seriously courted in 1814 by a man of unexceptionable position and character. A reference to her aunt brought her two delightful letters.[333] No definite opinion was expressed or formal advice given in these letters, but they must have helped her by their sympathy, and cleared her mind by the steadiness with which they contemplated the case in all its bearings.
Chawton: Friday [November 18, 1814].
I feel quite as doubtful as you could be, my dearest f.a.n.n.y, as to _when_ my letter may be finished, for I can command very little quiet time at present; but yet I must begin, for I know you will be glad to hear as soon as possible, and I really am impatient myself to be writing something on so very interesting a subject, though I have no hope of writing anything to the purpose. I shall do very little more, I dare say, than say over again what you have said before.
I was certainly a good deal surprised _at first_, as I had no suspicion of any change in your feelings, and I have no scruple in saying that you cannot be in love. My dear f.a.n.n.y, I am ready to laugh at the idea, and yet it is no laughing matter to have had you so mistaken as to your own feelings. And with all my heart I wish I had cautioned you on that point when first you spoke to me; but, though I did not think you then _much_ in love, I did consider you as being attached in a degree quite sufficiently for happiness, as I had no doubt it would increase with opportunity, and from the time of our being in London[334] together I thought you really very much in love. But you certainly are not at all--there is no concealing it.
What strange creatures we are! It seems as if your being secure of him had made you indifferent.
He is just what he ever was, only more evidently and uniformly devoted to _you_. This is all the difference. How shall we account for it?
My dearest f.a.n.n.y, I am writing what will not be of the smallest use to you. I am feeling differently every moment, and shall not be able to suggest a single thing that can a.s.sist your mind. I could lament in one sentence and laugh in the next, but as to opinion or counsel I am sure that none will be extracted worth having from this letter.
Poor dear Mr. A.! Oh, dear f.a.n.n.y! your mistake has been one that thousands of women fall into. He was the _first_ young man who attached himself to you.
That was the charm, and most powerful it is. Among the mult.i.tudes, however, that make the same mistake with yourself, there can be few indeed who have so little reason to regret it; _his_ character and _his_ attachment leave you nothing to be ashamed of.
Upon the whole, what is to be done? You have no inclination for any other person. His situation in life, family, friends, and, above all, his character, his uncommonly amiable mind, strict principles, just notions, good habits, _all_ that _you_ know so well how to value, _all_ that is really of the first importance--everything of this nature pleads his cause most strongly. You have no doubt of his having superior abilities, he has proved it at the University; he is, I dare say, such a scholar as your agreeable, idle brothers would ill bear a comparison with.
Oh, my dear f.a.n.n.y! the more I write about him the warmer my feelings become--the more strongly I feel the sterling worth of such a young man and the desirableness of your growing in love with him again. I recommend this most thoroughly. There _are_ such beings in the world, perhaps one in a thousand, as the creature you and I should think perfection, where grace and spirit are united to worth, where the manners are equal to the heart and understanding; but such a person may not come in your way, or, if he does, he may not be the eldest son of a man of fortune, the near relation of your particular friend, and belonging to your own county.
Think of all this, f.a.n.n.y. Mr. A. has advantages which we do not often meet in one person. His only fault, indeed, seems modesty. If he were less modest he would be more agreeable, speak louder, and look impudenter; and is not it a fine character of which modesty is the only defect? I have no doubt he will get more lively and more like yourselves as he is more with you; he will catch your ways if he belongs to you. And, as to there being any objection from his _goodness_, from the danger of his becoming even evangelical, I cannot admit _that_. I am by no means convinced that we ought not all to be evangelicals, and am at least persuaded that they who are so from reason and feeling must be happiest and safest.
And now, my dear f.a.n.n.y, having written so much on one side of the question, I shall turn round and entreat you not to commit yourself farther, and not to think of accepting him unless you really do like him. Anything is to be preferred or endured rather than marrying without affection; and if his deficiencies of manner, &c. &c., strike you more than all his good qualities, if you continue to think strongly of them, give him up at once.
Things are now in such a state that you must resolve upon one or the other--either to allow him to go on as he has done, or whenever you are together behave with a coldness which may convince him that he has been deceiving himself. I have no doubt of his suffering a good deal for a time--a great deal when he feels that he must give you up; but it is no creed of mine, as you must be well aware, that such sort of disappointments kill anybody.
Yours very affectionately, JANE AUSTEN.
23 Hans Place: Wednesday [November 30, 1814].
Now, my dearest f.a.n.n.y, I will begin a subject which comes in very naturally. You frighten me out of my wits by your reference. Your affection gives me the highest pleasure, but indeed you must not let anything depend on my opinion; your own feelings, and none but your own, should determine such an important point. So far, however, as answering your question, I have no scruple. I am perfectly convinced that your present feelings, supposing you were to marry _now_, would be sufficient for his happiness; but when I think how very, very far it is from a "_now_," and take everything that _may be_ into consideration, I dare not say "Determine to accept him"; the risk is too great for _you_, unless your own sentiments prompt it.
You will think me perverse perhaps; in my last letter I was urging everything in his favour, and now I am inclining the other way, but I cannot help it; I am at present more impressed with the possible evil that may arise to _you_ from engaging yourself to him--in word or mind--than with anything else. When I consider how few young men you have yet seen much of; how capable you are (yes, I do still think you _very_ capable) of being really in love; and how full of temptation the next six or seven years of your life will probably be (it is the very period of life for the _strongest_ attachments to be formed)--I cannot wish you, with your present very cool feelings, to devote yourself in honour to him. It is very true that you never may attach another man his equal altogether; but if that other man has the power of attaching you _more_, he will be in your eyes the most perfect.
I shall be glad if you _can_ revive past feelings, and from your unbia.s.sed self resolve to go on as you have done, but this I do not expect; and without it I cannot wish you to be fettered. I should not be afraid of your _marrying_ him; with all his worth you would soon love him enough for the happiness of both; but I should dread the continuance of this sort of tacit engagement, with such an uncertainty as there is of _when_ it may be completed. Years may pa.s.s before he is independent; you like him well enough to marry, but not well enough to wait; the unpleasantness of appearing fickle is certainly great; but if you think you want punishment for past illusions, there it is, and nothing can be compared to the misery of being bound _without_ love--bound to one, and preferring another; _that_ is a punishment which you do _not_ deserve.
I shall be most glad to hear from you again, my dearest f.a.n.n.y, but it must not be later than Sat.u.r.day, as we shall be off on Monday long before the letters are delivered; and write _something_ that may do to be read or told.
I cannot suppose we differ in our ideas of the Christian religion. You have given an excellent description of it. We only affix a different meaning to the word _evangelical_.
Yours most affectionately, J. AUSTEN.
Miss Knight, G.o.dmersham Park, Faversham, Kent.