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If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The women novelists - -Author: Reginald Brimley Johnson - -Release Date: September 8, 2022 [eBook #68939] - -Language: English - -Produced by: The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images - made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WOMEN NOVELISTS *** - - - - - - THE - - WOMEN NOVELISTS - - BY - - R. BRIMLEY JOHNSON - - AUTHOR OF - “TALES PROM CHAUCER” “TOWARDS RELIGION” - “TENNYSON AND HIS POETRY” - - [Illustration] - - LONDON: 48 PALL MALL - - W. COLLINS SONS & CO. LTD. - - GLASGOW MELBOURNE AUCKLAND - - - - -Copyright 1918 - - - - -I have to thank the editor and publisher of _The Athenæum_ for -permission to reprint the chapter on “Parallel Passages”; the editor -and publisher of _The Gownsman_ for permission to use “A Study in Fine -Art”; Professor Gollancz and Messrs. Chatto & Windus for permission to -reprint the section on “Cranford” which was written for an Introduction -to a reprint of that novel in “The King’s Classics.” - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - INTRODUCTION 1 - BEFORE MISS BURNEY - - THE FIRST WOMAN NOVELIST 7 - FANNY BURNEY, 1752-1840 - - A PICTURE OF YOUTH 35 - FANNY BURNEY’S “CAMILLA” - - “CECILIA” TO “SENSE AND SENSIBILITY” 54 - WRITERS FROM 1782-1811 - - A STUDY IN FINE ART 66 - JANE AUSTEN, 1775-1817 - - A “MOST ACCOMPLISHED COQUETTE” 105 - JANE AUSTEN’S “LADY SUSAN” - - PARALLEL PASSAGES 117 - JANE AUSTEN AND FANNY BURNEY - - “PERSUASION” TO “JANE EYRE” 131 - WRITERS FROM 1818-1847 - - A LONELY SOUL 164 - CHARLOTTE BRONTË, 1816-1855 - - “JANE EYRE” TO “SCENES OF CLERICAL LIFE” 179 - WRITERS FROM 1847-1858 - - A PROFESSIONAL WOMAN 204 - GEORGE ELIOT, 1819-1880 - - THE GREAT FOUR 226 - BURNEY, AUSTEN, BRONTË, GEORGE ELIOT - - THE WOMAN’S MAN 245 - AN IDEAL AND A POINT OF VIEW - - PERSONALITIES 263 - CHARACTER ANALYSIS AND BIOGRAPHICAL OUTLINES - - CONCLUSION 282 - - APPENDIX--LIST OF MINOR WRITERS 293 - - INDEX TO AUTHORS AND TITLES 297 - - - - -THE WOMEN NOVELISTS - - - - -INTRODUCTION - - -Although women wrote novels before Defoe, the father of English -fiction, or Richardson, the founder of the modern novel, we cannot -detect any peculiarly feminine elements in their work, or profitably -consider it apart from the general development of prose. - -In the beginning they copied men, and saw through men’s eyes, -because--here and elsewhere--they assumed that men’s dicta and -practice in life and art were their only possible guides and examples. -Women to-day take up every form of fiction attempted by men, because -they assume that their powers are as great, their right to express -themselves equally varied. - -But there was a period, covering about a hundred years, during which -women “found themselves” in fiction, and developed the art, along -lines of their own, more or less independently. This century may -conveniently be divided into three periods, which it is the object of -the following pages to analyse: - -From the publication of _Evelina_ to the publication of _Sense and -Sensibility_, 1778-1811. - -From the publication of _Sense and Sensibility_ to the publication of -_Jane Eyre_, 1811-1847. - -From the publication of _Jane Eyre_ to the publication of _Daniel -Deronda_, 1847-1876. - -It may be noticed, however, in passing to the establishment of a -feminine school by Fanny Burney, that individual women did pioneer -work; among whom the earliest, and the most important, is “the -ingenious Mrs. Aphra Behn” (1640-1689). She is generally believed -to have been the first woman “to earn a livelihood in a profession, -which, hitherto, had been exclusively monopolized by men,”--“she was, -moreover, the first to introduce milk punch into England”! For much of -her work she adopted a masculine pseudonym and, with it, a reckless -licence no doubt essential to success under the Restoration. Yet she -wrote “the first prose story that can be compared with things that -already existed in foreign literatures”; and, allowing for a few -rather outspoken descriptive passages, there is nothing peculiarly -objectionable in her _Oroonoko; or, The History of the Royal Slave_. -Making use of her own experience of the West Indies, acquired in -childhood, she invented the “noble savage,” the “natural man,” long -afterwards made fashionable by Rousseau; and boldly contrasted the -ingenuous virtues, and honour, of this splendid heathen with Christian -treachery and avarice. The “great and just character of Oroonoko,” -indeed, would scarcely have satisfied “Revolutionary” ideals of the -primitive; since he was inordinately proud of his birth and his beauty, -and killed his wife from an “artificial” sense of honour. But there is -a naïvely exaggerated simplicity in Mrs. Behn’s narrative; which does -faithfully represent, as she herself expresses it, “an absolute idea of -the first state of innocence, before man knew how to sin.” Whence she -declares “it is most evident and plain, that simple nature is the most -harmless, inoffensive, and virtuous mistress. It is she alone, if she -were permitted, that better instructs the world than all the inventions -of man: _religion would here but destroy that tranquility they possess -by ignorance; and laws would but teach them to know offence, of which -now they have no notion_ ... they have a native justice, which knows -no fraud; and they understand no vice, or cunning, but when they are -taught by the white men.” - -Our author is quite uncompromising in this matter; and her eulogy of -“fig-leaves” should refute the most cynical: “I have seen a handsome -young Indian, dying for love of a beautiful Indian maid; but all his -courtship was, to fold his arms, pursue her with his eyes, and sighs -were all his language: while she, as if no such lover were present, or -rather as if she desired none such, carefully guarded her eyes from -beholding him; and never approached him, but she looked down with all -the blushing modesty I have seen in the most severe and cautious of our -world.” - -The actual story of _Oroonoko_ will hardly move us to-day; and the -final scene, where that Prince and gentleman is seen smoking a pipe -(!) as the horrid Christians “hack off” his limbs one by one, comes -dangerously near the ludicrous. Still we may “hope,” with the modest -authoress, that “the reputation of her pen is considerable enough to -make his glorious name to survive all ages.” - -It should finally be remarked that Aphra forestalls one more innovation -of the next century, by introducing slight descriptions of scenery; and -that here, as always, she arrested her readers’ attention by plunging -straight into the story. - -Two other professional women of that generation deserve mention: Mrs. -Manley (1672-1724), author of the scurrilous _New Atalantis_, and Mrs. -Heywood (or Haywood) (1693-1756), editor of the _Female Spectator_. -Both were employed by their betters for the secret promotion of vile -libels--the former political, the latter literary; and both wrote -novels of some vigour, but deservedly forgotten: although the latest, -and best, of Mrs. Manley’s were written after _Pamela_, and bear -striking witness to the influence of Richardson. - -A few more years bring us to the true birth of the modern novel; when -Sarah Fielding (1710-1768), whose _David Simple_, in an unfortunate -attempt to combine sentiment with the picaresque, revealed some of -her brother’s humour and the decided influence of Richardson. And -though _The Female Quixote_ of Charlotte Lennox (1720-1804) has been -pronounced “more absurd than any of the romances which it was designed -to ridicule,” Macaulay himself allows it “great merit, when considered -as a wild satirical harlequinade”; and it remains an early, if not the -first, example of conscious revolt against the artificial tyrannies of -“Romance,” of which the evil influences on the art of fiction were soon -to be triumphantly abolished for ever by a sister-authoress. - - - - -THE FIRST WOMAN NOVELIST - -(FANNY BURNEY, 1752-1840) - - -It is, to-day, a commonplace of criticism that the novel proper, though -partially forestalled in subject and treatment by Defoe, began with -Richardson’s _Pamela_ in 1740. The main qualities which distinguish -this work from our earlier “romances” were the attempt to copy, or -reproduce, real life; and the choice of middle-class society for -dramatis personæ. It is difficult for us to realise how long the -prejudice against “middle-class” characters held sway; but no doubt -Christopher North reflected the sentiments of the majority in 1829 -when he represented the “Shepherd” declaring it to be his “profound -conviction that the strength o’ human nature lies either in the highest -or lowest estate of life. Characters in books should either be kings, -and princes, and nobles, and on a level with them, like heroes; or -peasants, shepherds, farmers, and the like, includin’ a’ orders amaist -o’ our ain working population. The intermediate class--that is, -leddies and gentlemen in general--are no worth the Muse’s while; for -their life is made up chiefly o’ mainners,--mainners,--mainners;--you -canna see the human creters for their claes; and should ane o’ them -commit suicide in despair, in lookin’ on the dead body, you are -mair taen up wi’ its dress than its decease.” The “romance” only -condescended below Prince or Peer for the exhibition of the Criminal. -It aimed at exaggeration in every detail for dramatic effect. It -recognised no limit to the resources of wealth, the beauty of virtue, -the splendour of heroism, or the corruption of villainy. It permitted -the supernatural. Fielding clearly considers it necessary to apologise -for the _vulgarity_ of mere “human nature”: - - “The provision, then, which we have here made, is no other than Human - Nature: nor do I fear that any sensible reader, though most luxurious - in his taste, will start, cavil, or be offended because I have named - but one article. The tortoise, as the alderman of Bristol, well - learned in eating, knows by much experience, besides the delicious - calipash and calipee, contains many different kinds of food; nor can - the learned reader be ignorant, that in human nature, though here - collected under one general name, is such prodigious variety, that a - cook will have sooner gone through all the several species of animal - and vegetable food in the world, than an author will be able to - exhaust so extensive a subject. - - “An objection may perhaps be apprehended from the more delicate, that - this dish is too vulgar and common; for what else is the subject of - all the romances, novels, plays, and poems, with which the stalls - abound? Many exquisite viands might be rejected by the epicure, if it - was sufficient cause for his contemning of them as common and vulgar, - that something was to be found in the most paltry alleys under the - same name. In reality, true nature is as difficult to be met with in - authors, as the Bayonne ham, or Bologna sausage, is to be found in the - shops. - - “But the whole, to continue the metaphor, consists in the cooking of - the author; for, as Mr. Pope tells us,-- - - ‘True wit is nature to advantage dress’d; - What oft was thought, but ne’er so well express’d.’ - - “The same animal which hath the honour to have some part of his flesh - eaten at the table of a duke, may perhaps be degraded in another part, - and some of his limbs gibbetted, as it were, in the vilest stall in - town. Where then lies the difference between the food of the nobleman - and the porter, if both are at dinner on the same ox or calf, but in - the seasoning, the dressing, the garnishing, and the setting forth? - Hence the one provokes and incites the most languid appetite, and the - other turns and palls that which is the sharpest and keenest. - - “In like manner the excellence of the mental entertainment consists - less in the subject than in the author’s skill in well dressing - it up. How pleased, therefore, will the reader be to find that we - have, in the following work, adhered closely to one of the highest - principles of the best cook which the present age, or perhaps that - of Heliogabalus, hath produced? This great man, as is well known to - all lovers of polite eating, begins at first by setting plain things - before his hungry guests, rising afterwards by degrees, as their - stomachs may be supposed to decrease, to the very quintessence of - sauce and spices. - - “In like manner we shall represent human nature at first, to the keen - appetite of our reader, in that more plain and simple manner in which - it is found in the country, and shall hereafter hash and ragout it - with all the high French and Italian seasoning of affectation and - vice which courts and cities afford. By these means, we doubt not but - our reader may be rendered desirous to read on for ever, as the great - person just above mentioned, is supposed to have made some persons - eat.” - -Samuel Richardson, printer, revolutionised fiction. He inaugurated a -method of novel-writing: shrewdly adapted, and developed, by Fielding; -boisterously copied by Smollett; humorously varied by Goldsmith and -Sterne. And when the new ideal of realism and simple narrative had -been thus, more or less consciously, established as fit fruit for the -circulating library: that “evergreen tree of diabolical knowledge,” -finally purified of all offence against decency, was planted in every -household by a timid and bashful young lady, who “hemmed and stitched -from breakfast to dinner with scrupulous regularity.” - -The mental development of Frances Burney, authoress of _Evelina_, was -encouraged by “no governess, no teacher of any art or of any language.” -Her father’s library contained only _one novel_; and she does not -appear to have supplemented it in this particular. But the peculiar -circumstances of Dr. Burney’s social position, and the infectious -enthusiasm of his artistic temperament, provided his daughter with very -exceptional opportunities for the study of material appropriate to the -construction of a modern novel. On the one hand, he permitted her free -intercourse “with those whom butlers and waiting-maids call vulgar”; -and, on the other, he gave her every opportunity of watching Society -at ease in the company of artists and men of letters. At his concerts -and tea-parties, again, she often saw Johnson and Garrick; Bruce, Omai, -and the “lions” of her generation; the peers and the politicians; the -ambassadors and the travellers; the singers and the fiddlers. - -And, finally, if her most worthy stepmother has been derided for the -conventionality which discouraged the youthful “observer,” and dictated -a “bonfire” for her early manuscripts, it may not be altogether -fanciful to conjecture that the domestic ideals of feminine propriety -thus inculcated had some hand in shaping the precise direction of the -influence which Fanny was destined to exert upon the development of her -art. - -For if _Evelina_ was modelled on the work of Richardson, and the -fathers of fiction, who had so recently passed away, it nevertheless -inaugurated a new departure--the expression of a feminine outlook on -life. It was, frankly and obviously, written by a woman for women, -though it captivated men of the highest intellect. - -We need not suppose that Johnson’s pet “character-monger” set out -with any intention of accomplishing this reform; but the woman’s view -is so obvious on every page that we can scarcely credit the general -assumption of “experienced” _masculine_ authorship, which was certainly -prevalent during the few weeks it remained anonymous. It would have -been far more reasonable for the public to have accepted the legend -of its being written by a girl of seventeen. For the heroine is -represented as being no older; and though Miss Burney was twenty-six -at the time, she has been most extraordinarily successful in assuming -the tone of extreme youth, and thus emphasising still further the -innovation. Its main subject is “The Introduction of a Young Lady to -the World”; and being told in letters from the heroine to her guardian, -could scarcely have been better arranged, by a self-conscious artist, -for the exposition of the novelty. On the other hand, the success of -its execution doubtless owes much to the author’s spontaneity and to -her untrained mind. It would seem that she was blissfully unconscious -of any accepted “rules” in composition; and even in _Cecilia_, -generally supposed to be partially disfigured by Johnson’s advice, -it is only in the structure of her sentences that she attempted to -be “correct.” It is a more complex variant of the same theme, with a -precisely similar inspiration: the manipulation of her own experience -of life, and her own comments thereon. - -It is obvious that we can only realise the precise nature of what she -accomplished for fiction by comparing her work with Richardson’s, -since Fielding, Smollett, and Sterne wove all their stories about -a “hero,” and even Goldsmith drew women through the spectacles of a -naïvely “superior” and obviously masculine vicar. Richardson, on the -other hand, was admittedly an expert in the analysis of the feminine. -We must recognise a lack of virility in touch and outlook. The prim -exactitude of his cautious realism, however startling in comparison -with anything before _Pamela_, has much affinity with what our -ancestors might have expected from their womenkind. Yet his women are -quite obviously studies, not self-revelations. We can fancy that Pamela -sat on his knee to have her portrait taken; while he was giving such -infinite care to Clarissa’s drapery on the model’s throne. We can only -marvel that he could ever determine whether Clementina or Miss Harriet -Byron were a more worthy mate for “the perfect man.” Verily they were -all as men made them; exquisite creatures, born for our delight, but -regulated by our taste in loveliness and virtue. That marvellous little -eighteenth-century tradesman understood their weaknesses no less than -their perfections; but the fine lines of his brush show through every -word or expression: the delicacy of outline is deliberately obtained by -art. They are patently the fruits of acute observation, keen sympathy, -and subtle draughtsmanship. They remain lay figures, posed for the -centre of the picture. The showman is there, pulling the strings. -And above all they are man-made. For all his extraordinary insight -Richardson can only see woman from the outside. Our _consciousness_ -of his skill proves it is conscious. His world still centres round -the hero: the rustic fine gentleman, the courtly libertine, or the -immaculate male. - -Fanny Burney reverses the whole process. To begin with external -evidence: it is Evelina who tells the tale, and every person or -incident is regarded from her point of view. The resultant difference -goes to the heart of the matter. The reader does not here feel that he -is studying a new type of female: he is making a new friend. Evelina -and Cecilia speak for themselves throughout. There is no sense of -effort or study; not because Fanny Burney is a greater artist or has -greater power to conceal her art, but because, for the accomplishment -of her task, she has simply to be herself. It is here, in fact, that -we find the peculiar charm, and the supreme achievement, of the women -who founded the school. By never attempting professional study of -life outside their own experience, they were enabled to produce a -series of feminine “Confessions”; which remain almost unique as -human documents. We must recognise that it was Richardson who had -made this permissible. He broke away, for ever, from the extravagant -impossibilities and unrealities of Romance. He copied life, and -life moreover in its prosaic aspect--the work-a-day, unpicturesque -experience of the middle-class. But still he lingered among its crises. -It is not that in his days men were still given to the expression of -emotion by words, and deeds, of violence. While beautiful maidens were -liable to be driven furiously by the villain into the presence of an -unfrocked clergyman; while money could buy a whole army of accomplices -for their undoing; Richardson remains a realist in the narration of -such episodes. We are here referring to the fact that his stories are -all concerned with the elaborate development of one central emotion or -the analysis of one predominating character. They are pictures of life -composed for the exhibition of a slightly phenomenal aspect: the depths -of human nature, not commonly obvious to us in the moods of a day. - -It was reserved for Fanny Burney, and still more Jane Austen, to “make -a story” out of the trivialities of our everyday existence; to reveal -humanity at a tea-party or an afternoon call. This is, of course, but -carrying on his reform one step further. The women, besides introducing -the new element of their own especial point of view, made the new -realism strictly _domestic_; and learned to depend, even less than -he, upon the exceptional, more obviously dramatic, or less normal, -incidents of actual life. If Richardson invented the ideal of fidelity -to human nature, Miss Burney selected its everyday habits and costume -for imitation. Evelina’s account of “shopping” in London would not fit -into Richardson’s scheme; while the many incidents and characters, -introduced merely for comic effect, lie outside his province. - -Miss Burney’s ideal for heroines, indeed, must seem singularly -old-fashioned to-day; nor do we delight in _Evelina_ for those passages -to which its author devoted her most serious ambitions. She does not -excel in minute, or sustained, characterisation; nor have we ever -entirely confirmed the appreciation which declares that her work was -“inspired by one consistent vein of passion, never relaxed.” The -passion of Evelina--by which, however, the critic does _not_ mean her -love for Orville--has always seemed to us melodramatic and artificial. -We have little, or no, patience with those refined tremors and -heart-burnings which completely prostrate the young lady at the mere -possibility of seeing her long-lost father. It is not in human nature -to feel so deeply about anyone we have never seen, of whom we know -nothing but evil. - -No blame attaches to Miss Burney as an artist in this respect, however, -because she was intent upon the revelation of _sensibility_, that most -elusive of female graces on which our grandmothers were wont to pride -themselves. Any definition of this quality, suited to our comprehension -to-day, would seem beyond the subtleties of emotional analysis; but -we may observe, as some indication of its meaning, that no _man_ was -ever supposed, or expected, to possess it. Sensibility, in fact, was -the acknowledged privilege of _ladies_--as distinguished at once from -gentlemen or women; particularly becoming in youth; and indicating the -well-bred, the elegant, and the fastidious. It must not, of course, -be confounded with “susceptibility,” a sign of weakness; for though -it, temporarily, unfitted the lady for action or speech, it was the -expression of deep, permanent, feeling and of exquisite taste. Her -gentle voice rendered inaudible by tears, her streaming eyes buried -in the cushions of her best sofa, or on the bosom of her best friend, -the beautiful maiden would fondly persuade herself that her life -was blighted for evermore. Pierced to the heart by a cold world, a -faithless friend, or a stern parent, as the case might be, she would -terrify those who loved her by the wild expression of her eyes, the -dead whiteness of her lips, her feeble gesticulations, and the disorder -of her whole person. In the end, mercifully, she would--faint! Under -such influences, we cannot distinguish very explicitly between the -effects of joy or sorrow. Evelina is scarcely more natural about her -transports at discovering a brother, or in the final _satisfaction_ of -her filial instincts, than in her alarm about “how He would receive -her,” already mentioned. - -We are not justified, on the other hand, in supposing that a heroine -should only exhibit sensibility on some real emotional catastrophe. -There was a tendency, we have observed, in “elegant females” to be -utterly abashed and penetrated with remorse, covered with shame, -trembling with alarm, and on the verge of hysterics--from joy or -grief--upon most trivial provocation. A tone, a look, even a movement, -if unexpected or mysterious, was generally sufficient to upset the -nice adjustment of their mental equilibrium. “Have I done wrong? Am I -misunderstood? Is it possible he _really_ loves me?” The dear creatures -passed through life on the edge of a precipice: on the borderland -between content, despair, and the seventh heaven. - -The wonder of it all comes from admitting that Miss Burney actually -reconciles us to such absurdities. Except in the passionate scenes, -Evelina’s sensibility is one of her chief charms. In some mysterious -and subtle fashion, it really indicates the superiority of her mind -and her essential refinement. She will be prattling away, with all the -naïveté of genuine innocence, about her delight in the condescending -perfections of the “noble Orville,” and then--at _one_ word of warning -from her beloved guardian--the whole world assumes other aspects, -no man may be trusted, and she would fly at once to peace, and -forgetfulness, in the country. We smile, inevitably, at the “complete -_ingénue_”; but the quick response to her old friend’s loving anxiety, -the transparent candour of a purity which, if instinctive, is not -dependent on ignorance, combine to form a really “engaging” personality. - -It may be that we have here discovered the secret of sensibility--a -perception of the fine shades, and instant responsiveness to them. -There is, however, a most instructive passage in _The Mysteries of -Udolpho_ which throws much light on this matter. Mrs. Radcliffe -has every claim to be heard, for her heroines are much addicted to -sensibility. The passage occurs in an early chapter; when St. Aubert is -dying, and naturally wishes to impress upon his orphan daughter such -truths as may guide her safely through life. It has, therefore, all -the significance of the death-bed; while he “had never thought more -justly, or expressed himself more clearly, than he did now.” Under such -circumstances, and in such manner, did that worthy gentleman discourse -on - - -THE DANGERS OF SENSIBILITY - - “Above all, my dear Emily, said he, do not indulge in the pride of - fine feeling, the romantic error of amiable minds. Those who really - possess sensibility ought early to be taught that it is a dangerous - quality, which is continually extracting the excess of misery or - delight from every surrounding circumstance. And since, in our passage - through this world, painful circumstances occur more frequently than - pleasing ones, and since our sense of evil is, I fear, more acute - than our sense of good, we become the victim of our feelings, unless - we can in some degree command them. I know you will say--for you are - young, my Emily--I know you will say, that you are contented sometimes - to suffer, rather than give up your refined sense of happiness at - others; but when your mind has been long harassed by vicissitude, you - will be content to rest, and you will then recover from your delusion: - you will perceive that the phantom of happiness is exchanged for the - substance; for happiness arises in a state of peace, not of tumult: - it is of a temperate and uniform nature; and can no more exist in a - heart that is continually alive to minute circumstances than in one - that is dead to feeling. You see, my dear, that, though I would guard - you against the dangers of sensibility, I am not an advocate for - apathy. At your age, I should have said _that_ is a vice more hateful - than all the errors of sensibility, and I say so still. I call it a - _vice_, because it leads to positive evil. In this, however, it does - no more than an ill-governed sensibility, which, by such a rule, might - also be called a vice; but the evil of the former is of more general - consequence.... - - “I would not teach you to become insensible, if I could--I would only - warn you of the evils of susceptibility, and point out how you may - avoid them. Beware, my love, I conjure you, of that self-delusion - which has been fatal to the peace of many persons--beware of priding - yourself on the gracefulness of sensibility: if you yield to this - vanity, your happiness is lost for ever. Always remember how much more - valuable is the strength of fortitude, than the grace of sensibility. - Do not, however, confound fortitude with apathy: apathy cannot know - the virtue. Remember, too, that one act of beneficence, one act of - real usefulness, is worth all the abstract sentiment in the world. - Sentiment is a disgrace, instead of an ornament, unless it lead us to - good actions: the miser, who thinks himself respectable merely because - he possesses wealth, and thus mistakes the means of doing good for the - actual accomplishment of it, is not more blameable than the man of - sentiment without active virtue. You may have observed persons, who - delight so much in this sort of sensibility to sentiment, that they - turn from the distressed, and because their sufferings are painful to - be contemplated, do not endeavour to relieve them. How despicable is - that humanity which can be contented to pity where it might assuage!” - -And we are finally disposed to question whether Miss Burney herself -were actually conscious of the subtlety with which she has allowed her -heroine to reveal, in every sentence, the scarcely perceptible advance -of her unsuspected “partiality.” The reader, of course, recognises -Orville at sight for what he proves to be in the final event; but he -frequently reminds us of Sir Charles Grandison--and in nothing so much, -perhaps, as in his gentlemanly precautions against letting himself go -or expressing his emotions. Only a woman of real delicacy, indeed, -could have imagined, or appreciated, the self-effacement with which -he helps and protects the guileless heroine from her unprincipled -admirers; and it required genuine refinement to give him the courage -evinced by his tactful inquiries into her circumstances and his most -fatherly advice. The whole development of the relations between them -must be acknowledged as a triumph of art, and conclusive evidence of -“nice” feeling. - -It is impossible, I think, to put Cecilia herself on a level with -Evelina; though I personally have always felt that the more crowded -canvas of the _book_ so entitled, and its greater variety of incident, -reveal more mature power. But it is less spontaneous and, in a certain -sense, less original. To begin with, Cecilia is always conscious of her -superiority. Like her sister heroine, a country “miss,” and suddenly -tossed into Society without any proper guidance, she yet assumes -the centre of the stage without effort, and queens it over the most -experienced, by virtue of beauty and wealth. It may be doubted if -she has much “sensibility” for everyday matters: whereas the lavish -expenditure of emotional fireworks over the haughty Delviles, and the -melodramatic sufferings they entail, are most intolerably protracted, -and entirely destroy our interest in the conclusion of the narrative. -The occasional scene, or episode, we complained of in _Evelina_, is -here extended to long chapters, or books, of equally strained passion -on a more complex issue. Fortunately they all come at the end, and need -not disturb our enjoyment of the main story; though, indeed, the whole -plot depends far more on melodramatic effect. Mr. Harrell’s abominable -recklessness, and his sensational suicide, the criminal passion of Mr. -Monckton, and the story of Henrietta Belfield, carry us into depths -beyond the reach of _Evelina_, where Miss Burney herself does not walk -with perfect safety. And, in our judgment, such experiences diminish -the charm of her heroine. - -Yet in the main Cecilia possesses, and exhibits those primarily -feminine qualities which now made their first appearance in English -fiction, being beyond man’s power to delineate. She, too, is that -“Womanly Woman” whom Mr. Bernard Shaw has so eloquently denounced. She -has the magnetic power of personal attraction; the charm of mystery; -the strength of weakness; the irresistible appeal with which Nature has -endowed her for its own purposes: so seldom present in the man-made -heroine, certainly not revealed to Samuel Richardson and his great -contemporaries. - -For the illustration of our main theme, we have so far dwelt upon -the revelation of womanhood achieved by Miss Burney. It is time to -consider, in more detail, her application of the new “realism,” her -method of “drawing from life,” now first recognised as the proper -function of the novelist. It is here that her unique education, or -experience, has full play. Instead of depending, like Richardson, upon -the finished analysis of a few characters, centred about one emotional -situation, or of securing variety of interests and character-types, _à -la_ Fielding, by use of the “wild-oats” convention, she works up the -astonishing “contrasts” in life, which she had herself been privileged -to witness, and achieves comedy by the abnormal mixture of Society. -Thus she is able to find drama in domesticity. Her most original -effects are produced in the drawing-room or the assembly, at a ball or -a theatre, in the “long walks” of Vauxhall or Ranelagh: wherever, and -whenever, mankind is seen only at surface-value, enjoying the pleasures -and perils of everyday existence. How vividly, as Macaulay remarks, -did she conjecture “the various scenes, tragic and comic, through -which the poor motherless girl, highly connected on one side, meanly -connected on the other, might have to pass. A crowd of unreal beings, -good and bad, grave and ludicrous, surrounded the pretty, timid young -orphan: a coarse sea-captain; an ugly insolent fop, blazing in a superb -court-dress; another fop, as ugly and as insolent, but lodged on Snow -Hill, and tricked out in second-hand finery for the Hampstead ball; an -old woman, all wrinkles and rouge, flirting her fan with the air of a -Miss of seventeen, and screaming in a dialect made up of vulgar French -and vulgar English; a poet lean and ragged, with a broad Scotch accent. -By degrees these shadows acquired stronger and stronger consistence: -the impulse which urged Fanny to write became irresistible; and the -result was the history of Evelina.” - -Of what must seem, to our thinking, the extraordinary licence permitted -to persons accounted gentlemen, Miss Burney avails herself to the -utmost; and Evelina is scarcely less often embarrassed or distressed -by Willoughby’s violence and the insolence of Lord Merton, than by -the stupid vulgarity of the Branghtons and “Beau” Smith. We have -primarily the sharp contrast between Society and Commerce--each with -its own standards of comfort, pleasure, and decorum; and secondarily, -a great variety of individual character (and ideal) within both -groups. The “contrasts” of Cecilia are, in the main, more specifically -individual, lacking the one general sharp class division, and may be -more accurately divided into one group of Society “types,” another of -Passions exemplified in persons obsessed by a single idea. It is “in -truth a grand and various picture-gallery, which presented to the eye -a long series of men and women, each marked by some strong peculiar -feature. There were avarice and prodigality, the pride of blood and -the pride of money, morbid restlessness and morbid apathy, frivolous -garrulity, supercilious silence, a Democritus to laugh at everything, -and a Heraclitus to lament over everything.... Mr. Delvile never -opens his lips without some allusion to his own birth and station; or -Mr. Briggs, without some allusion to the hoarding of money; or Mr. -Hobson, without betraying the self-indulgence and self-importance of -a purse-proud upstart; or Mr. Simkins, without uttering some sneaking -remark for the purpose of currying favour with his customers; or Mr. -Meadows, without expressing apathy and weariness of life; or Mr. -Albany, without declaiming about the vices of the rich and the miseries -of the poor; or Mrs. Belfield, without some indelicate eulogy on her -son; or Lady Margaret, without indicating jealousy of her husband. -Morrice is all skipping, officious impertinence, Mr. Gosport all -sarcasm, Lady Honoria all lively prattle, Miss Larolles all silly -prattle.” - -It is primarily, indeed, a most diverting picture of manners; and if, -as we have endeavoured to show, Miss Burney advanced on Richardson by -the revelation of womanhood in her heroines, the realism of her minor -persons must be applauded rather for its variety in outward seeming -than for its subtlety of characterisation. As Ben Jonson hath it: - - “When some one peculiar quality - Does so possess a man, that it doth draw - All his effects, his spirits, and his powers, - In their confluxions all to run one way, - This may be truly said to be a _humour_.” - -It is in the exhibition of “humours” that our authoress delights and -excels. - -Of any particular construction Miss Burney was entirely guiltless; -in this respect, of course, lagging far behind Fielding. She has no -style, beyond a most attractive spontaneity; writing in “true _woman’s_ -English, clear, natural, and lively.” Under the watchful eye of Dr. -Johnson, indeed, she made some attempt at the rounded period, the -“elegant” antithesis, in _Cecilia_: but, regretting the obvious effort, -we turn here again, with renewed delight, to the flowing simplicity of -her dramatic dialogue. - -There is no occasion, at this time of day, to dwell upon her -sparkling wit, though we may note in passing its obviously -feminine inspiration--as opposed to the more scholarly subtleties -of Fielding--and its patent superiority to, for example, the -kitten-sprightliness of Richardson’s “Lady G.” We cannot claim that -Miss Burney made any particular _advance_ in this matter; but, here -again, her work stands out as the first permanent expression--at least -in English--of that shrewd vivacity and quickness of observation with -which so many a woman, who might have founded a salon, has been wont -to enliven the conversation of the home and to promote the gaiety of -social gatherings. We must recognise, on the other hand, that, if -commonly more refined than her generation, Miss Burney has yielded to -its prejudice against foreigners in some coarseness towards Madame -Duval; as we marvel at her father’s approval of this detail--while -actually deploring the vigour of her contempt for Lovel, the fop! - -Finally, for all technicalities of her art, Miss Burney remains an -amateur in authorship, who, by a lucky combination of genius and -experience, was destined to utter the first word for women in the -most popular form of literature; and to point the way to her most -illustrious successors for the perfection of the domestic novel. - -Probably the most important, more or less contemporary, criticism on -the early achievements of women, was uttered--incidentally--by Hazlitt -in 1818. Dismissing Miss Edgeworth’s _Tales_ as “a kind of pedantic, -pragmatical common-sense, tinctured with the pertness and pretensions -of the paradoxes to which they are so complacently opposed,” assigning -the first place to Mrs. Radcliffe for her power of “describing the -indefinable and embodying a phantom,” he says of Miss Burney and of -feminine work generally: - - “Madame D’Arblay is a mere common observer of manners, _and also a - very woman_. It is this last circumstance which forms the peculiarity - of her writings, and distinguishes them from those masterpieces[1] - which I have before mentioned. She is a quick, lively, and accurate - observer of persons and things; but she always looks at them with a - consciousness of her sex, and in that point of view in which it is - the particular business and interest of women to observe them ... her - _forte_ is in describing the absurdities and affectations of external - behaviour, or the manners of people in company.... The form such - characters or people might be supposed to assume for a night at a - masquerade.... - - “Women, in general, have a quicker perception of any oddity or - singularity of character than men, and are more alive to any absurdity - which arises from a violation of the rules of society, or a deviation - from established custom. This partly arises from the restraints on - their own behaviour, which turn their attention constantly on the - subject, and partly from other causes. The surface of their minds, - like that of their bodies, seems of a finer texture than ours; more - soft, and susceptible of immediate impulses. They have less muscular - strength, less power of continued voluntary attention, of reason, - passion, and imagination; but they are more easily impressed with - whatever appeals to their senses or habitual prejudices. The intuitive - perception of their minds is less disturbed by any abstruse reasonings - on causes or consequences. They learn the idiom of character, as they - acquire that of language, by rote, without troubling themselves about - the principles. Their observation is not the less accurate on that - account, as far as it goes, for it has been well said that ‘there is - nothing so true as habit.’ - - “There is little other power in Madame D’Arblay’s novels than that - of immediate observation; her characters, whether of refinement or - vulgarity, are equally superficial and confined. The whole is a - question of form, whether that form is adhered to or infringed. It - is this circumstance which takes away dignity and interest from her - story and sentiments, and makes the one so teasing and tedious, and - the other so insipid. The difficulties in which she involves her - heroines are too much ‘Female Difficulties’; they are difficulties - created out of nothing. The author appears to have no other idea of - refinement than that it is the reverse of vulgarity; but the reverse - of vulgarity is fastidiousness and affectation. There is a true and - a false delicacy. Because a vulgar country Miss would answer ‘Yes’ - to a proposal of marriage in the first page, Madame D’Arblay makes - it a proof of an excess of refinement, and an indispensable point - of etiquette in her young ladies, to postpone the answer to the end - of five volumes, without the smallest reason for their doing so, and - with every reason to the contrary.... The whole artifice of her fable - consists in coming to no conclusion. Her ladies ‘stand so upon their - going,’ that they do not go at all.... They would consider it as - quite indecorous to run downstairs though the house were in flames, - or to move an inch off the pavement though a scaffolding was falling. - She has formed to herself an abstract idea of perfection in common - behaviour, which is quite as romantic and impracticable as any other - idea of the sort.... Madame D’Arblay has woven a web of difficulties - for her heroines, something like the great silken threads in which - the shepherdesses entangled the steed of Cervantes’ hero, who swore, - in his fine enthusiastic way, that he would sooner cut his passage to - another world than disturb the least of these beautiful meshes.” - -The critic recognises the essential quality of Miss Burney’s work--its -femininity--which he reckons, curiously enough, as a fault. But -prejudices die hard and it is evident that he is not ready for the new -point of view. - - _Evelina_, 1778. - _Cecilia_, 1782. - _Camilla_, 1796. - _The Wanderer_, 1814. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[1] Of Richardson, Fielding, etc. - - - - -A PICTURE OF YOUTH - - -It is natural, if not inevitable, that the later works of Miss Burney -should have been suffered to remain unread and unremembered. Critics -have told us that they only face them unwillingly, from a sense of -duty; and none has ventured a second time. To-day, no doubt, readers -would hesitate before the five, or more, volumes of extenuated -sensibility. - -And yet, though we should not ask for any reversal of this verdict, -there are points of interest--at any rate in _Camilla_--which will -repay attention. The fact is, that in this work Miss Burney has given -full rein to her ideal of women, her conception of home life, and her -notions about marriage: all eminently characteristic of the age, and -full of suggestion as to the work of women. - -We have again, as the closing paragraph reminds us, “a picture of -youth,” primarily feminine; but Camilla is no mere repetition either of -Evelina or Cecilia. She has even more sensibility, and a new quality of -most attractive impulsiveness, which is perpetually leading her into -difficulties. - -There is a double contrast, or comparison, of types. The heroine’s -uncle--Sir Hugh Tyrold--seems to have been conceived as a parody of the -young lady herself. He flies off at a tangent--far more youthfully than -she--changes his will three or four times in the first few chapters, -and is constantly upsetting the whole family by most ridiculous “plans” -for their happiness. - -On the other hand, Edgar Mandlebert--the hero--suffers from too much -caution; implanted, it is true, by his worthy tutor; but obviously “at -home” in his nature. Practically the whole five volumes are concerned -with the misunderstandings produced by Camilla’s hasty self-sacrifices, -and his care in studying her character, without the key to her motives. -It would be easy, indeed, to describe the plot as a prolonged “much ado -about nothing.” The sentiments involved are palpably strained, absurdly -high-flown, and singularly unbalanced. But we should remember two -reasons for modifying our judgment, and hesitating before a complete -condemnation. - -In the first place, the ideals for women, and for all intercourse -between the sexes, differ in nearly every particular from those of our -own day; and, in the second, these people were almost ridiculously -young. Love affairs, and often marriage, began for them when they -were fifteen; and it may be that were our own sons and daughters put -to the test at that age, their deeds and sentiments might surprise us -considerably. - - “In the bosom of her respectable family resided Camilla. Nature, with - a bounty the most profuse, had been lavish to her of attractions; - Fortune, with a moderation yet kinder, had placed her between luxury - and indigence. Her abode was in the parsonage-house of Etherington, - beautifully situated in the unequal county of Hampshire, and in the - vicinity of the varied landscapes of the New Forest. Her father, the - rector, was the younger son of the house of Tyrold. The living, though - not considerable, enabled its incumbent to attain every rational - object of his modest and circumscribed wishes; to bestow upon a - deserving wife whatever her own forbearance declined not; to educate - a lovely race of one son and three daughters, with that expansive - propriety, which unites improvement for the future with present - enjoyment. - - “In goodness of heart, and in principles of piety, this exemplary - couple were bound to each other by the most perfect union of - character, though in their tempers there was a contrast which had - scarce the gradation of a single shade to smooth off its abrupt - dissimilitude. Mr. Tyrold, gentle with wisdom, and benign in virtue, - saw with compassion all imperfections but his own, and there doubled - the severity which to others he spared. Yet the mildness that urged - him to pity blinded him not to approve; his equity was unerring, - though his judgment was indulgent. His partner had a firmness of - mind which nothing could shake: calamity found her resolute; even - prosperity was powerless to lull her duties asleep. The exalted - character of her husband was the pride of her existence, and the - source of her happiness. He was not merely her standard of excellence, - but of endurance, since her sense of his worth was the criterion for - her opinion of all others. This instigated a spirit of comparison, - which is almost always uncandid, and which here could rarely escape - proving injurious. Such, at its very best, is the unskilfulness of - our fallible nature, that even the noble principle which impels - our love of right, misleads us but into new deviations, when its - ambition presumes to point at perfection. In this instance, however, - distinctness of disposition stifled not reciprocity of affection--that - magnetic concentration of all marriage felicity;--Mr. Tyrold revered - while he softened the rigid virtues of his wife, who adored while she - fortified the melting humanity of her husband.” - -Mrs. Tyrold, in fact, was a most alarming lady; and as that -“sad fellow,” their son Lionel--one of “the merry blades of -Oxford”--remarked with spirit, “A good father is a very serious -misfortune to a poor lad like me, as the world runs; it causes one such -confounded gripes of conscience for every little awkward thing one -does.” - -It will be seen, at once, that such surroundings promised that -“repose” so “welcome to the worn and to the aged, to the sick and to -the happy,” with small occasion for “danger, difficulty, and toil”--the -delight of youth. Wherefore the flock, with only the son for black -sheep, must quit the fold, and see something of the wicked world -outside the garden. Their first venture would seem harmless enough; -being no farther than over the fields to Cleves Park, just purchased by -Uncle Sir Hugh, who had “inherited from his ancestors an unencumbered -estate of £5,000 per annum.” - - “His temper was unalterably sweet, and every thought of his breast - was laid open to the world with an almost infantine artlessness. - But his talents bore no proportion to the goodness of his heart, - an insuperable want of quickness, and of application in his early - days, having left him, at a later period, wholly uncultivated, and - singularly self-formed.” - -Mrs. Tyrold found occasion for further delight in the “superiority” -of her husband; “though she was not insensible to the fair future -prospects of her children, which seemed the probable result of this -change of abode.” Both parents, indeed, prove unexpectedly “worldly” -on this point; and though obviously far above the sacrifice of -_principle_ for _profit_, they permit their offspring to run risks--as -they deem them--in their complaisance to a rich relative. - -Sir Hugh is a very prodigy of indiscretion, and complicates matters -by the introduction of more cousins--Indiana Lynmere, an empty-headed -but “most exquisite workmanship of nature,” and her wicked brother -Clermont; who were his wards. A young orphan of great wealth, Edgar -Mandlebert, pupil and ward of the Rev. Tyrold, completes the group; -though mischief is made, and all complications really inaugurated, by -Indiana’s silly governess, Miss Margland. - -Obviously there are two main issues at stake--the property of Sir Hugh, -and the hand of Edgar. Miss Margland desires both for her favourite, -and evinces much ingenuity in the pursuit. The worthy baronet, however, -does not long hesitate about the estate. He designs it originally for -Camilla, simply because she charms him most, and, with his customary -naïveté, lets all the world into the secret. Then, by his own absurd -thoughtlessness, he suffers the “little sister Eugenia” to catch -the smallpox; and by ill-timed playfulness, lames her for life. -Heart-broken with remorse, and perfectly confident in Camilla’s -generous disinterestedness, he promptly compensates the poor child by -making _her_ his heiress; and, after again announcing his intentions in -public, proves unexpectedly resolute in maintaining them to the end. -By outsiders, however, it is occasionally still supposed that all his -money will go to Camilla; and, consequently, she has some experience of -fortune-hunters. - -The character of Eugenia deserves notice. She is quite unlike Camilla, -and the differences are no doubt accentuated by the combination -of disease and deformity which, shutting her out from the obvious -distractions of “youth,” afford much time for solitary reflection. Her -uncle, moreover, provided her with a scholarly tutor, and to Lionel she -was always “dear little Greek and Latin.” It was, indeed, this highly -educated, but very youthful, paragon on whom her own family depended at -every crisis, whose advice they followed, whose opinion they sought, -whose approval was their standard of conduct and feeling. Younger than -Camilla, she was more mature, more thoughtful and clear-headed, always -decided and always right. Curiously enough, these young people seldom -consulted their parents, they went to Eugenia; and she, in the most -important crisis of her life, actually _opposed_ the judgment of her -elders, demanding from herself a sacrifice which even their lofty ideal -did not expect or commend. They considered her mistaken, but “they knew -she must do what she thought right,” and they sadly acquiesced. - -Yet there were no Spartan heroics about Eugenia. She had even more -“sensibility” than Camilla, far more romance, and was more easily -deceived. Among other schemes of repentance for the injuries he had -so innocently inflicted on her, Sir Hugh “arranged” for her to marry -Clermont Lynmere, before that young gentleman had come home; and, of -course, informed the whole household of his project. Such was Eugenia’s -extravagant refinement in romance, that, though she could not avoid -being attracted by the most obviously insincere raptures of young men -in want of her fortune, one of them “kissing her hand she thought a -_liberty most unpardonable_. She regarded it as an injury to Clermont, -that would risk his life should he ever know it, _and a blot to her own -delicacy_, as irreparable as it was irremediable.” - -It is obvious that such excessive refinement proves ill-fitted to -combat the unprincipled ambitions of the other sex, incited by her -uncle’s generosity; and when the villain, feigning a passion well -calculated to stir her fancy, threatens to blow out his brains if she -refuse him, we do not read of her yielding with surprise. To her notion -a promise given under any circumstances is absolutely binding; and -when, undeceived, she is recommended by her pious parents to repudiate -it, the heroic martyr remains steadfast, and suffers much through some -volumes. Yet even in that extremity she proves a rock to her more -wavering elder sister. - -We have wandered too long, however, from our heroine. - - “Camilla was, in secret, the fondest hope of her mother, though the - rigour of her justice scarce permitted the partiality to beat even - in her own breast. Nor did the happy little person need the avowed - distinction. The tide of youthful glee flowed jocund from her heart, - and the transparency of her fine blue veins almost showed the velocity - of its current. Every look was a smile, every step was a spring, every - thought was a hope, every feeling was joy! and the early felicity of - her mind was without alloy.... The beauty of Camilla, though neither - perfect nor regular, had an influence peculiar on the beholder, it - was hard to catch its fault; and the cynic connoisseur, who might - persevere in seeking it, would involuntarily surrender the strict - rules of his art to the predominance of its loveliness. Even judgment - itself, the coolest and last betrayed of our faculties, she took - by surprise, though it was not till she was absent the seizure was - detected. Her disposition was ardent in sincerity, her mind untainted - with evil. The reigning and radical defect of her character--an - imagination that submitted to no control--proved not any antidote - against her attractions: it caught, by its force and fire, the - quick-kindling admiration of the lively; it possessed, by magnetic - persuasion, the witchery to create sympathy in the most serious.” - -It is a picture of an ideal, stammeringly defined by Edgar: “The utmost -vivacity of sentiment, all the charm of soul, eternally beaming in -the eyes, playing in every feature, glowing in the complexion, and -brightening every smile.” - -Obviously hero and heroine are born for each other. He admires her -above all women, himself has every perfection. And though Mrs. Tyrold -may have “gloried in the virtuous delicacy of her daughter, that so -properly, _till it was called for_, concealed her tenderness from the -object who so deservingly inspired it,” the reader can feel no doubt, -from the beginning, of her decided “partiality.” - -There are two obstacles, however, between the lovers. In the first -place, Edgar’s tutor had twice been deceived by women; and so acts -upon his loyal pupil, by the urgent recommendation of caution and -delay, that he becomes “a creature whose whole composition is a pile -of accumulated punctilios”; one who “will spend his life in refining -away his own happiness.” It is obvious that, left to herself, Camilla’s -nature would bear the closest inspection, as even the old misanthrope -ultimately admits. But Miss Margland cannot endure any rivalry with -Indiana, the “beautiful vacant-looking cousin” who has been taught to -consider herself irresistible, though it is not quite clear what Miss -Burney would have her readers believe as to the power of beauty. At -one point she declares that “a very young man seldom likes a silly -wife. It is generally when he is further advanced in life that he takes -that depraved taste. He then flatters himself a fool will be easier to -govern.” But elsewhere we are told that - - “Men are always enchanted with something that is both pretty and - silly; because they can so easily please and so soon disconcert it; - and when they have made the little blooming fools blush and look down, - they feel nobly superior, and pride themselves in victory.... A man - looks enchanted while his beautiful young bride talks nonsense; it - comes so prettily from her ruby lips, and she blushes and dimples with - such lovely attraction while she utters it; he casts his eyes around - him with conscious elation to see her admirers, and his enviers.” - -The wily governess has all the audacity of a born diplomatist. She -simply informs Sir Hugh, who always believes everybody, that Edgar is -“practically” engaged to her pet pupil. The old man regards the matter -as settled, and, in perfect innocence, encourages her machinations to -make a fact of her desire--the girl herself being flattered into an -indifferent accomplice. - -Now Camilla had acquired the habit, quite becoming to girlhood, of -looking to Edgar, more or less consciously, for guidance through -life, and of actually asking his advice on all delicate, or doubtful, -occasions. Miss Margland ingeniously accuses her of trying to catch -the heir by these “confidences,” and Sir Hugh, without for one moment -acknowledging the possibility of Camilla having a bad motive, advises -her to avoid even the appearance of jealousy, and leave Indiana a fair -field. Such an appeal to her generosity, from so kind a friend, was -sure of eager support; and the unfortunate girl is thus driven to seek -friends against whom Edgar had warned her, and to assume the character -of capriciousness and instability. This proves her Introduction to the -Great World, whither Miss Burney hurries all her heroines. Like the -rest, she arrives entirely unprepared, parents of those days apparently -not considering either advice or guidance on such matters a part of -their duty. Framed for innocent pleasure, her natural gaiety and ardent -temperament lead her astray in every direction. She remains entirely -unsoiled, but invariably does the wrong thing. She gets into debt, -through sheer ignorance and humility; she makes friends of “doubtful” -people, through pity and innocence; she even follows the advice of a -worldly acquaintance, attempting to move her lover by flirting with -other men. Every word and action is designed to please him: all have -the contrary effect. His heart remains faithful; his reason must -criticise. - -At this stage of the work Miss Burney revives somewhat of her first, -spontaneous, manner. The descriptions of Society--wherein “_Ton_, -in the scale of connoisseurs in _certain circles_, is as much above -fashion, as fashion is above fortune”--are animated and amusing. We -are introduced to many new types, male and female, naïvely exaggerated -perhaps in detail, but absolutely alive and cunningly varied. The -“prevailing ill-manners of the leaders in the _ton_” astonish, no less -than their brutal cowardice--in face of a _girl’s_ danger--disgusts. -Fine gentlemen, it would seem, are neither gallant nor chivalrous. -The ladies, indeed, are not much better. A divinity, unequally yoked, -“excites every hope by a _sposo_[2] properly detestable--yet gives -birth to despair by a coldness the most shivering.” Less favoured -beauties are equally vain, and some of them more indiscreet. - -But here, as in _Cecilia_, our author cannot resist the indulgence of -heroics. She is not satisfied with her delightful “Comedy of Manners,” -with the ordinary misunderstandings and heart-burnings essential to -romance. In her later volumes she plunges Camilla, and the whole Tyrold -family, into the wildest distress. They lose all their money; Eugenia’s -husband commits suicide; Lionel nearly murders an uncle, from whom -he had expectations, by a practical joke; and Camilla acquires, by an -over-elaborated series of foolish impulses, the appearance of having -injured her parents beyond forgiveness. Immersed in difficulties, and -not in the least understanding the circumstances, her father and mother -refuse to see her; and the forsaken maiden prays for death. The whole -episode is given in Miss Burney’s worst manner, tempting the reader -to mere angry impatience with so much false sentiment and senseless -emotion. They tremble, they faint, they weep, they see visions; we -could almost fancy ourselves in Bedlam. - -In the end, of course, Edgar comes back, receives an “explanation” -from Camilla--written, as she supposed, on her death-bed; and promptly -restores everybody to their senses and, incidentally--having plenty to -spare--to prosperity. - - “Thus ended the long conflicts, doubts, suspenses, and sufferings - of Edgar and Camilla; who, without one inevitable calamity, one - unavoidable distress, so nearly fell the sacrifice to the two extremes - of Imprudence, and Suspicion, to the natural heedlessness of youth - unguided, or to the acquired distrust of experience that had been - wounded.” - -At first sight, certainly, it would seem that we had little here of the -Richardson-realism, and that Miss Burney was challenging comparison, in -their own field, with such melodramatic romancists as Mrs. Radcliffe. -Yet Camilla, and even Eugenia, are far more like real life than Emily -St. Aubert. However extravagantly composed, they are _founded on_ -nature, whereas the older novelists worked entirely from imagination. -Before Richardson (and here, of course, Mrs. Radcliffe belongs to the -earlier age) the models for character were not drawn from experience -and observation. There was, it would seem, a preconceived notion, and -certain accepted rules, for the “make-up” of heroes, heroines, parents, -villains and the rest--which are somewhat akin to the constructed ideal -of abstract Beauty favoured by certain art critics. They were prepared, -without very much reference to actual humanity, from mysteriously -acquired recipes of virtue and vice. - -We cannot find any reason to believe that Miss Burney ever worked, -in her most “exalted” moments, on such a plan. She idealised from -life, not from the imagination. She really believed that the young -ladies of her acquaintance all aimed, more or less consciously, -at that exquisite delicacy which she delighted to exhibit; and, in -all probability, she was justified in her faith. Her rhapsodies -are sincere; and they obviously apply to her own sentiments, -shared by her contemporaries. They are--in their own very feminine -fashion--reflections on reality--not creations of art by any accepted -canons. - -And the very exaggerated artificiality of _Camilla_ makes it more -typical--of herself and her period--than _Evelina_ or _Cecilia_: and -therefore more representative of Woman, when she began to write fiction -for herself. The genius of her earlier work carried it some way in -advance of its time; although the progress of her immediate successors -is most remarkable. Camilla is the very essence of eighteenth-century -girlhood; ill-mated, as they were no doubt, to “our present race of -young men,” whose “frivolous fickleness nauseates whatever they can -reach”; who--when they are not heroes--“have a weak shame of asserting, -or even listening to what is right, and a shallow pride in professing -and performing what is wrong.” - -It is instructive, indeed, to observe with what apparent crudity Miss -Burney has chosen to illustrate the greater purity and refinement, -the superior moral standard, of women to those of men: a problem which -seems to have almost vanished with Jane Austen (though we may detect it -at work under the surface), and which has reappeared so prominently, -after quite a new fashion, in modern literature. By the men novelists -this was practically assumed without comment; but our knowledge of -facts would seem to warrant the emphasis awarded the question by women -in their opening campaign of the pen. Here, as elsewhere, Miss Burney -was almost the first to teach us what women actually thought and felt: -in marked contrast to what it had been hitherto considered becoming for -them to express. She was, always, and everywhere, the mouthpiece of her -sex. - -And, finally, because she was not an “instructed” or professional -writer, and had not studied good literature, we must recognise the -real, great drawback of _Camilla_: its grandiloquent style. Dr. Johnson -did much for English prose: his ultimate influence was towards vigour, -simplicity, clearness, and common sense. But he was personally pompous, -a whale in the dictionary; and those who copied him without discretion -only made themselves ridiculous. It would be easy enough to find -parallels in _Rasselas_, and elsewhere, for all the clumsy inversions -and stilted antitheses of _Camilla_. But here we can only regret the -blindness of ignorant hero-worship, and the natural, if foolish, -desire to please or flatter by imitation. Miss Burney wrote Johnsonese -fluently, and thereby ruined her natural powers. We cannot estimate, by -her foolishness, the influence of the Dictator. - -Imitation has not been, fortunately, the besetting sin of women -novelists, and we may pass over this one “terrible example” without -further comment. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[2] The “_caro sposo_” of Mrs. Elton. - - - - -“CECILIA” TO “SENSE AND SENSIBILITY” - -(1782-1811) - - -In considering the women writers immediately following Miss Burney, we -are confronted at the outset with a deliberate return to the methods of -composition in vogue before Richardson. If MRS. RADCLIFFE (1764-1823) -employs, as she does, Defoe-like minuteness of detail in description, -she entitles all her works “Romances,” and is fully justified in that -nomenclature. “It was the cry at the period,” says her biographer, -“and has sometimes been repeated since, that the romances of Mrs. -Radcliffe, and the applause with which they were received, were evil -signs of the times, and argued a great and increasing degradation of -the public taste, which, instead of banqueting as heretofore upon -scenes of passion, like those of Richardson, or of life and manners, as -in the pages of Smollett and Fielding, was now coming back to the fare -of the nursery, and gorged upon the wild and improbable fictions of an -over-heated imagination.” - -Yet the anonymous author of the _Pursuits of Literature_ writes of some -sister-novelists: “Though all of them are ingenious ladies, yet they -are too frequently whining and frisking in novels, till our girls’ -heads turn wild with impossible adventures. Not so the mighty magician -of _The Mysteries of Udolpho_, bred and nourished by the Florentine -muses in their sacred solitary caverns, amid the paler shrines of -Gothic superstition, and in all the dreariness of enchantment: a -poetess whom Ariosto would with rapture have acknowledged, as - - ‘... La nudrita - Damigella Trivulzia al sacro speco.’”--O.F. c. xlvi. - -We fear to-day it would be difficult to find men “too mercurial to -be delighted” by Richardson, “too dull to comprehend” Le Sage, “too -saturnine to relish” Fielding, who would yet “with difficulty be -divorced from _The Romance of the Forest_”: since every one of us now - - “boasts an English heart, - Unused at ghosts or rattling bones to start.” - -Jane Austen, of course, could never have written _Northanger -Abbey_ had she not enjoyed Mrs. Radcliffe; and we say at once that -those delightfully absurd chapters in which Catherine is allowed to -indulge in the most unfounded suspicions of General Tilney, are not -substantially unfair to the famous wife of William Radcliffe, Esq.; -as the artless conversations between Miss Morland and Miss Thorpe no -doubt justly reflect the deep interest excited by her stories in the -young and inexperienced. We do not readily, to-day, admire so much -“exuberance and fertility of imagination”: we have little, or no, -patience with “adventures heaped on adventures in quick and brilliant -succession, with all the hairbreadth charms of escape or capture,” -resembling some “splendid Oriental tale.” - -But there can be no question that Mrs. Radcliffe achieved, in three -admirable examples, a perfectly legitimate attempt--the establishment -of that School of Terror inaugurated by no less brilliant a writer than -Horace Walpole (in his _Castle of Otranto_, 1764), and seldom revived -in England with any success. - -It is true that very careful criticism of her methods may discover -their artificiality. “Her heroines voluntarily expose themselves to -situations which, in nature, a lonely female would certainly have -avoided. They are too apt to choose the midnight hour for investigating -the mysteries of a deserted chamber or secret passage, and generally -are only supplied,” like Mr. Pickwick, “with an expiring lamp when -about to read the most interesting documents.” But Emily St. Aubert -is not surely designed for comparison with even that “imbecility in -females” which Henry Tilney declared to be “a great enhancement of -their personal charms.” She is a heroine, not a woman; and if, unlike -Walpole, Mrs. Radcliffe demands, and supplies, a material explanation -of all supernatural appearances, she yet allows her imagination to -wander freely over the realms of superstitious alarm, wherein the -_reason_ of woman cannot presumably hold sway. Certainly, had Emily -been less impulsive she would have missed many opportunities of proving -herself courageous. - -I cannot myself, however, entirely avoid the impression that, in -their natural desire for classification, the critics have laid undue -stress on Mrs. Radcliffe’s use of Mystery. In the three hundred and -four, double column, pages of _Udolpho_ there are, besides occasional -voices, only three definite examples of this artifice--the waxen -figure behind the veil, the moving pall, and the disappearance of -Ludovico. The main plot is really no more than a spirited example of -the conventional Romance-plan (in the development of which she is -wittily said to have invented Lord Byron)--an involved narrative of -terrible sufferings and dangers incurred by an immaculate heroine, of -unmeasured tyranny and violence exerted by a melancholy villain, of -protracted misunderstandings concerning the gallant hero, with hurried -explanations all round in the last chapter to justify the wedding-bells. - -Obviously there is no realism here. Everything depends upon conscious -exaggeration: whether it be a description of “the Apennines in their -darkest horrors,” or of a “gloomy and sublime” castle’s “mouldering -walls”; of crime indulged without restraint, or innocence unsullied by -the world. Montoni is not more inhuman in his passion than Emily in the -“tender elevation of her mind.” - -For despite the most solemn warnings of St. Aubert (quoted above), his -Emily has far more sensibility than any of Miss Burney’s heroines, -and exemplifies the dangerous doctrine that “virtue and taste are -nearly the same.” She and Valancourt, indeed, were indifferent to “the -frivolities of common life”; their “ideas were simple and grand, like -the landscapes among which they moved”; their sentiments spontaneously -“arranged themselves” in original verse. - -The fact is, that Scott’s startlingly generous estimate suggests -several sound conclusions: by dwelling upon the genuine poetical -feeling to be observed in Mrs. Radcliffe’s romances, and the sincerity -of her sympathy with nature. Though it has been remarked, with some -justice, that “as her story is usually enveloped in mystery, so there -is, as it were, a haze over her landscapes”; and that, “were six -artists to attempt to embody the Castle of Udolpho upon canvas, they -would probably produce six drawings entirely dissimilar to each other, -all of them equally authorised by the printed description.” - -MRS. INCHBALD (1753-1821), on the other hand, followed the new school -in writing simple narratives of everyday life; but she produced little -more than a pale imitation of _The Man of Feeling_ (1771), by Henry -Mackenzie, the only masculine exponent of “sensibility”; though her -_Simple Story_ (1791) and _Nature and Art_ (1796) have been frequently -reprinted. She aimed at dissecting the human heart, as Richardson had -done; and there is, admittedly, a certain melodramatic, and almost -decadent, charm in her work. - -MARIA EDGEWORTH (1767-1849) was, certainly, the most prominent of -our novelists between Fanny Burney and Jane Austen. Being a girl of -eleven when _Evelina_ was published, she lived to witness the triumph -of _Vanity Fair_. Living beyond her eighth decade, she produced over -sixty books. Having inspired Scott, on his own testimony, to the -production of the Waverley Novels, she actually inaugurated, promoted, -or established at least four forms of fiction more or less new to her -contemporaries. - -Like Fanny Burney, she owed much to the enthusiasm and example of a -liberal-minded and cultured father: that Richard Lovell Edgeworth who -married several of the young persons whom the author of _Sandford and -Merton_ had educated for the honour of his own hand. He and Day were -notable scholastic reformers, and the influence of their innumerable -theories on life and the Pedagogue, largely imported from over the -Channel, is everywhere visible in Maria’s work. - -Richard Lovell actually collaborated in the two volumes, inspired by -Rousseau’s _Émile_, on _Practical Education_ (1798), and supplied -forewords of edification to that marvellous series in which she first -proved the possibility of training the young idea by ethical storiettes -which were _not_ tracts. That most clumsily named _Parents’ Assistant_ -(1801), the _Moral Tales_ of the same year, and the fascinating -_Frank_, are still nursery classics deserving of immortality. We may -not, to-day, accept without protest many of the “lessons” which they -were designed to enforce; but their sympathetic insight into the nature -of the child (with which recently we have been so much concerned), the -attractive simplicity and dramatic interest of the direct narrative, -set an example, from the very foundations of juvenile literature, which -has borne plentiful fruit. - -It should be noticed, moreover, in this connection that Miss Edgeworth -had already produced a spirited defence of female education (_Letters -to Literary Ladies_, 1795); while she soon followed in the footsteps -of Fanny Burney by writing most lively satires on _fin de siècle_ -Society, pointed with travesties of French “naturalism,” of which the -chief, perhaps, is _Belinda_, published in 1801; and further extended -the scope of the modern novel by the introduction of the finished Short -Story, under the attractive heading of _Tales of Fashionable Life_. - -And, finally, besides again collaborating with her father in an _Essay -on Irish Bulls_ (1802), she produced that stimulating “Irish Brigade,” -which banished the “stage” Patrick from literature, introduced genuine -Celtic types, such as Coney, King of the Black Isles; and, by creating -the “national” novel, may be regarded as the legitimate parent of -what their illustrious author so modestly offered to the public as -“something of the same kind for his own country.” - -Although just failing everywhere to reveal genius, Miss Edgeworth -reflects, with marvellous versatility, all the intellectual movements -of her generation. Adopting, and adapting to her own purposes, the -“form for women” set out by Miss Burney, she widened its application to -the discussion of social and political problems, and was the first to -make fiction a picture not only of life, but of its meaning. In fact -she forestalled no less for adults, than for the young, that vast array -of consciously didactic narrative which threatens, in our own time, to -bury beyond revival the original, and the supreme, inspiration of Art -in Literature--to give pleasure. - -The humour, the pathos, the knowledge of the world, and, above all, the -common sense regulating Miss Edgeworth’s work, have not secured her as -permanent a popularity as she justly merits. But, if we do not, to-day, -frequently read even _Ormond_, _The Absentee_, or _Castle Rackrent_, -the occasions which gratefully recall their accomplished author to our -remembrance are most astonishingly frequent. - -Of HANNAH MORE (1745-1833) most readers probably know even far less -than of Maria Edgeworth; and her work can only claim notice in this -place on account of the energy with which she followed Miss Edgeworth’s -lead in didactic fiction. Accustomed to the society of fashionable -blue-stockings (then a comparative novelty in London life), she exposed -their foibles with considerable humour in private correspondence; while -her plays were cheerfully staged by Garrick. But awakened, in later -life, to the sin of play-going, she became known for her vigorous -tracts (inspiring, by turns, the foundation of Sunday schools and of -the Religious Tract Society), until she published, at sixty-four, her -one novel entitled _Cœlebs in Search of a Wife_. - -If this somewhat ponderous effusion does not altogether deserve the -satirical onslaught with which Sydney Smith heralded in the _Edinburgh_ -its first appearance, we cannot claim for the author any particular -skill in construction or much fidelity to real life. It is, in fact, no -more than a “dramatic sermon,” and a sermon, moreover, in support of -narrow-minded sectarianism. As the reviewer informs us, “Cœlebs wants -a wife ... who may add materially to the happiness of his future life. -His first journey is to London, where, in the midst of the gay society -of the metropolis, of course, he does not find a wife; and his next -journey is to the family of Mr. Stanley, the head of the Methodists, -a serious people, where, of course, he does find a wife.” That is the -whole story. We must submit, in the meantime, to diatribes, pronounced -by the virtuous, against dancing, theatres, cards, assemblies, and -frivolous conversation, until we are in danger of losing all interest -in the persons of the tale. - -It is enough for us, in fact, to mark a niche for Miss More in the -development of women’s work; only remembering the great service she -rendered her generation by a rarely sympathetic understanding of the -poor as individual human beings. - - - - -A STUDY IN FINE ART - -(JANE AUSTEN, 1775-1817) - - -With Jane Austen we reach the centre of our subject: the establishment -of the Woman’s School, the final expression of domesticity. If not, -perhaps, more essentially feminine than Fanny Burney, she is more -womanly. The charming girlishness of _Evelina_ has here matured -into a grown-up sisterly attitude towards humanity, which, without -being either quite worldly or at all pedantic, is yet artistically -composed. Whether consciously or not, she has spoken--within her chosen -province--the last word for all women for all time. There is no comment -on life, no picture of manners, no detail of characterisation--either -humorous or sympathetic--which a man could have expressed in these -precise words. Woman is openly the centre of her world; and, if men are -more to her than fireside pets, she is only concerned with them as an -element (or rather the chief element) in the life of women. - -The comparison, already instituted, between the man-made “feminines” of -_Pamela_ and _Clarissa Harlowe_ with Miss Burney’s “young ladies,” may -be applied to Elizabeth Bennet and Emma Woodhouse with added emphasis -in every particular. The “woman” in them is more modern, nearer the -heart of humanity, but still spontaneously of that sex. - - “To say the truth,” confesses a contemporary reviewer, “we suspect - one of Miss Austen’s great merits in our eyes to be the insight she - gives us into the peculiarities of female character. Authoresses - can scarcely ever forget the _esprit de corps_--can scarcely ever - forget that they _are authoresses_. They seem to feel a sympathetic - shudder at exposing naked a female mind. _Elles se peignent en - buste_, and leave the mysteries of womanhood to be described by some - interloping male, like Richardson or Marivaux, who is turned out - before he has seen half the rites, and is forced to spin from his - own conjectures the rest. Now from this fault Miss Austen is free. - Her heroines are what one knows women must be, though one never can - get them to acknowledge it. As liable ‘to fall in love first,’ as - anxious to attract the attention of an agreeable man, as much taken - with a striking manner, or a handsome face, as unequally gifted with - constancy and firmness, as liable to have their affections biased by - convenience or fashion, as we, on our part, will admit men to be. - As some illustration of what we mean, we refer our readers to the - conversation between Miss Crawford and Fanny (vol. iii. p. 102); - Fanny’s meeting with her father (p. 199); her reflection after reading - Edmund’s letter (p. 246); her happiness (good, and heroine though she - be), in the midst of the miseries of all her friends, when she finds - that Edmund has decidedly broken with her rival; feelings, all of - them, which, under the influence of strong passion, must alloy the - purest mind, but with which scarcely any _authoress_ but Miss Austen - would have ventured to temper the œtherial materials of a heroine.” - -Again, Miss Burney, as we have seen, had first made it possible for a -woman to write novels and be respectable. Yet even with her, authorship -was something of an adventure. Her earliest manuscripts were solemnly -burnt, as in repentance for frivolity, before her sorrowing sisters; -needlework was ordained every morning by a not tyrannical stepmother; -social duties occupied most afternoons and evenings. And if she _must_ -write, Dr. Burney was always ready enough at dictation, and any lady -might act as secretary to such a father without reproach. - -In the outside world, when her success was won, we can detect a -similar attitude. The authoress of _Evelina_, indeed, was taken up -everywhere and universally petted; but even literary Society never -regarded her quite as one of themselves. We feel that she was always -on show among them--a kind of freak, like the girl who cried to order -at dinner-parties without spoiling her complexion; welcomed, but not -admitted--as were actors, musicians, and others born and bred for the -amusement of the great. - -She herself never resumed work for its own sake after the first flush -of popularity, in which she composed _Cecilia_. As lady-in-waiting, -bored by tiresome punctilio; as Madame D’Arblay, happy in simple -domesticity; her pen lay idle save when exercised by filial piety or -specifically to earn money. The later novels were pure hack-work, -obviously lacking in spontaneity. - -It was reserved for Jane Austen, the daughter of a later generation, -though actually dying before Miss Burney, to establish finally the -position of woman as a professional novelist. True, she was even more -domestic than her predecessor, and entirely without what we should -regard as the necessary training or experience. Her family were seldom -aware of the time given to work, simply because it never occurred to -her that she might claim privacy or resent interruption. But they took -a keen interest in the results, and evidence exists in abundance of -their reading every completed volume with enthusiasm. - -Of her own attitude towards her work, and of its reception with the -public, there can be no doubt. She always regarded herself, and was -regarded, as a professional. Circumstances might induce temporary -silence, because she was domestic, modest, and affectionate; but -if Jane Austen never complained--and we hear of no protest at the -extraordinary delay in their appearance--we may be quite sure the -novels were written for the public, by whom she felt confident one -day of being read. The style is obviously spontaneous, of which the -writing itself meant keen enjoyment; but the work was not done merely -for the pleasure of doing it. It was her life--not because of any -disappointment in love, if she experienced such, but because genius -such as hers demands self-expression and commands a hearing. From the -beginning, moreover, no one stopped to marvel that a woman could do so -well: they judged her as an artist among her peers. - -Jane Austen had none of the advantages of Miss Burney, who knew -everybody, including the wig-maker next door. Apparently she took -little interest in politics or social problems; and our ideals of -culture suffer shock before her allusions to _The Spectator_, to -read and admire which she holds the affectation of a blue-stocking. -Admittedly she was a voracious novel-reader, but for her own pleasure -merely; certainly not with any idea of historical development or -artistic criticism. In all probability even her study of human nature -was spontaneous and unconscious. - -Yet she expected to be taken seriously. Miss Burney had ventured an -apology for her art--a plea as woman to men which was daring enough for -her generation, but still an apology. Miss Austen, speaking as much for -the authoress of _Evelina_ as for herself, shows far more confidence. -She enlarges upon the skill and the labour involved in writing a -novel, for which _honour is due_.[3] What she demands has been given -her in full measure to overflowing. How closely her stories have -wound themselves about the hearts of every successive generation, it -were idle to measure or estimate. They are a part of our inheritance: -appreciation is reckoned a test of culture. - -In the perfection, or development, of the methods inaugurated by Samuel -Richardson--particularly as applied by women-writers--she also stands -supreme. She entirely avoids criminals, melodrama, or any form of -excitement. She does not even demand sensibility from her common-sense -heroines. - -While a woman was thus placing the corner-stone to the rise of domestic -realism, man accomplished a glorious revival of Romanticism. Scott was -born only four years before Jane Austen: _Waverley_ and _Mansfield -Park_ were published in the same year. Fortunately we are able to form -an accurate estimate of the impression her work produced upon her -great contemporary, since the earliest serious appreciation of Jane -was actually written by Sir Walter, and opens with a most instructive -comparison between the “former rules of the novel” and “a class of -fictions which has arisen,” as he expresses it, “almost in our times.” -The article appeared in the _Quarterly Review_, October 1815; and it is -very significant for us to notice that Scott places _Peregrine Pickle_ -and _Tom Jones_ in the “old school,” dating the new style only “fifteen -or twenty years” back. - - “In its first appearance, the novel was the legitimate child of the - romance; and though the manners and general turn of the composition - were altered so as to suit modern times, the author remained fettered - by many peculiarities derived from the original style of romantic - fiction. These may be chiefly traced in the conduct of the narrative, - and the tone of sentiment attributed to the fictitious personages. On - the first point, although - - ‘The talisman and magic wand were broke, - Knights, dwarfs, and genii vanish’d into smoke,’ - - still the reader expected to peruse a course of adventures of a - nature more interesting and extraordinary than those which occur in - his own life, or that of his next-door neighbour. The hero no longer - defeated armies by his single sword, clove giants to the chine, or - gained kingdoms. But he was expected to go through perils by sea and - land, to be steeped in poverty, to be tried by temptation, to be - exposed to the alternate vicissitudes of adversity and prosperity, - and his life was a troubled scene of suffering and achievement. Few - novelists, indeed, adventured to deny to the hero his final hour of - tranquillity and happiness, though it was the prevailing fashion never - to relieve him out of his last and most dreadful distress until the - finishing chapters of his history; so that although his prosperity in - the record of his life was short, we were bound to believe it was long - and uninterrupted when the author had done with him. The heroine was - usually condemned to equal hardships and hazards. She was regularly - exposed to being forcibly carried off like a Sabine virgin by some - frantic admirer. And even if she escaped the terrors of masked - ruffians, an insidious ravisher, a cloak wrapped forcibly around - her head, and a coach with the blinds [down] driving she could not - conjecture whither, she had still her share of wandering, of poverty, - of obloquy, of seclusion, and of imprisonment, and was frequently - extended upon a bed of sickness, and reduced to her last shilling - before the author condescended to shield her from persecution. In - all these dread contingencies the mind of the reader was expected - to sympathise, since by incidents so much beyond the bounds of his - ordinary experience, his wonder and interest ought at once to be - excited. But gradually he became familiar with the land of fiction, - the adventures of which he assimilated not with those of real life, - but with each other. Let the distress of the hero or heroine be ever - so great, the reader reposed an imperturbable confidence in the - talents of the author, who, as he had plunged them into distress, - would in his own good time, and when things, as Tony Lumkin says, - were in a concatenation accordingly, bring his favourites out of all - their troubles. Mr. Crabbe has expressed his own and our feelings - excellently on this subject. - - ‘For should we grant these beauties all endure - Severest pangs, they’ve still the speediest cure; - Before one charm be wither’d from the face, - Except the bloom which shall again have place, - In wedlock ends each wish, in triumph all disgrace. - And life to come, we fairly may suppose, - One light bright contrast to these wild dark woes.’ - - “In short, the author of novels was, in former times, expected to - tread pretty much in the limits between the concentric circles of - probability and possibility; and as he was not permitted to transgress - the latter, his narrative, to make amends, almost always went beyond - the bounds of the former. Now, although it may be urged that the - vicissitudes of human life have occasionally led an individual through - as many scenes of singular fortune as are represented in the most - extravagant of these fictions, still the causes and personages acting - on these changes have varied with the progress of the adventurer’s - fortune, and do not present that combined plot, (the object of every - skilful novelist), in which all the more interesting individuals of - the dramatis personæ have their appropriate share in the action and in - bringing about the catastrophe. Here, even more than in its various - and violent changes of fortune, rests the improbability of the novel. - The life of man rolls forth like a stream from the fountain, or it - spreads out into tranquillity like a placid or stagnant lake. In - the latter case, the individual grows old among the characters with - whom he was born, and is contemporary,--shares precisely the sort - of weal and woe to which his birth destined him,--moves in the same - circle,--and, allowing for the change of seasons, is influenced by, - and influences the same class of persons by which he was originally - surrounded. The man of mark and of adventure, on the contrary, - resembles, in the course of his life, the river whose mid-current - and discharge into the ocean are widely removed from each other, as - well as from the rocks and wild flowers which its fountains first - reflected; violent changes of time, of place, and of circumstances, - hurry him forward from one scene to another, and his adventures - will usually be found only connected with each other because they - have happened to the same individual. Such a history resembles an - ingenious, fictitious narrative, exactly in the degree in which an - old dramatic chronicle of the life and death of some distinguished - character, where all the various agents appear and disappear as in the - page of history, approaches a regular drama, in which every person - introduced plays an appropriate part, and every point of the action - tends to one common catastrophe. - - “We return to the second broad line of distinction between the novel, - as formerly composed, and real life,--the difference, namely, of the - sentiments. The novelist professed to give an imitation of nature, but - it was, as the French say, _la belle nature_. Human beings, indeed, - were presented, but in the most sentimental mood, and with minds - purified by a sensibility which often verged on extravagance. In the - serious class of novels, the hero was usually - - ‘A knight or lover, who never broke a vow.’ - - And although, in those of a more humorous cast, he was permitted - a licence, borrowed either from real life or from the libertinism - of the drama, still a distinction was demanded even from Peregrine - Pickle, or Tom Jones; and the hero, in every folly of which he might - be guilty, was studiously vindicated from the charge of infidelity of - the heart. The heroine was, of course, still more immaculate; and to - have conferred her affections upon any other than the lover to whom - the reader had destined her from their first meeting, would have been - a crime against sentiment which no author, of moderate prudence, would - have hazarded, under the old _régime_. - - “Here, therefore, we have two essential and important circumstances, - in which the earlier novels differed from those now in fashion, and - were more nearly assimilated to the old romances. And there can be no - doubt that, by the studied involution and extrication of the story, - by the combination of incidents new, striking and wonderful beyond - the course of ordinary life, the former authors opened that obvious - and strong sense of interest which arises from curiosity; as by the - pure, elevated, and romantic cast of the sentiment, they conciliated - those better propensities of our nature which loves to contemplate - the picture of virtue, even when confessedly unable to imitate its - excellences. - - “But strong and powerful as these sources of emotion and interest may - be, they are, like all others, capable of being exhausted by habit. - The imitators who rushed in crowds upon each path in which the great - masters of the art had successively led the way, produced upon the - public mind the usual effect of satiety. The first writer of a new - class is, as it were, placed on a pinnacle of excellence, to which, at - the earliest glance of a surprised admirer, his ascent seems little - less than miraculous. Time and imitation speedily diminish the wonder, - and each successive attempt establishes a kind of progressive scale - of ascent between the lately deified author, and the reader, who had - deemed his excellence inaccessible. The stupidity, the mediocrity, - the merit of his imitators, are alike fatal to the first inventor, by - showing how possible it is to exaggerate his faults and to come within - a certain point of his beauties. - - “Materials also (and the man of genius as well as his wretched - imitator must work with the same) become stale and familiar. Social - life, in our civilized days, affords few instances capable of being - painted in the strong dark colours which excite surprise and horror; - and robbers, smugglers, bailiffs, caverns, dungeons, and mad-houses, - have been all introduced until they cease to interest. And thus in the - novel, as in every style of composition which appeals to the public - taste, the more rich and easily worked mines being exhausted, the - adventurous author must, if he is desirous of success, have recourse - to those which were disdained by his predecessors as unproductive, or - avoided as only capable of being turned to profit by great skill and - labour. - - “Accordingly a style of novel has arisen, within the last fifteen - or twenty years, differing from the former in the points upon which - the interest hinges; neither alarming our credulity nor amusing our - imagination by wild variety of incident, or by those pictures of - romantic affection and sensibility, which were formerly as certain - attributes of fictitious characters as they are of rare occurrence - among those who actually live and die. The substitute for these - excitements, which had lost much of their poignancy by the repeated - and injudicious use of them, was the art of copying from nature as - she really exists in the common walks of life, and presenting to - the reader, instead of the splendid scenes of an imaginary world, - a correct and striking representation of that which is daily taking - place around him. - - “In adventuring upon this task, the author makes obvious sacrifices, - and encounters peculiar difficulty. He who paints from _le beau - idéal_, if his scenes and sentiments are striking and interesting, is - in a great measure exempted from the difficult task of reconciling - them with the ordinary probabilities of life: but he who paints - a scene of common occurrence, places his composition within that - extensive range of criticism which general experience offers to - every reader. The resemblance of a statue of Hercules we must take - on the artist’s judgment; but every one can criticize that which is - presented as the portrait of a friend, or neighbour. Something more - than a mere sign-post likeness is also demanded. The portrait must - have spirit and character, as well as resemblance; and being deprived - of all that, according to Bayes, goes ‘to elevate and surprize,’ it - must make amends by displaying depth of knowledge and dexterity of - execution. We, therefore, bestow no mean compliment upon the author of - _Emma_, when we say that, keeping close to common incidents, and to - such characters as occupy the ordinary walks of life, she has produced - sketches of such spirit and originality, that we never miss the - excitation which depends upon a narrative of uncommon events, arising - from the consideration of minds, manners and sentiments, greatly above - our own. In this class she stands almost alone; for the scenes of Miss - Edgeworth are laid in higher life, varied by more romantic incident, - and by her remarkable power of embodying and illustrating national - character. But the author of _Emma_ confines herself chiefly to the - middling classes of society; her most distinguished characters do not - rise greatly above well-bred country gentlemen and ladies; and those - which are sketched with most originality and precision, belong to a - class rather below that standard. The narrative of all her novels - is composed of such common occurrences as may have fallen under the - observation of most folks; and her dramatis personæ conduct themselves - upon the motives and principles which the readers may recognize as - ruling their own and that of most of their acquaintances.” - -It is manifestly clear to us, then, from these passages, that Jane -Austen’s contemporaries were quite aware of her influence upon the -progress of fiction; and so generous a tribute, from one whose mighty -genius had set the current in other directions, must be accounted no -less honourable to the critic than to the criticised. - -Four years after her death (_i.e._ six years later) the new school is -again applauded, in an admirable appreciation, by Archbishop Whately of -the posthumous _Persuasion_ and _Northanger Abbey_,[4] who dwells at -great length upon an important distinction between the “unnatural” and -the “merely improbable” in fiction. - -Scott, of course, was always generous in criticism; and his striking -enthusiasm for Mrs. Radcliffe and the earlier women-writers, in his -_Lives of the Novelists_, reveals no less chivalrous gallantry than his -famous tribute to Miss Edgeworth. Still it was obviously necessary for -the great critic to _explain_ the grounds of his enthusiasm; and the -“more assured attitude of applause which Whateley was able to adopt, -after so short an interval, may serve to witness the advance which her -genius had achieved in the general estimate.” - -We cannot avoid noticing, however, that neither of her contemporary -masculine critics seems to have been quite happy about the ideal of -womanhood which Jane Austen was certainly the first to introduce. -It required courage, indeed, to conceive of a heroine without -“sensibility,” and the creator of Marianne Dashwood must certainly -have been perfectly conscious of the omission. It happens that Scott -and Whateley were both thirty-four when these articles were written, -yet each complains, after his own fashion, of the calculating prudence -here revealed towards love and matrimony by the young ladies of the -piece. One would have supposed that neither of them was either old -enough to remember “sensibility” in real life, or young enough for idle -dreaming. Clearly, however, they _had_ a tender partiality for the old -type, probably shared by their readers; although both writers assure us -that young people in their day were not in fact at all addicted to the -sacrifice of all for love. - -Scott is certainly not justified in stating that Elizabeth was led to -accept Darcy by discovering the grandeur of his estates; both because -such an attitude was inconsistent with her mental independence, -and because she herself jokingly suggests this explanation of the -remarkable change in her sentiments towards him, to tease her sister. - -But, on the other hand, Jane Austen’s heroines may fairly be called -cool and calculating in comparison with the poetical maidens of -romance; and we have intentionally laboured this point at some length -in order to emphasise the thoroughness with which reformers in fiction -discarded the many artistic ornaments formerly used by story-tellers to -enhance the “pleasures of imagination.” Every convention of romance -was ruthlessly abandoned. - -Later developments, as we shall see, introduced other elements which -partially supplied these omissions, and once more removed the novel -from pure realism; but it would almost seem as if Jane Austen had -deliberately set herself to prove how much it was possible to do -without. She admits neither unusual mixture of society, cultured -allusion, nor morbid or criminal impulses. Like her immediate -predecessors, she wilfully limits the variety of character-types by -strictly confining herself to her own narrow experience--her groups -of character are curiously similar, her plots repeat each other: -she discards every source of excitement from adventure, mystery, or -melodramatic emotion; and, finally, she denies the hero or heroine any -charm which may be derived from “sensibility” or romantic idealism. -Hers is realism,[5] naked and unashamed; challenging comparison -with life itself at every point, wholly dependent upon truthfulness -to nature. Her triumph is purely artistic: the absolute fitness of -expression to reveal insight, observation, sympathy, and humour; in -a simple narrative of parochial affairs, composed with rare skill, -faithfully reflecting everyday life and ordinary people. - -From such commonplace material she has woven a spell over the -imagination and secured our warm interest in characters and episodes: -much as the simplicity of English landscapes will hold our affection -against the claims of nature’s grandest magnificence. - -Detailed analysis of her six “studies from life” will serve only to -increase our wonder, and may be indulged without fear of reversed, or -even qualified, judgment. - -Inevitably Jane Austen scribbled in girlhood--too busily, according -to her own judgment; but the printed fragments are _not_ specially -precocious, and we have no right to judge so careful an artist by work -she left unfinished or rejected with deliberation, however interesting -in itself. - -As we all know, without having any clue to the explanation, she found -herself rather suddenly, while still a young woman; and did all her -work in two surprisingly brief periods--sharply separated, and each -responsible for three novels, two full length and one much shorter. -_Pride and Prejudice_, her first finished production, has every -appearance of maturity, and reveals the principal qualities which -characterised her to the end. - -This novel, by many considered her greatest work, is primarily--like -_Evelina_ and _Cecilia_--a study in manners. Its aim is frankly to -amuse: the dominant note is irresponsible gaiety: the appeal is more -intellectual than emotional. Certainly we are interested in the story, -we have considerable affection for the characters: but it does not -excite passion, stimulate philosophic reflection, or stir imagination. -We find here no solutions to any vexed social problem. Past mistress -she is in the great art of story-telling, and a supreme stylist; yet -the authoress seems always content to skim the surface of things, -taking no thought of storm or fire below. - -Miss Austen is no cynic: she certainly detests coarseness: yet Lydia’s -fall and its consequences, round which any modern novelist would have -centred the whole picture, is handled with something very like levity. -We can scarcely avoid amazement at the astonishingly vulgar attitude of -Mrs. Bennet or at Mary’s appalling priggishness on the occasion: but -such serious thoughts do not retain us long. In reality we are chiefly -interested in the possible effects of the girl’s folly upon her elder -sisters--will it, or will it not, separate them for ever from the men -they love? It is only a few quiet words of unselfish sympathy from -Jane, easily forgotten by most of us, that reveal the sentiments of the -authoress on such questions--with which, apparently, she holds that -fiction has little concern. - -Primarily, however, we are attracted by _Pride and Prejudice_ as a -work of art. The unfailing humour and pointed wit, the marvellous -aptness of every polished phrase, hold us spellbound. The very first -sentence plunges us right into the heart of affairs: every incident or -dialogue, to the closing page, follows without pause or digression, -clear and firm as crystal. No trace of obscurity or hesitation blurs -the gay scene: every character is vividly, and individually, alive. -Yet how simple, almost commonplace, the material: how parochial the -outlook. We have here no mystery or melodrama, no psychology or local -colour. Miss Austen’s young ladies have absolutely no interests in life -except “the men,” however superior their manners and instincts to the -egregious frivolity of Mrs. Bennet. They are the normal heroines of a -conventional love-story; with the usual surroundings--a handsome hero -or two, some tiresome relatives, a confidante, a mild villain, and -varied comic relief. It has been said further that Miss Austen’s ideal -of a gentleman was deficient, since Darcy’s insolence betrays lack of -breeding: and, certainly, no Elizabeth of to-day would even temporarily -be deceived or attracted by so common an adventurer as Wickham. - -At a first glance, indeed, it might seem that Miss Austen depended -entirely for her effects upon the creation of oddities. Reflecting on -Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins, touching perfection, we may well fancy -that we have surprised her secret--the impulse of her achievement, -the cause of our own enthusiasm. This, however, is but a hasty and -superficial impression. To begin with, she does not concentrate, -either in wit or humour, upon these figures of fun: and, in the second -place, she has powers quite other than the mirth-provoking. Though -grammatically not above reproach, she seems always to use the right -word by instinct, hitting every nail full on the head, never wasting a -syllable. The art nowhere obtrudes itself: her most skilfully polished -phrases appear natural and fluent, just what her characters must have -said in real life, to express precisely their thoughts and feelings. -Faultlessly neat and compact, her style is yet daring, vigorous, and -thoroughly alive. - -Similar qualities appear in her delineation of character. Always -knowing her own mind, and going straight to the point: there is no -vagueness in outline, no uncertainty anywhere. Jane Bennet could never -have said or done just what came most naturally from Elizabeth; Darcy -shared no thought or deed with his best friend: less prominent persons -are as firmly, if less fully, individualised. The incidents, moreover, -however trifling, are well varied; the plot has ample movement--once -those concerned in it have won our sympathies. Assuredly Miss Austen’s -aim is not strenuous; but it is direct, vigorous, and clear-headed. -And where she aims, she hits. - -_Sense and Sensibility_ reveals the very same method and the -reappearance of many similar types, applied to an entirely new story in -which no interest or situation repeats those of the earlier book. With -her daring indifference to originality in the mechanical construction -of a plot, Miss Austen once more centres her story round two sisters, -more widely diverse in temperament, indeed, than Jane and Elizabeth, -but no less everything to each other. Their mother, after the way of -parents in these novels, is as foolish as Mrs. Bennet, though far -more lovable. Willoughby is Wickham over again, with a fancy for -accomplishments. The tragi-comedy introduced by Lucy Steele, more -_essentially_ vulgar than any of the Bennets, Mrs. Palmer’s candid -frivolity, and the languid elegance of Lady Middleton (later perfected -in Lady Bertram), provide abundant occasion for laughter; though no -one figure of absurdity stands out so strongly as those of the earlier -novel. On the other hand, Miss Austen has nowhere exposed a character -more trenchantly by one short dialogue than in the discussion -between Mr. and Mrs. John Dashwood about “what he could do for” his -widowed mother and orphaned sisters. It were surely impossible for -selfish hypocrisy to go further; and the subtle touches by which the -wife reveals herself leader of the pair, must afford us the keenest -enjoyment. - -But this tale of Marianne and her Willoughby has one element entirely -absent from _Pride and Prejudice_, and never again attempted by Jane -Austen. It may be said to border on melodrama. The young people’s -ingenuous revels in emotion, whether of joy or grief, surprise one -in so balanced a writer, and reveal powers we should not otherwise -have suspected. Marianne, indeed, is the very personification of -that sensibility, so dear to “elegant females” of the old world, so -foreign to modern ideals. Having chosen her type, Miss Austen would -seem determined to show how far she could go in this direction without -distorting humanity. To the more conventional Miss Burney, sensibility -was a grace essential in heroines. She is its acknowledged exponent, -and compels us, despite prejudice, to recognise its real charm. But -neither Evelina nor Cecilia exhibits so much naïveté as Marianne, such -tempestuous abandon, such a fiery glow; yet we can read of her with -equal patience, we can love her no less. She is saved, for us, by her -genuine affection for “sensible” Eleanor, and her unselfish devotion -to a mother who seems even younger and more foolish than herself. -And Willoughby’s temperament fits her like a glove. His wooing, his -wickedness, and his repentance belong to a generation before Miss -Austen’s. Through this couple she triumphs in otherwise unexplored -regions. - -_Northanger Abbey_ has very much the appearance of juvenile effort, -possibly recast in maturity. If not actually written in girlhood, it -must be regarded as the flower of a true holiday spirit, blossoming -in sheer fun. Fresh from the excited perusal of some novel by the -terrifying Anne Radcliffe, whom I believe Miss Austen enjoyed as -keenly as her own Catherine, she must have thrown herself into the -composition of this delightful parody, just to renew its thrills, -to linger over its absurdities. It is all pure farce, exaggeration -cheerfully unrestrained. The irrepressible Arabella belongs to Miss -Burney: her boasting brother should hang in the same gallery. Dear, -foolish Catherine’s idle imaginings about General Tilney were never -meant to resemble nature. Henry could scarcely have forgiven them, had -he taken her quite seriously. Moreover, having one parody in hand, -Miss Austen gaily embarks on yet another, no less irresponsible and -spontaneous. Catherine is Evelina in miniature; the real _ingénue_ -whose country breeding exposes her to the most diverting distresses -in a Society amazingly mixed. Hovering between Thorpes and Tilneys, -like Evelina between Mirvans and Branghtons, she enters each circle -with the same innocence, enthusiasm, and naïveté. Miss Austen’s sly -boast of originality in allowing her heroine to fall in love without -stopping to ascertain “the gentleman’s feelings,” is but gentle -raillery at a similar presumption in Miss Burney. Certainly Orville, no -less than Tilney, was led on to serious thoughts of matrimony by the -simple-minded revelation of a pretty girl’s partiality. - -Where a laugh lurks behind every sentence, we need not expect the -special “studies in humour” which stand out, everywhere, in the more -serious stories. Yet General Tilney (later perfected in Sir Walter -Elliot) is a finished sketch: while John Thorpe, who never opens his -lips without betraying himself; and Arabella, whether in pursuit of the -“two young men” or quizzing the naughty Captain, were hard to beat. - -Nowhere, in all her work, has Miss Austen concentrated such pungent -sarcasm as in the condescending explanation of how much folly -reasonable men _prefer_ in lovely women. - - “The advantages of natural folly in a beautiful girl have been already - set forth by the capital pen of a sister author; and to her treatment - of the subject I will only add, in justice to men, that though to the - larger and more trifling part of the sex, imbecility in females is a - great enhancement of their personal charms, there is a portion of them - too reasonable, and too well informed themselves, to desire anything - more in woman than ignorance.” - -Do not the smooth words sting? - -Approaching the second group, we look naturally, and not in vain, for -evidence of maturity and development. Miss Austen does not, in fact, -make any attempt to enlarge her sphere, to widen her outlook, to -handle more strenuous emotion. But her plots, still based on parochial -gossip, are more varied and complex: she works with a larger number -of characters; actually perfecting some types already familiar, and -introducing us to many a new acquaintance. Above all, her dramatis -personæ are no longer fixed and defined at their first entrance: they -grow with the story, often surprising us at last by qualities, no doubt -dormant from the beginning, and never strained or inconsistent, but -only possible to development through experience. - -_Emma_ obviously invites comparison with _Pride and Prejudice_. The two -heroines have long shared almost equally the position of a most popular -favourite: one or other of the two books is almost universally judged -her best. The charms of Emma and Harriet are more _naturally_ diverse -because they are _not_ sisters: yet in the accidents of intimacy, -mutual confidence, and common interests they form a basis for the plot -precisely similar to that of the sisters in _Pride and Prejudice_ or -_Sense and Sensibility_, not greatly differing from those in _Mansfield -Park_ or _Persuasion_. Mr. Elton, the very pink of pretentious -vulgarity, recalls Lydia and Lucy Steele: her _caro sposo_ eclipses Mr. -Collins on his own ground. Miss Bates the garrulous, and Mr. Woodhouse -the fussy, varied examples of the eternal bore, are formidable rivals, -if not conquerors, of the inimitable Lady Catherine. Here we have -“characters” in greater abundance, almost more finished in fuller -detail. - -Advance is more obvious, however, in the introduction of such -independent family groups as the Westons, the Martins, the John -Knightleys, and the Eltons: in the presence of a full-grown secondary -plot--“The Fairfax Mystery,” as we might call it: and in the heroine’s -_development_ through experience. A secret engagement is, in itself, -new kind of material for Jane Austen to handle: well calculated -to exercise her delicate command of dialogue. It lends particular -interest to this novel, however simple the intrigue compared with more -modern examples, however foreign to our own conceptions the “sense of -sin” thereby engendered in Jane Fairfax. Young Churchill’s spirited -conduct of the affair is a perpetual delight, certainly not least for -its unintentional humbling of “the great Miss Woodhouse”: though his -insinuations about Mr. Dixon (like Darcy’s rudeness) exceed the licence -permitted a gentleman, however spoilt and high-spirited. - -We have already noted the popularity of Emma, but, in this _unlike_ -Elizabeth, she has her detractors. Some find her too managing, -self-centred, and “superior” for charm. Admittedly she is a matchmaker, -far less refined than she imagines herself: her rudeness to Miss -Bates is difficult to pardon. But, as Knightley alone had the wit to -recognise, Harriet’s innocent folly encouraged her worst qualities, -and Emma’s repentance is sincere, bearing good fruit. To the end she -is herself indeed; but how different a self--standing witness to the -powers of character in bringing out the best of us. Having played -with fire, she learnt her lesson, and so we may leave her, no less -marvelling than she at the workings of what little Harriet was pleased -to call her heart; admiring, as all must, Jane Austen’s finished study -of that engaging “Miss.” - -_Mansfield Park_, probably, is the least popular of the novels--on -account of its heroine. Fanny Price has her partisans, but can never -become a general favourite, until we again idealise humility in -woman. Accepting, without a murmur, the most unreasonable and most -exacting demands of all her “betters”; meekly grateful, to the point of -servility, if Edmund bestows on her a kind word; she stands before us -condemned by every code accepted to-day. - -Yet Fanny, reversing the process in Emma, acquires self-confidence -with years, and actually learns to play the heroine in adversity. The -novel contains Miss Austen’s first, and last, picture of the great -world beyond parish boundaries: it deals, successfully, with greater -contrasts in social status than she ever attempted before or since. -Lady Bertram, no less than Mrs. Norris, fairly eclipses all former -achievements in character study. - -Its crowded canvas, indeed, demands notice in detail. Sir Thomas -neglects his family much as did Mr. Bennet, and suffers more serious -punishment. The “villain” is replaced by Henry and Miss Crawford, of -the world, worldly: figuring at first as very wholesome instruments -of distraction to a stiff family circle; but ingeniously convicted, -in touch with realities, of serious moral depravity. Their presence, -however, reveals new power in the authoress, and considerably enlivens -the scene. They do much towards the development of Fanny. - -No two characters, on the other hand, could be more profoundly -diverse than those of Lady Bertram and Mrs. Norris: yet they fit each -other without friction, and it were hard indeed to say which is more -perfectly drawn. A woman more utterly devoid of feeling or lacking in -common sense than the former, it is impossible to conceive. The mere -hint of responsibility towards anyone or anything would have shattered -her nerves completely; and no emergency, of joy or grief, ever taught -her to face the exertion of making up her own mind for herself on the -most trivial question. Yet there is no exaggeration. She is perfectly -natural, not without charm, an ornament to the family circle whom -all would miss. For Mrs. Norris, the intolerable busybody, it has -been suggested that Miss Austen owed something directly to personal -experience. Was this her revenge for much silent endurance? Certainly -so much concentrated scorn, so stern a portrait seems to imply animus. -Gentle, tender, and sympathetic by nature, was she at times lashed to -fury by the cruel inanity of village types? Mrs. Elton, Miss Bates, and -Mr. Collins may, in a less degree, have been similarly inspired. If it -be so, verily they have their reward. - -The central motive in _Mansfield Park_ is more complex than heretofore: -its scenes more varied. The whole episode of Fanny’s visit to her -struggling parents, and their squalid home, introduces an aspect -of life elsewhere ignored, shows us humanity unrefined. The work is -alive and vigorous, not altogether foreign to modern realism. Coming, -moreover, from such uncongenial, and to them unfamiliar, surroundings; -bred to hard work and hard times; cousin Fanny brings a new element -into the lives of the elegant Miss Bertrams, our usual couple of -sisters; who, again, are destined to further awakening from the manners -and experience of Mary Crawford. - -Finally, we have here the nearest approach to a so-called “social -problem” ever handled by Jane Austen, and a thoroughly serious picture -of punishment. It may seem hard to all of us, and modern casuists would -certainly declare it unjust, that Maria should suffer so much more -than Julia, who had no more principle, but less opportunity. In this -matter, however, Miss Austen is uncompromising. Of the two Maria was -more spoilt--by Mrs. Norris, more exposed to temptation; and actually -committed sin. _Therefore she must expect punishment._ Julia proved -herself equally cold-hearted and selfish; but by luck, neither through -wisdom nor goodness, she kept within the code--and was forgiven. - -Miss Austen does not let off the man altogether; for it is quite clear -that Henry Crawford lost Fanny, and, with her, his best chance for -happiness. But Maria lost everything; and so, the authoress seems -to imply, it must be always. There is no hint of mercy, no chance -for retrievement, in one of the sternest decrees of Fate that could -overtake a woman--perpetual imprisonment with her aunt! - - “Shut up together with little society, on one side no affection, - on the other no judgment, it may reasonably be supposed that their - tempers became their mutual punishment.” - -Justice, indeed, hath fair play with Mrs. Norris. May we not -whisper--Poor Maria! - -_Persuasion_, Miss Austen’s last work and perhaps her finest, reveals -maturity in other ways. No longer than _Northanger Abbey_, it has -neither the complexity nor the crowded canvas distinguishing others -of the second group. It is written throughout in a minor key, without -one outstanding comic “character.” But, on the other hand, its -construction is singularly compact, its emotions have a new depth, -sincerity, and tenderness. Anne Elliot can never rival Elizabeth or -Emma; though she is no less “superior” to her own family, and has in -reality more character. Here our appreciation and our sympathies are -emotional rather than intellectual. _We feel with her_ far more than -with them. Though never recognised in her own circle, as were all -Miss Austen’s heroines save Fanny Price, she dominates the story more -than any. _Persuasion_, in fact, is a study in character, such as its -authoress had never before attempted. No more, if indeed actually less, -sensational than its predecessors, the whole scheme moves below the -surface. It holds us more by feeling and atmosphere than by incident. -We experience a similar delight in the perfectly turned phrases, the -finished dialogue, and the neat characterisation; but here are no -figures of fun, no animated social functions, no clash of types. We may -smile, indeed, at Sir Walter Elliot or at the family of Uppercross; but -the humour, however subtle and permeating, does not anywhere prevail -over deeper emotion. - -Certainly we note that Miss Austen still seeks out no new material, -depends on no more startling situation. Anne’s happiness and misery -alike arise, as did Jane’s and Elizabeth’s, from a refinement to which -every other member of her family was absolutely blind. The natural -understanding between two sisters is destroyed, as between Julia and -Maria, by rivalry for the one eligible visitor to the neighbourhood; -though here with no permanently disastrous results. The naïvely -conceived villain of the first group has become--again as in _Mansfield -Park_--an accomplished man of the world, with no sister indeed to -further his perfectly honourable designs on the heroine, but, in the -last event, not lacking a female accomplice. Its most striking effect -in local colour, the glowing picture of naval types, was foreshadowed -in William Price: though Admiral and Mrs. Croft admittedly stand -high in Miss Austen’s gallery of character-studies. Society, as in -_Northanger Abbey_, is located at Bath. - -Yet nowhere has she attempted, with any approach to a like depth of -feeling or earnestness, so much philosophy on life, so searching -an analysis of human nature, as in the remarkable conversation -on faithfulness, as severally exhibited by men and women, which -artistically produces a permanent understanding between hero and -heroine. - - “Oh!” cried Anne eagerly to Captain Harville, “I hope I do justice - to all that is felt by you and by those who resemble you. God forbid - that I should undervalue the warm and faithful feelings of any of - my fellow-creatures. I should deserve utter contempt if I dared to - suppose that true attachment and constancy were known only by woman. - No, I believe you capable of everything great and good in your - married lives. I believe you equal to every important exertion, and - to every domestic forbearance, so long as--if I may be allowed the - expression--so long as you have an object. I mean while the woman you - love lives, and lives for you. All the privilege I claim for my own - sex (it is not a very enviable one: you need not covet it) is that of - loving longest, when existence or when hope is gone.” - -This is the text of the whole novel, woven with subtlety into its very -fabric, inspiring each thought, each word, though never obtruding. -_Persuasion_ is neither a sermon nor a pamphlet. Its author assuredly -holds no brief for woman, brings no charge against man. Yet here she -speaks for her sex. Of what she has seen and felt it would appear that -she could no longer remain silent. - -Jane Austen reveals herself in her last message to posterity. - - _Sense and Sensibility_, 1811. - _Pride and Prejudice_, 1813. - _Mansfield Park_, 1814. - _Emma_, 1816. - _Northanger Abbey_, 1818. - _Persuasion_, 1818. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[3] Both passages are quoted on page 129. - -[4] Also in the _Quarterly_, 1821. - -[5] It is scarcely necessary, perhaps, to remark that the word -“realism” is used, here and elsewhere, without any reference to the -limited significance it has recently acquired. Realism, of course, -really means truthfulness to life, _including_ imagination, faith, -poetry, and the ideal; and _not_ a photographic reproduction of certain -unpleasant, more or less abnormal, phases of human nature. - - - - -A “MOST ACCOMPLISHED COQUETTE” - - -In spite of the almost universal inclination to pass over Jane Austen’s -“minor” works without serious comment, we are ourselves strongly -disposed to consider _Lady Susan_ of considerable importance. - -The early compositions, if sprightly, are not precocious: the cancelled -chapter of _Persuasion_--replaced only eleven months before her death -by chaps. x. and xi.--remains an interesting record of what would -have fully satisfied a less careful artist; and the description--with -extracts--which Mr. Austen-Leigh has given us of the novel begun on -27th January 1817 and continued until the 17th of March,[6] does not -contain body enough for confident anticipation: _i.e._ of detail. There -is, however, no reason for dreading any decline in artistic power. - -Water-marks of 1803 and 1804 on the original manuscript prove _The -Watsons_ to have been written between her two periods of productive -activity; and it is not likely that definite evidence will now -transpire in explanation of its having been left unfinished: unless we -accept Mr. Austen-Leigh’s somewhat fastidious conclusion-- - - “that the author became aware of the evil of having placed her heroine - too low, in such a position of poverty and obscurity as, though not - necessarily connected with vulgarity, has a sad tendency to degenerate - into it; and therefore, like a singer who has begun on too low a - note, she discontinued the strain. It was an error of which she was - likely to become more sensible, as she grew older, and saw more of - society: certainly she never repeated it by placing the heroine of any - subsequent work under circumstances likely to be unfavourable to the - refinement of a lady.”[7] - -Her nephew further remarks that “it could not have been broken up for -the purpose of using the materials in another fabric”; although, in his -opinion, a resemblance between Mr. Robert Watson and Mr. Elton is “very -discernible.” We might also observe that Mr. Watson appears to have -taken his “basin of gruel” as regularly as Mr. Woodhouse; while, on -the other hand, Lord Osborne’s affected superiority to dancing recalls -Darcy. Miss Watson’s theories on life and marriage are particularly -characteristic: - - “I would rather do anything than be a teacher at a school. _I_ have - been at school, Emma, and know what a life they lead; _you_ never - have. I should not like marrying a disagreeable man any more than - yourself; but I do not think there _are_ many very disagreeable men; I - think I could like any good-humoured man with a comfortable income. I - suppose my aunt brought you up to be rather refined.” - -Emma Watson, in fact, like all Jane Austen’s heroines, shines by -_comparison_ with the rest of her family. - -_Lady Susan_, unlike any of the stories mentioned above, is obviously -complete and finished. “Her family have always believed it to be an -early production”; but we cannot conjecture why it was laid aside -and never published by her. It is, however, an “experiment”--never -repeated; and very possibly Jane Austen did not feel moved to revise -what evidently had not satisfied her own standard of perfection. - -For us, however, its striking dissimilarity to the six recognised -“works,” and its unique position in the development of fiction, are of -peculiar interest. To begin with, it belongs to the old “picaresque” -school of fiction, seldom popular in England, though practised with -considerable vigour by Defoe, and _once_ revived by Thackeray in a work -of genius--_Barry Lyndon_. - -It may, perhaps, be considered an exaggeration to call the heroine a -villain; and certainly Jane Austen entirely avoids the sordid material -of criminal adventure (_not_ scorned by Thackeray); which is the -recognised foundation of ordinary picaresque work. But the essential -characteristic remains prominent. The good people are comparatively -colourless; our interest centres around _Lady Susan_, and it is on her -that the author has devoted her most careful work. Moreover, it should -not be overlooked that _Lady Susan_ does contemplate, and actually -instigate--in refined language--a course of action which may fairly be -called criminal. The confidante, Mrs. Johnson--a recognised appendage -to villainy--receives the following significant hint: - - “Mainwaring is more devoted to me than ever; and were we at liberty, I - doubt if I could resist even matrimony offered by _him_. This event, - if his wife live with you, it may be in your power to hasten. The - violence of her feelings, which must wear her out, may easily be kept - in irritation. _I rely on your friendship for this._” - -The quiet audacity of this paragraph is really astounding; and just -because no other word in all the forty-one letters contains so much as -a hint at anything beyond unblushing effrontery and reckless lying, we -regard it, without hesitation, as the keynote of Jane Austen’s method, -and the declaration of her aim. Only a villain could possibly have -written these words; only a genius could have refrained from giving her -away on some other occasion. - -Superficially, Lady Susan is no worse than a merry widow, given to -man conquest, perfectly indifferent--if not contemptuous--towards the -wives or the fiancées of her victims. In this matter, indeed, her -enemies complain that “she does not confine herself to that sort of -honest flirtation which satisfies most people, but aspires to the more -delicious gratification of making a whole family miserable.” During -the first months of widowhood she had determined on “discretion” and -being “as quiet as possible”:--“I have admitted no one’s attentions but -Mainwaring’s. I have avoided _all general flirtation_ whatever; I have -distinguished no creature besides, of all the numbers resorting hither, -except Sir John Martin, on whom I bestowed a little notice, in order -to detach him from Miss Mainwaring; but, if the world could know my -motive _there_ they would honour me”;--the fact being that she wanted -the man for her daughter. - -This “most accomplished coquette in England” is described with some -fullness by a sister-in-law who had every reason to think ill of her. - - “She is really excessively pretty; however you may choose to question - the allurements of a lady no longer young, I must, for my own part, - declare that I have seldom seen so lovely a woman as Lady Susan. - She is delicately fair, with fine grey eyes and dark eyelashes; and - from her appearance one would not suppose her more than five and - twenty; though she must in fact be ten years older. I was certainly - not disposed to admire her, though always hearing she was beautiful; - but I cannot help feeling that she possesses an uncommon union of - symmetry, brilliancy, and grace. Her address to me was so gentle, - frank, and even affectionate, that, if I had not known how much she - has always disliked me for marrying Mr. Vernon, and that we had never - met before, I should have imagined her an attached friend. One is - apt, I believe, to connect assurance of manner with coquetry, and to - expect that an impudent address will naturally attend an impudent - mind; at least, I myself was prepared for an improper degree of - confidence in Lady Susan; but her countenance is absolutely sweet, - and her voice and manner winningly mild. I am sorry it is so, for - what is this but deceit? Unfortunately, one knows her too well. She - is clever and agreeable, has all that knowledge of the world which - makes conversation easy, and talks very well, with a happy command of - language, which is too often used, I believe, to make black appear - white.” - -Such being the lady’s own manners and sentiments, we are fully prepared -for her satirical references to her daughter: - - “I never saw a girl of her age”--she was sixteen--“bid fairer to be - the sport of mankind. Her feelings are tolerably acute, and she is so - charmingly artless in their display as to afford the most reasonable - hope of her being ridiculous, and despised by every man who sees her. - Artlessness will never do in love-matters; and that girl is born a - simpleton who has it either by nature or affectation.” - -It is hardly necessary to add that Lady Susan has no desire, or -ambition, in life beyond universal admiration. She is “tempted” indeed, -but does not on one occasion lose her head: and we cannot feel that -she was even exactly pre-eminent in her practice. It does not appear -that she quite succeeded in ever enjoying the fruits of victory. Miss -Austen has not drawn for us a really “cunning” coquette. Lady Susan -subdued men, but she could seldom hold them; and on no occasion does -she conquer “circumstances,” _i.e._, other women. - -There may be, obviously, three explanations of this fact. Either Jane -Austen was lacking in the more robust humour of Thackeray and his -predecessors, who seem to revel in the gaiety of the heartless; or she -recognised the limitations of country life, where the artificial can -never prosper for long; or she had, in her own quiet way, too much -principle to countenance, even in fiction, any permanent happiness for -the wicked. - -However it be, the result is unique. Lady Susan stands alone as a -heroine. As we have seen, the full depths of her criminality lurk -beneath the surface: her power is rather hinted at than described. It -is only on looking back over the accumulation of slight touches and -chance words that we realise her astounding insincerity, her absolute -lack of feeling, or the brilliance of her superficial attractiveness. -It is a very short book, containing few characters and practically no -events; yet we are startled, on reflection, at its unsparing picture -of the incalculable amount of mischief that may be done by sheer -empty-headedness, entirely without strong feeling or passion; and of -the incredible isolation in which such a character must always live. - -Lady Susan injures, in some degree, literally every person named -in the whole story. She has not a friend in the world. In reality, -perhaps, the last consideration indicates most clearly the virtue -in Miss Austen’s characterisation. It is not once even mentioned, -and, consequently, arouses no remark. We must deduct from it our own -observation. But, inasmuch as never for one instant does a single -thought for anyone but herself cross the mind of Lady Susan, so never -does anyone else show one spark of affection for her. Mrs. Johnson, -obviously, was governed by interested motives, and frankly abandons her -at the first serious danger of “the consequences” to herself. The kind -of devotion she inspired in men had no affinity to friendship, respect, -consideration, or unselfishness. The closing scene is described with -a cutting brevity, that recalls Miss Austen’s dismissal of Maria -Rushworth and Mrs. Norris. - -She married the man designed for her daughter--for an establishment: -“Whether Lady Susan was or was not happy in her second choice, I -do not see how it can ever be ascertained; for who would take her -assurance of it on either side of the question? The world must judge -from probabilities; she had nothing against her but her husband, and -her conscience.” - -As we have noticed before, Miss Austen seldom obtrudes her opinions, -but they are occasionally implied. And, on such occasions, they are -unhesitating. We find in her no doubt, no compromise--we might almost -say no charity--about a few questions of ultimate morality. - -On the whole, however, we cannot claim for _Lady Susan_ all those -perfections of style associated with the genius of its author. -Save for a few turns of phrase, of which we have quoted the most -significant, it has little of her pointed epigram or subtle humour. -The language is equally finished and inevitable, but there is neither -sparkle nor gaiety. We miss the dialogue and the delicate variety in -characterisation. It would be hazardous, indeed, to suppose that anyone -could have “discovered” Jane Austen from Lady Susan; but, knowing her -other work, we can detect the mastery. - -In conclusion, it is worth noticing that she has here given us some -insight into the constancy of man. - -Reginald de Courcy had been a victim of Lady Susan’s. After her second -marriage, her daughter - - “Frederika was fixed in the family of her uncle and aunt till such - time as Reginald de Courcy could be talked, flattered, and finessed - into an affection for her which, allowing leisure for the conquest - of his attachment to her mother, for his abjuring all future - attachments, and detesting the sex, _might be reasonably looked for - in a twelvemonth_. Three months might have done it in general, but - Reginald’s feelings were no less lasting than lively.” - -It will be remembered that Miss Austen is less explicit about Edmund -Bertram: - - “I purposely abstain from dates on this occasion, that every one may - be at liberty to fix their own, aware that the cure of unconquerable - passions, and the transfer of unchanging attachments, must vary much - as to time in different people. I only entreat everybody to believe - that exactly at the time when it was quite natural that it should - be so, and not a week earlier, Edmund did cease to care about Miss - Crawford, and became as anxious to marry Fanny as Fanny herself could - desire.” - -On the other hand, Marianne Dashwood required two years to conquer -her devotion to Willoughby in favour of Colonel Brandon; but then Miss -Austen has claimed for her sex, through Anne Elliot, “the privilege of -loving longest, when existence, or when hope, is gone.” - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[6] She died 18th July 1817. - -[7] It may surely be questioned whether this remark quite allows for -the home of Fanny Price. - - - - -PARALLEL PASSAGES - - -It would be difficult, if not impossible, to name an author of genius -even approximately equal to Jane Austen’s who owed so little as she to -any deliberate study of literary models or conscious attention to the -laws of style. Concerning her personal character and private interests -we know, indeed, surprisingly little; but it is certain, on the one -hand, that she was not in touch with the men and women of letters among -her contemporaries, and, on the other, that her family circle did not -practise the gentle art of criticism. The further assumption that she -had thought little, and read less, about the theory of her art, is -justified by the absence of any such references in her letters, and by -her simple ideas of construction, as developed in the advice to a young -relative who was attempting to follow her example: - - “You are now collecting your people delightfully, getting them exactly - into such a spot as is the delight of my life. Three or four families - in a country village is the very thing to work on.” - -Jane Austen, however, read novels with keen enjoyment: _Northanger -Abbey_ is in part an avowed burlesque of Mrs. Radcliffe, and we can -discover, in the language of Shakespearean commentary, the “originals” -for several of her plots and persons in the works of Fanny Burney. - -Such an investigation, indeed, seems to have been almost courted by the -author herself when she borrowed a title from a chance phrase of her -sister-novelist’s, for a story with a somewhat similar plot, developed, -among other coincidences, in two closely parallel scenes. When at -length, after a series of cruel misfortunes, the hero and heroine -of _Cecilia_ were permitted to console each other, an onlooker thus -pointed the moral of their experience: “The whole of this unfortunate -business has been the result of PRIDE AND PREJUDICE.” - -There must have been a day, about twenty years after they were written, -when these words assumed, in Jane Austen’s eyes, a sudden significance. -She had read them before, probably many times, but on this occasion -they proved no less than an inspiration. Within her desk, on which -perhaps the favourite volume was then lying, lay the neatly written -manuscript of a tale constructed, in some measure, on the lines of -this very _Cecilia_. She had called it _First Impressions_. Would -not _Pride and Prejudice_ be a better name? It was certainly a happy -thought.[8] - -Now Delvile, like Darcy, fell in love against his family instincts, -and, with an equally offensive condescension, discoursed at length on -his struggles between pride and passion to the young lady he desired to -honour with his affection. He, too, resisted long, yielded in the end, -and was forgiven. His mother’s appeal to Cecilia was as violent, and -almost as impertinent, as Lady Catherine’s to Elizabeth. - -A close comparison of these two parallel scenes will serve at once to -show Jane Austen’s familiarity with the copy and her originality of -treatment. Darcy, like Delvile, is not “more eloquent on the subject of -tenderness than of pride.” But he has overcome his scruples and offers -his hand, in confidence of its being accepted, to one who dislikes and -despises him. Delvile, on the other hand, wishes merely to explain -the reasons that have induced him to deny himself the dangerous solace -of the “society” of one whom he believes to be entirely indifferent to -him, and to excuse the occasional outbursts of tenderness into which he -has been betrayed in unguarded moments. He does not complain of “the -inferiority of her connections,” but of the clause in her uncle’s will -by which her future husband is compelled to take her name. Cecilia -had been puzzled by his uncertain behaviour, but, believing him only -cautious from respect to his parents, had permitted herself to love him. - -Mrs. Delvile again, like Lady Catherine, based her appeal on the -“honour and credit” of the young man she was so anxious to release; but -her insolence was tempered by affection, and disguised by high-sounding -moral sentiments. Cecilia was softened, as Elizabeth had not been, -by a sense of gratitude for past kindness and by a strained notion -of respect for the older lady. Mrs. Delvile, except in her pride, is -intended to inspire us with genuine respect; Lady Catherine is always -treated with amused contempt. - -There are other instances--less familiar, but equally striking--in -which Miss Austen made use, in her own inimitable fashion, of -characters, phrases, and situations in _Evelina_ and _Cecilia_. - -Mr. Delvile, the pompous and foolish man of family, reappears in Sir -Walter Elliot of _Persuasion_, and General Tilney of _Northanger -Abbey_. Cecilia could never determine “whether Mr. Delvile’s -haughtiness or his condescension humbled her most,” and he became -“at length so infinitely condescending, with intention to give her -courage, that he totally depressed her with mortification and chagrin.” -Catherine Morland always found that “in spite of General Tilney’s -great civilities to her, in spite of his thanks, invitations, and -compliments, it had been a release to get away from him.” - -Cecilia’s friendship for Henrietta Belfield resembles Emma’s for -Harriet Smith. She was ever watching the state of her young friend’s -heart; now soliciting her confidence, and again, from motives of -prudence, rejecting it. For a time both girls are in love with the -hero, and Henrietta dreams as fondly and as foolishly over Delvile’s -imagined partiality as Harriet did over Knightley’s. Neither heroine -has any thought of resigning her lover to her friend, or “of resolving -to refuse him at once and for ever, without vouchsafing any motive, -because he could not marry them both.” - -The following conversation between Mr. Gosport and Miss Larolles -recalls Miss Steele’s persistence in laughing at herself about the -doctor (_Sense and Sensibility_), and Tom Bertram’s affected belief -that Miss Crawford was “quizzing him and Miss Anderson” (_Mansfield -Park_). - -Gosport attacks Miss Larolles on a rumour now current about her, and, -after some skirmishing, confesses to having heard that “she had left -off talking.” - - “‘Oh, was that all,’ cried she, disappointed. ‘I thought it had been - something about Mr. Sawyer, for I declare I have been plagued so about - him, I am quite sick of his name.’ - - “‘And for my part, I never heard it! So fear nothing from me on his - account.’ - - “‘Lord, Mr. Gosport, how can you say so! I am sure you must know about - the festino that night, for it was all over the town in a moment.’ - - “‘What festino?’ - - “‘Well, only conceive how provoking! Why, I know nothing else was - talked of for a month.’” - -This is the Miss Larolles who haunted the mind of Anne Elliot, in -_Persuasion_, when she moved to the end of a form at the concert, in -order to be sure of not missing Captain Wentworth: - - “She could not do so without comparing herself with Miss Larolles, - the inimitable Miss Larolles, but still she did it, and not with much - happier effect.” - -Here is the passage in question: “Do you know,” says Miss Larolles, - - “Mr. Meadows has not spoke one word to me all the evening! though I am - sure he saw me, for _I sat at the outside_ on purpose to speak to a - person or two, that I knew would be strolling about; for if one sits - on the inside there’s no speaking to a creature you know; so I never - do it at the opera, nor in the boxes at Ranelagh, nor anywhere. It’s - the shockingest thing you can conceive, to be made sit in the middle - of these forms, one might as well be at home, for nobody can speak to - one.” - -The singularly unselfish affection of Mrs. and Miss Mirvan for Evelina, -never clouded by envy of her superior attractions, finds its echo in -the experience of Jane Fairfax: - - “The affection of the whole family, the warm attachment of Miss - Campbell in particular, was the more honourable to each party, from - the circumstance of Jane’s decided superiority, both in beauty and - acquirements.” - -When Evelina is in great trouble, and the “best of men,” Mr. Villars, -is penetrated to the heart by the sight of her grief, he can think of -no better consolation than: - - “My dearest child, I cannot bear to see thy tears; for my sake dry - them: such a sight is too much for me: _think of that_, Evelina, and - take comfort, I charge thee.” - -With similar masculine futility the self-centred Edmund Bertram -attempts to soften the grief of his dear cousin: - - “No wonder--you must feel it--you must suffer. How a man who had once - loved, could desert you. But yours--your regard was new compared - with----Fanny, _think of me_.” - -Many a reader, doubtless, has, with Elizabeth Bennet, “lifted up his -eyes in amazement” at the platitudes of Mary on the occasion of Lydia’s -elopement, without suspecting that offensive young moralist of having -culled her phrases from the earlier novelist. “Remember, my dear -Evelina,” writes Mr. Villars, “nothing is so delicate as the reputation -of a woman; _it is at once the most beautiful and most brittle_ of all -human things.” Now Mary was “a great reader and made extracts.” She -evidently studied the art of judicious quotation: “Unhappy as the -event must be for Lydia,” says this astounding sister, - - “we may draw from it this useful lesson: that loss of virtue in a - female is irretrievable--that one false step involves her in endless - ruin--that her reputation _is no less brittle than it is beautiful_, - and that she cannot be too guarded in her behaviour towards the - undeserving of the other sex.” - -The general resemblance of Catherine Morland’s situation to Evelina’s -may have been unconscious, but was scarcely, we think, accidental. In -_Northanger Abbey_, as in no other of Miss Austen’s novels, though -in all Miss Burney’s, the heroine is detached from her ordinary -surroundings and introduced to society under the inefficient protection -of foolish acquaintances. Like Evelina, she finds in the great world -much cause for alarm and anxiety, though, like her, she has the hero -for partner at her first ball. She, too, is frequently tormented by -the differences between her aristocratic and her vulgar friends. Henry -Tilney’s attitude towards her, on the other hand, is very similar to -Lord Orville’s towards Evelina. He can read her like an open book, -and his discovery of her suspicions about his father is as ingenious -and as delicately revealed as Orville’s generous chivalry to Evelina -at the ridotto. Indeed, had Fanny Burney been more daring she would -have confessed that Orville’s affection for Evelina, like Tilney’s for -Catherine, - - “originated in nothing better than gratitude; or in other words, that - a persuasion of her partiality for him had been the only cause of - giving her a serious thought.” - -The admiration which Evelina expressed with so much naïveté and -earnestness to her guardian must have betrayed itself in her looks -and conversation. Orville’s heart was won by unconscious flattery, -though Miss Burney herself was too conventional to admit it. She left -the conception and its defence to another. “It is a new circumstance -in romance,” writes Miss Austen, “and dreadfully derogatory of an -heroine’s dignity; but if it be as new in common life, the credit of a -wild imagination will at least be all my own.” - -We can scarcely avoid wondering whether Miss Austen remembered Sir -Clement Willoughby when she decided upon the name of Marianne’s -devoted, but faithless, lover. The two men bear somewhat similar -relations to hero and heroine. - -In one of her rare outbursts of self-confidence with the reader, -Miss Austen appears to put _Camilla_ on a level with _Cecilia_; and -Thorpe’s abuse of this novel in _Northanger Abbey_ must be interpreted -as her own indirect praise, for that youth is never allowed to open -his lips without exposing himself to our derision. It is immaterial to -our purpose that posterity has accepted his verdict rather than Miss -Austen’s. Her name appears among the subscribers to _Camilla_, and she -was loyal to it without an effort. Here she was not likely to find much -available material; but the conduct of Miss Margland towards Sir Hugh -Tyrold and his adopted children may have suggested some traits in Mrs. -Norris, and Mr. Westwyn’s naïve enthusiasm for his son bears a strong -resemblance to that of Mr. Weston[9] for the inevitable Frank Churchill. - -Miss Bingley made herself ridiculous by her definition of an -accomplished woman as one who “must have a thorough knowledge of music, -singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages.” The germ of the -satire appears in the experiences of Miss Burney’s _The Wanderer_, and -in an allusion to the prevalent idea of feminine culture in _Camilla_: - - “A little music, a little drawing, and a little dancing, which should - all be but slightly pursued, to distinguish a lady of fashion from an - artist.” - -So writes Jane Austen, again, in _Lady Susan_: - - “Not that I am an advocate for the prevailing fashion of acquiring a - perfect knowledge of all languages, arts, and sciences. It is throwing - away time to be mistress of French, Italian, and German; music, - singing, and dancing.... I do not mean, therefore, that Frederika’s - acquirements should be more than superficial, and I flatter myself - that she will not remain long enough at school to understand anything - thoroughly.” - -It remains only to notice with what kindred indignation the two writers -complain of the little honour accorded their craft. Miss Burney, in -fact, did much to raise her profession; but it was not considered -“quite respectable” by Miss Austen’s contemporaries. - -Mr. Delvile complains of Cecilia’s large bill at the booksellers’, on -the ground that - - “a lady, whether so called from birth, or only from fortune, should - never degrade herself by being put on a level with writers, and such - sort of people.” - -In the preface to _Evelina_ Miss Burney declares that - - “in the republic of letters, there is no member of such inferior - rank, or who is so much disdained by his brethren of the quill, as - the humble novelist; nor is his fate less hard in the world at large, - since, among the whole class of writers, perhaps not one can be named - of which the votaries are more numerous but less respectable.” - -Jane Austen is more spirited in her complaint, and takes her example -from Miss Burney herself: - - “Yes, novels; for I will not adopt that ungenerous and impolitic - custom, so common with novel-writers, of degrading, by their - contemptuous censure, the very performances to the number of which - they are themselves adding; joining with their greatest enemies - in bestowing the harshest epithets on such works, and scarcely - ever permitting them to be read by their own heroine, who, if she - accidentally take up a novel, is sure to turn over its insipid pages - with disgust. Alas! if the heroine of one novel be not patronised - by the heroine of another, from whom can she expect protection and - regard? I cannot approve it. Let us leave it to the Reviewers to - abuse such effusions of fancy at their leisure, and over every new - novel to talk in threadbare strains of the trash with which the Press - now groans. Let us not desert one another; we are an injured body. - Although our productions have afforded more extensive and unaffected - pleasure than those of any other literary corporation in the world, - no species of composition has been so much decried. From pride, - ignorance, or fashion, our foes are almost as many as our readers; - and while the ability of the nine-hundredth abridger of the History - of England, or of the man who collects and publishes in a volume - some dozen lines of Milton, Pope, and Prior, with a paper from the - _Spectator_ and a chapter from Sterne, is eulogised by a thousand - pens, there seems almost a general wish of decrying the capacity - and undervaluing the labour of the novelist, and of slighting the - performances which have only genius, wit, and taste to recommend them. - ‘I am no novel-reader; I seldom look into novels; it is really very - well for a novel.’ Such is the common cant. ‘And what are you reading, - Miss ----?’ ‘Oh, it’s only a novel!’ replies the young lady, while she - lays down her book with affected indifference or momentary shame. ‘It - is only _Cecilia_, or _Camilla_, or _Belinda_,’ or, in short, only - some work in which the greatest powers of mind are displayed, in which - the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation - of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour, are - conveyed to the world in the best chosen language.” - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[8] There is good ground for thinking that the change of title was made -after the novel was finished, for Mr. Austen-Leigh says that _Pride and -Prejudice_ was written between October 1796 and August 1797, while it -is referred to as _First Impressions_ in letters as late as June 1799. - -[9] Even the names here sound unexpectedly similar. - - - - -“PERSUASION” TO “JANE EYRE” - -(1818-1847) - - -SUSAN FERRIER (1782-1854) once declared that “perhaps, after all, the -only uncloying pleasure in life is that of fault-finding”; and this -cynical conclusion may serve to measure, in some degree, the peculiar -flavour of her brisk satire. The fact is, that she acquired her notions -of literary skill from intimate association with “the Modern Athens,” -as Edinburgh then styled itself, wherein “Crusty Christopher” and “The -Ploughman Poet” held sway. It was here, as we know, that “Brougham -and his confederates” formed that conspiracy of scorn, _The Edinburgh -Review_, which Wilson out-Heroded in _Blackwood_. Following Miss -Burney, in her spirited exhibition of “Humours,” Miss Ferrier also -continued the Edgeworth “national” novel, by exploiting a period of -Scotch history untouched by Scott. - -As her friend, Wilson, remarks in the _Noctes_: - - “These novels have one feature of true and melancholy interest quite - peculiar to themselves. It is in them alone that the ultimate - breaking-down and debasement of the Highland character has been - depicted. Sir Walter Scott had fixed the enamel of genius over the - last fitful flames of their half-savage chivalry, but a humbler - and sadder scene--the age of lucre-banished clans--of chieftains - dwindled into imitation squires, and of chiefs content to barter the - recollections of a thousand years for a few gaudy seasons of Almacks - and Crockfords, the euthanasia of kilted aldermen and steamboat - pibrochs was reserved for Miss Ferrier.” - -And for the accuracy of her picture, the authoress herself lays claim -to having paid careful attention to the results of deliberate study. -“You may laugh,” she writes to Miss Clavering, “at the idea of its -being at all necessary for the writer of a romance to be versed in the -history, natural and political, the modes, manners, customs, etc., of -the country where its bold and wanton freaks are to be played; but I -consider it most essentially so, as nothing disgusts even an ordinary -reader more than a discovery of the ignorance of the author, who is -pretending to instruct and amuse.” - -Meanwhile, the “Highlander” was more or less in fashion, and Susan -Ferrier set off her picture by vivid contrasts with the most -_recherché_ daughters of Society. An elegant slave of passion longs -to fly with her Henry to the desert--“a beautiful place, full of -roses and myrtles, and smooth, green turf, and murmuring rivulets, -and though very retired, not absolutely out of the world; where -one could occasionally see one’s friends, and give _déjeuner et -fêtes-champêtres_.” So the foolish Indiana in Miss Burney’s _Camilla_ -considered a “cottage” but “as a bower of eglantine and roses, where -she might repose and be adored all day long.” - -But a little experience soon teaches her she “did not very well then -know what a desert was.” Scotch mists and mountain blasts dispel the -fancy picture, and, after a brief period of acute wretchedness, the -really heartless victim of a so-called love match becomes the zealous -promoter of mercenary connections. - -Miss Ferrier then introduces us to the next generation, where any -attempt at dogmatism about love becomes hazardous. - - “Love is a passion that has been much talked of, often described, and - little understood. Cupid has many counterfeits going about the world, - who pass very well with those whose minds are capable of passion, - but not of love. These Birmingham Cupids have many votaries among - boarding-school misses, militia officers, and milliners’ apprentices, - who marry upon the mutual faith of blue eyes and scarlet coats; - have dirty houses and squalling children, and hate each other most - delectably. Then there is another species for more refined souls, - which owes its birth to the works of Rousseau, Goethe, Coffin, etc. - Its success depends very much upon rocks, woods, and waterfalls; and - it generally ends in daggers, pistols, poisons, or Doctors’ Commons.” - -It would seem that even the heroine is, like Emily in _Udolpho_, rather -at sea concerning the proper distinction between virtue and taste. - - She is “religious--what mind of any excellence is not? but hers is - the religion of poetry, of taste, of feeling, of impulse, of any and - everything but Christianity.” The worthy youth who loved her “saw much - of fine natural feeling, but in vain sought for any guiding principle - of duty. Her mind seemed as a lovely, flowery, pathless waste, whose - sweets exhaled in vain; all was graceful luxuriance, but all was - transient and perishable in its loveliness. No plant of immortal - growth grew there, no ‘flowers worthy of Paradise.’” - -Inevitably the dear creature is captivated, at first sight, by any -good-looking villain: “There might, perhaps, be something of _hauteur_ -in his lofty bearing; but it was so qualified by the sportive gaiety of -his manners, that it seemed nothing more than that elegant and graceful -sense of his own superiority, to which, even without arrogance, he -could not be insensible.” - -The hero will no doubt require time before he can stand up against so -fine a gentleman; but justice requires his ultimate triumph, since, in -Miss Ferrier’s judgment, a “good moral” was always essential to fiction. - - “I don’t think, like all penny-book manufacturers, that ’tis - absolutely necessary that the good boys and girls should be rewarded, - and the naughty ones punished. Yet, I think, where there is much - tribulation, ’tis fitter it should be the _consequence_, rather than - the _cause_, of misconduct or frailty. You’ll say that rule is absurd, - inasmuch as it is not observed in human life. That I allow; but we - know the inflictions of Providence are for wise purposes, therefore - our reason willingly submits to them. But, as the only good purpose of - a book is to inculcate morality, and convey some lesson of instruction - as well as delight, I do not see that what is called a _good moral_ - can be dispensed with in a work of fiction.” - -Miss Ferrier, in fact, would have no hand in the “raw head and bloody -bone schemes” in which Miss Clavering (who wrote “The History of Mrs. -Douglas” in _Marriage_) had, apparently, invited her to collaborate, -and chose rather to exemplify her own theories in three very similar -stories: _Marriage_ (1818), _The Inheritance_ (1824), and _Destiny_ -(1831). Urged, again and again, to supplement these successes, she -made “two attempts to write _something_ else, but could not please -herself, and would not publish _anything_”--a most praiseworthy -resolution. - -She has left us an entertaining account of her “plan” for _Marriage_, -which may well serve for an exact description of her actual achievement. - - “I do not recollect ever to have seen the sudden transition of a - high-bred English beauty, who thinks she can sacrifice all for - love, to an uncomfortable, solitary, Highland dwelling, among tall, - red-haired sisters and grim-faced aunts. Don’t you think this would - make a good opening of the piece? Suppose each of us[10] try our hands - on it; the moral to be deduced from that is to warn all young ladies - against runaway matches, and the character and fate of the two sisters - would be _unexceptionable_. I expect it will be the first book every - wise matron will put into the hand of her daughter, and even the - reviewers will relax of their severity in favour of the morality of - this little work. Enchanting sight! already do I behold myself arrayed - in an old mouldy covering, thumbed and creased and filled with dog’s - ears. I hear the enchanting sound of some sentimental miss, the shrill - pipe of some antiquated spinster, or the hoarse grumbling of some - incensed dowager as they severally enquire for me at the circulating - library, and are assured by the master that it is in such demand that, - though he has thirteen copies, they are insufficient to answer the - calls upon it; but that each one of them may depend upon having the - very first that comes in!!!” - -The interest, in these novels, is not awakened by any subtle -characterisation or by serious sympathy with the dramatis personæ. It -depends rather upon caustic wit, accurate local colour, a picture of -manners, and a “museum of abnormalities.” - -Miss Ferrier’s nice distinctions between the “well-bred,” and her -photographs of vulgarity, may claim to rival Miss Burney’s. - - “Mrs. St. Clair, for example, was considerably annoyed by the manners - of Lady Charles, which made her feel her own as something unwieldy and - overgrown; like a long train, they were both out of the way and in the - way, and she did not know very well how to dispose of them. Indeed, - few things can be more irritating than for those who have hitherto - piqued themselves upon the abundance of their manner, to find all at - once that they have a great deal too much, and that no one is inclined - to take it off their hands, and that, in short, it is dead stock.” - -Mrs. Bluemit’s tea-party, again, reveals the Blue-Stockings in all -their glory; while Mr. Augustus Larkins--with his “regular features, -very pink eyes, very black eyebrows, and what was intended for a very -smart expression”--forcibly recalls Mr. Smith of Snow Hill. His ideal -of dress and manners was evidently shared by Bob and Davy Black, who -were - - “dressed in all the extremes of the reigning fashions--small waists, - brush-heads, stiff collars, iron heels, and switches. Like many other - youths they were distinctly of opinion that ‘dress makes the man.’... - Perhaps, after all, that is a species of humility rather to be admired - in those who, feeling themselves destitute of mental qualifications, - trust to the abilities of their tailor and hairdresser for gaining - them the good-will of the world.” - -It must be admitted that Miss Ferrier’s obviously spontaneous -delight in satire has occasionally tempted her beyond the limits -of artistic realism. Her miniature of the M‘Dow, for example, has -all the objectionable qualities which revive our preference for the -“elegancies” of romance. - - “Here Miss M‘Dow was disencumbered of her pelisse and bonnet, and - exhibited a coarse, blubber-lipped, sun-burnt visage, with staring - sea-green eyes, a quantity of rough sandy hair, and mulatto neck, with - merely a rim of white round her shoulders.... The gloves were then - taken off, and a pair of thick mulberry paws set at liberty.” - -No such criticism, however applies to those full-length portraits -of the inimitable Aunts in _Marriage_--the “sensible” Miss Jacky, -Miss Nicky, who was “not wanting for sense either,” and Miss Grizzy, -the great letter-writer. “Their life was one continued _fash_ about -everything or nothing”; and if a “sensible woman” generally means “a -very disagreeable, obstinate, illiberal director of all men, women, and -children,” the Aunts were really “well-meaning, kind-hearted, and, upon -the whole, good-tempered” old ladies, whose garrulous absurdities are a -perpetual delight. - -Again, Miss Pratt (of _The Inheritance_) has certain obvious -affinities to the inimitable Miss Bates; as Mr. M‘Dow (in _Destiny_) -recalls Collins; and the creation of that good soul, Molly Macaulay, -bears solitary evidence to Miss Ferrier’s seldom-exerted powers of -sympathetic subtlety. - -We are tempted to wonder if there be any particular significance in -the fact that, though Miss Ferrier wrote _Marriage_ almost immediately -after the appearance of _Sense and Sensibility_, she did not publish -it till seven years later.[11] If, during that interval, she felt -compelled to study the supreme excellences of a sister-authoress, -it is clear that she wisely abandoned any attempt at imitation. Her -work, as we have seen, directly follows Miss Burney’s, and should be -properly regarded in relation to _Evelina_ and _Cecilia_; reflecting -Society--and the upstart--of a slightly later generation, then -flourishing in North Britain. - - * * * * * - -MARY RUSSELL MITFORD (1787-1855) is the only writer on record who has -deliberately declared herself a disciple. - - “Of course, I shall copy as closely as I can nature and Miss - Austen--keeping, like her, to genteel country life; or rather going - a little lower, perhaps; and, I am afraid, with more of sentiment - and less of humour. I do not _intend_ to commit these delinquencies, - mind. I _mean_ to keep as playful as I can; but I am afraid they - will happen in spite of me.... It will be called--at least, I mean - it so to be--_Our Village_; will consist of essays, and characters, - and stories, chiefly of country life, in the manner of the _Sketch - Book_, connected by unity of locality and purpose. It is exceedingly - playful and lively, and I think you will like it. Charles Lamb (the - matchless _Elia_ of the London Magazine) says nothing so fresh and - characteristic has appeared for a long time.” - -It _was_ called _Our Village_; and appeared in parts between 1824 -and 1832, the earlier series being the best, because afterwards she -wrote for remuneration--when “I would rather scrub floors, if I could -get as much by that healthier, more respectable, and more feminine -employment,”--a declaration which prepares us for the criticism that, -though in her own day she was accused of copying the “literal” manner -of Crabbe and Teniers, she was at heart a frank sentimentalist. “Are -your characters and descriptions true?” asked her friend Sir William -Elford; and she replied, “Yes! yes! yes! as true as is well possible. -You, as a great landscape painter, know that, in painting a favourite -scene, you do a little embellish, and can’t help it, you avail yourself -of happy accidents of atmosphere, and _if anything be ugly, you strike -it out_, or if anything be wanting, you put it in. But still the -picture is a likeness.” - -Assuredly Miss Mitford was no realist, nor was her imitation servile. -Once she expressed a desire that Miss Austen had shown “a little more -taste, a little more perception of the graceful”; and, in such matters, -as in culture, she was herself far more professional. But although -she could describe, and even “compose,” with a charm of her own which -almost defies analysis, Miss Mitford’s powers were strictly limited. -The “country-town” atmosphere of _Belford Regis_ lacks spontaneity; and -_Atherton_, her only attempt at a novel, is wanting in varied incident -or motion. Readers attracted by mere simplicity, however, will feel -always a peculiar affection for Miss Mitford, that would be increased -by her “Letters” which she describes as “just like so many bottles of -ginger-beer, bouncing and frothy, and flying in everybody’s face.” - -Christopher North remarked in _Noctes Ambrosianæ_ that her writings -were “pervaded by a genuine rural spirit--the spirit of Merry England. -_Every line bespeaks the lady._” - -And the “Shepherd” replied: - - “I admire Miss Mitford just excessively. I dinna wunner at her being - able to write sae weel as she does about drawing-rooms wi’ sofas - and settees, and about the fine folk in them seeing themsels in - lookin-glasses frae tap to tae; but what puzzles the like o’ me, is - her pictures o’ poachers, and tinklers, and pottery-trampers, and - ither neerdoweels, and o’ huts and hovels without riggin’ by the - wayside, and the cottages o’ honest puir men, and byres, and barns, - and stackyards, and merry-makins at winter ingles, and courtship - aneath trees, and at the gable-end of farm houses, ’tween lads - and lasses as laigh in life as the servants in her father’s ha’. - That’s the puzzle, and that’s the praise. But ae word explains - a’--Genius--Genius, wull a’ the metafhizzians in the warld ever - expound that mysterious monosyllable.--Nov. 1826.” - - * * * * * - -MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY (1797-1851) has no place in the development -of women’s work in fiction, since her one novel, _Frankenstein_, -belongs to no type that has been attempted before or since, though it -is often roughly described as a throw-back to the School of Terror. -The conception of a man-made Monster, with human feelings--of pathetic -loneliness and brutal cruelty--was eminently characteristic of an -age which hankered after the byways of Science, imagined unlimited -possibilities from the extension of knowledge, and was never tired -of speculation. Inevitably the daughter of William Godwin had some -didactic intentions; and her “Preface” declares her “by no means -indifferent to the manner in which whatever moral tendencies exist in -the sentiments or characters it contains shall affect the reader; yet -my chief concern in this respect has been limited to the avoiding of -the enervating effects of the novels of the present day, and to the -exhibition of the amiableness of domestic affection and the excellence -of universal virtue.” Among other things, Mrs. Shelley betrays -her sympathy with Rousseau’s ideal of the “Man Natural,” and with -vegetarianism. In a mood of comparative reasonableness and humanity the -Monster promises, under certain conditions, to abandon his revenge and -bury himself in the “Wilds of South America.” - - “My food is not that of man; I do not destroy the lamb and the kid, - to glut my appetite; acorns and berries will afford me sufficient - nourishment. My companion will be of the same nature as myself, and - will be content with the same fare. We shall make our bed of dried - leaves; the sun will shine on us as on man, and will ripen our food.” - -The ethical struggle, with which Mrs. Shelley has here concerned -herself, arises from circumstances beyond the pale of experience; -but her solution is characteristic, and echoes the spirit of Shelley -himself. Frankenstein, “in a fit of enthusiastic madness, has created -a rational creature,” who, finding himself hated by mankind, resolves -to punish his creator. He promises, however, to abstain from murdering -Frankenstein’s family, if that man of science will make for him a -female companion with whom he may peacefully retire to the wilderness. -Obviously the temptation is great. Frankenstein’s brother has been -already destroyed: it would seem his duty to protect his father and -his wife. But, on the other hand, - - “My duties towards my fellow-creatures had greater claims to my - attention, _because they included a greater proportion of happiness or - misery_. Urged by this view, I refused, and I did right in refusing, - to create a companion for the first creature.” - -There is no professional art in the story of Frankenstein, though it -has a certain gloomy and perverse power. It is told in letters from -an arctic explorer “To Mrs. Saville, England”; and the monster’s own -life-story, with the only revelation of his emotions, is narrated -within this narrative, in a monologue to Frankenstein. - -It is uncertain whether the work would ever have been remembered, or -revived, apart from our natural interest in the author; although, so -far as it has any similarity with other work, it belongs to a class -of novels which English writers have seldom attempted, and never -accomplished with any distinction. - - * * * * * - -FRANCES TROLLOPE (1780-1863) has been so completely overshadowed by -her son Anthony--himself a distinguished practitioner in the domestic -novel--that few readers to-day are aware that her fertile pen produced -a “whole army of novels and books of travel, sometimes pouring into -the libraries at the rate of nine volumes a year.” She began her -career--curiously enough, when she was past fifty--by a severely -satirical attack on the United States, entitled _Domestic Manners of -the Americans_; and her first novel, _The Abbess_, did not appear till -1833. She was essentially feminine in the enthusiasm of her tirades -against various practices in her generation, and has been freely -criticised for want of taste. _The Vicar of Wrexhill_ (1837), indeed, -is coloured by a violent prejudice which goes far to justify this -objection, and may even excuse the disparaging deduction on women’s -intellect drawn by a contemporary reviewer, who thus characterises her -spirited defence of “oppressed Orthodoxy”: - - “It is a great pity that the heroine ever set forth on such a foolish - errand; she has only harmed herself and her cause (as a bad advocate - always will) and had much better have remained at home pudding-making - or stocking-mending, than have meddled with what she understands so - ill. - - “In the first place (we speak it with due respect for the sex) she - is guilty of a fault which is somewhat too common among them; and - having very little, except prejudice, on which to found an opinion, - she makes up for want of argument by a wonderful fluency of abuse. A - _woman’s religion is chiefly that of the heart, and not of the head_. - She goes through, for the most part, no dreadful stages of doubt, no - changes of faith: _she loves God as she loves her husband by a kind of - instinctive devotion_. Faith is a passion with her, not a calculation; - so that, in the faculty of believing, though they far exceed the other - sex, in the power of convincing they fall far short of them.”[12] - -More than one woman writer has risen, of later years, triumphantly -to confute any such complacent masculine superiority; but it must be -admitted that Mrs. Trollope is scarcely judicial in the venom she -pours out so eloquently upon the head of her “Vicar,” his worshippers, -and his accomplices. This was not quite the direction in which women -could most wisely develop the domestic novel in her day; while -they still--like the Brontës, but in a spirit quite alien to Jane -Austen’s--upheld “that manly passion for superiority which leads _our -masters_ to covet in a companion chosen for life ... that species of -weakness which is often said to be the most attractive feature in -the female character.” It is, again, a curious want of taste which -allows her to dwell upon the pleasure experienced by a comparatively -respectable young man in making a little girl of eight tipsy--though he -is the Vicar’s son. - -But, on the other hand, there is considerable power and much sprightly -humour in the story. Mrs. Trollope’s _good_ (_i.e._ orthodox) people -are really delightful, and admirably characterised. The _genuine_ piety -of Rosalind, the Irish heiress, is most artistically united to graceful -vivacity and natural charm: the testy Sir Gilbert is perfectly matched -with Lady Harrington: and the three young Mowbrays are drawn from life. -The study of Henrietta Cartwright, driven to atheism by the hypocrisy -of her horrible father, has all the force of a real human tragedy; and, -if the villainy of Evangelicism is exaggerated, it is painted with -graphic humour. She works from nature, and finds excellent “copy” in -the parish. - -Mrs. Trollope, in fact, has left us proof in abundance that women had -learnt to “write with ease”; if, in her case, over-production and -misplaced zeal have led to an abuse of her talents. - - * * * * * - -HARRIET MARTINEAU (1802-1876), “Queen of philanthropists,” has left -a stamp of almost passionate sincerity on everything she wrote. From -earliest days she declared that her “chief subordinate object in life -was the cultivation of her intellectual powers, with a view to the -instruction of others by her writings.” Believing herself the servant -of humanity, she sought to save souls by the diffusion of a little -knowledge. - -Inevitably, under such influence, her work was always didactic; -whether inspired by the orthodox faith of her earlier years or the -Atkinson-interpretation of Comte she afterwards espoused: whether -directed towards social reform, or expressed in narrative and -biography. The greater number of her publications, whether or no -actually written for the press, contain those qualities which make the -best journalism; and, though occasionally capricious and “superior” -in private judgment, her brief critical biographies, from the _Daily -News_, are masterpieces in the vignette. She knew “everybody” in her -day; and contributed much to the thirst for “information,” reasonably -applied, which characterised our grandfathers. - -But, as a novelist, she has two special claims to notice. Her -“Playfellow Series” (embracing _Feats on the Fiord_, _The Crofton -Boys_, and _The Peasant and the Prince_) are living to-day among -the few priceless inherited treasures of literature. Less obviously -didactic than the Edgeworth “nursery classics,” they have certain -similar characteristics of spontaneity, sympathetic understanding, and -simple directness. Each occupied with quite different subjects, they -are informed by the same spirit, excite the same kind of pleasure, -and--for all their decided, but _not_ obtrusive, moralising--appeal to -the same healthy taste. By those to whom their life-like young people -have been among the chosen friends of childhood, the memories will -never fade. - -Miss Martineau’s adult narratives have less distinction; although her -_Hour and the Man_ is a creditable effort in the historic form, and -_Deerbrook_ has much emotional power. To our taste the tone of the -latter must be criticised for its somewhat sensational religiosity, -and for the priggish perfection of its “white” characters. But, on the -other hand, there is subtlety in contrasts among the “undesirables”; -genuine pathos in, for example, the description of Mrs. Enderby’s -death; and plenty of artistic “interest” in the plot: nor can we -neglect mention of the remarkable portrait of Morris, the servant and -most real friend to her “young ladies.” - -We cannot avoid, in conclusion, some reference to a distinction -elaborated in an early chapter between the drudgery of “_teaching_” -and the “sublime delights of _education_”: wherein the author quaintly -remarks that a visiting governess can “do little more than stand -between children and the faults of the people about them”; betraying -herein the normal prejudice of the pedagogue against the parent. - -Similar theories clearly inspire the eloquence--of a later -chapter--upon a thorny subject on which the author achieved some -pioneer work in her own life. - - “‘Cannot you tell me,’ enquires the persecuted heroine, ‘of some way - in which a woman may earn money?’ - - “‘A woman?’ is the stern reply. ‘What rate of woman? Do you mean - yourself? That question is easily answered. A woman from the - uneducated classes can get a subsistence by washing and cooking, - by milking cows and going into service, and, in some parts of the - kingdom, by working in a cotton mill, or burnishing plate, as you - have no doubt seen for yourself at Birmingham. But, for an educated - woman, a woman with the powers God gave her religiously improved, - with a reason which lays life open before her, an understanding which - surveys science as its appropriate task, and a conscience which would - make every species of responsibility safe,--for such a woman there - is in all England no chance of subsistence but teaching--that sort - of ineffectual teaching, which can never countervail the education - of circumstances--and for which not one in a thousand is fit,--or by - being a superior Miss Nares--the feminine gender of the tailor and - hatter.’” - - * * * * * - -MRS. GASKELL (1810-1865) must always be remembered as authoress of -_Cranford_, which has startling similarities to the work of Jane -Austen, and excels her in pathos. If Fanny Burney immortalised -“sensibility,” and Jane Austen created “the lady,” Mrs. Gaskell may -well be called “The Apologist of Gentility.” She taught us that it was -possible to be genteel without being vulgar; and her “refined females,” -if enslaved to elegance and propriety, are ladies in the best sense of -the word. - -“Although they know all each other’s proceedings, they are exceedingly -indifferent to each other’s opinions.” They are “very independent of -fashion; as they observe: ‘What does it signify how we dress here at -Cranford, where everybody knows us?’ and if they go from home, their -reason is equally cogent: ‘What does it signify how we dress here, -where nobody knows us?’” We may smile at their ingenious devices for -concealing poverty, their grotesque small conventions, their horror at -any allusions to death or other causes for genuine emotion, and their -love of gossip; but our superiority stands rebuked before simple Miss -Matty’s sense of honour “as a shareholder,” and before the “meeting -of the Cranford ladies” for the generous contribution of their “mites -in a secret and concealed manner.” As Miss Pole expresses it, “We are -none of us what may be called rich, though we all possess a genteel -competency, sufficient for tastes that are elegant and refined, and -would not, if they could, be vulgarly ostentatious”; and they fully -appreciated the true charity of “showing consideration for the feelings -of delicate independence existing in the mind of every refined female.” - -Here, indeed, as in almost every thought or deed of their uneventful -existence, our grandmothers can teach us that the eager interest in our -neighbours, which we are accustomed to brand as vulgar and impertinent, -was in actual fact a powerful incentive to Christian practices. There -is a passage in _Cranford_ which would baffle the most elaborate -statistics of ordered philanthropy, as it must silence the protest of -false pride, and remain an invulnerable argument against the isolation -of modern life. “I had often occasion to notice,” observes the -visitor, “the use that was made of fragments and small opportunities -in Cranford: the rose-leaves that were gathered ere they fell, to make -a _pot-pourri_ for some one who had no garden; the little bundles of -lavender-flowers sent to strew the drawers of some town-dweller, or to -burn in the bedroom of some invalid. Things that many would despise, -and actions which it seemed scarcely worth while to perform, were all -attended to in Cranford.” - -Nor were Miss Matilda Jenkyns and her friends deficient in any outward -show of true breeding. Despite the most astonishing vagaries of taste -in dress, language, and behaviour, they were dignified by instinct, -and, on all occasions of moment, revealed a natural manner that is -above reproach. Their simple-minded innocence and genuine humility -never tempted them to pass over impertinence or tolerate vulgarity, and -their powers of delicate reproof were unrivalled. We cannot admire the -“green turban” of Miss Matty’s dream, or share her dread of the frogs -in Paris not agreeing with Mr. Holbrook; we should have been ashamed, -maybe, to assist her in “chasing the sunbeams” over her new carpet; and -we may detect sour grapes in Miss Pole’s outcry against that “kind of -attraction which she, for one, would be ashamed to have”; yet I fancy -the best of us would covet admission to Cranford society, and be proud -to number its leaders among our dearest friends. - -In fact, the artistic achievement of _Cranford_ is the creation of an -atmosphere. Like the authors of _Evelina_ and of _Emma_, Mrs. Gaskell -is frankly feminine, and not superior to the smallest detail of -parochial gossip; but while the ideals of refinement portrayed are more -akin to Miss Burney’s (allowing for altered social conditions), her -methods of portraiture more nearly resemble Miss Austen’s. She depends, -even less, upon excitement, mystery, or crime, and _Cranford_, indeed, -may be described as “a novel without a hero,” without a plot, and -without a love-scene. Miss Brown’s death is the one event with which -we are brought, as it were, face to face throughout the whole sixteen -chapters. The realities of life, whether sad or joyful, are enacted -behind the scenes and never used for dramatic effect, a reticence -most striking in the incident of Captain Brown’s heroic death. They -serve only to reveal the strong and true hearts of those whose dainty -old-world mannerisms have already secured our sympathy. - -Mrs. Gaskell has _left out_ even more than Jane Austen of the ordinary -materials of fiction (though she is an adept at pathos), and her -characters are equally living. She has less wit, but almost as much -humour. - -The most obvious limitation of _Cranford_, indeed, is more apparent -than real. As everyone will remember, “all the holders of houses” are -women. “If a married couple settles in the town, somehow the gentleman -disappears; he is either fairly frightened to death by being the only -man in the Cranford evening tea-parties, or he is accounted for by -being at his regiment, his ship, or closely engaged in business all -the week in the great neighbouring commercial town of Drumble, distant -only twenty miles on a railroad. In short, whatever does become of the -gentlemen, they are not at Cranford. What could they do there?... A man -is so in the way in the house.” - -Even the Rector dare not attend a public entertainment unless “guarded -by troops of his own sex--the National School boys whom he had treated -to the performance.” The “neat maid-servants” were never allowed -“followers”; and it was Miss Matty’s chief consolation in starting her -little business that “she did not think men ever bought tea.” She was -afraid of men. “They had such sharp, loud ways with them, and did up -accounts, and counted their change so quickly.” - -Yet, in fact, the masculine element in _Cranford_ comes frequently to -the front; and the men’s characters are drawn with no less firmness of -outline than the women’s. Miss Matty derives much from her Reverend -father--deceased, from that sturdy yeoman Thomas Holbrook, and from -“Mr. Peter.” It is Captain Brown, and no other, whose misfortunes -unmask the real tenderness of Miss Jenkyns herself; and the good Mr. -Hoggins occasions the only serious discord narrated in the select -circle of “elegant females,” to whom his uncouth surname was a -perpetual affront. The unfortunate conjurer, Signor Brunoni, otherwise -Mr. Brown (was it accident or design, we wonder, which gave him the -same plebeian name as the gallant Captain?); his brother Thomas; -the great Mr. Mulliner, “who seemed never to have forgotten his -condescension in coming to live at Cranford”; honest farmer Dobson; and -dear, blundering Jim Hearn, whose tactful notion of kindness was “to -keep out of your way as much as he could”; each played their part in -the lives of their lady-betters. - -Thomas Holbrook, his quotations from Shakespeare, George Herbert, and -Tennyson; his love of Nature; his two-pronged forks; and his charming -“counting-house,” have no less subtle originality than any character in -the whole book; and we should hesitate to name any record of perfect -fidelity, without sentimentalism, to be compared with the simply -chivalrous and cheerful attentions of this gentleman of seventy to -the old lady who had refused, at the bidding of father and sister, -“to marry below her rank.” One can only echo the pious aspiration (so -touching in its unselfish abandonment of a cherished ideal), by which -alone Miss Matty betrayed the emotions excited by the visit to her old -lover: “‘God forbid,’ said she, in a low voice, ‘that I should grieve -any young hearts.’” - -Holbrook, moreover, had been no doubt largely responsible for -encouraging the inherent good qualities of Miss Matty’s scapegrace -brother (afterwards the popular Mr. Peter), whose thoughtless pranks -form so strange, and yet so fitting, a background to those finished -miniature-sketches of the stern Rector and his sweet young wife. It -is, indeed, a fine instance of poetical justice by which Mr. Peter is -allowed, in his old age, to bestow a richly merited peace and comfort, -in addition to the diversion of masculine society, upon the very sister -whose early life had been so terribly clouded by his misdeeds. - -One is almost tempted to say that Mrs. Gaskell does scant justice to -the first invader of the Amazons, when she refers to Captain Brown -as “a tame man about the house.” Yet those of us with sufficient -imagination to realise the firm exclusiveness of Miss Deborah Jenkyns, -should appreciate the significance of the phrase. The military -gentleman, “who was not ashamed to be poor,” only found his way to that -lady’s good graces by sterling qualities of true manliness. He was -“even admitted in the tabooed hours before twelve,” because no errand -of kindness was beneath his dignity or beyond his patience. - -Miss Matty expresses the prevailing sentiment about men, as she has -done on most subjects worthy of attention, with that “love of peace and -kindliness,” which “makes all of us better when we are near her.” - - “I don’t mean to deny that men are troublesome in a house. I don’t - judge from my own experience, for my father was neatness itself, and - wiped his shoes in coming in as carefully as any woman; but still a - man has a sort of knowledge of what should be done in difficulties, - that it is very pleasant to have one at hand ready to lean upon. Now - Lady Glenmire” (whose engagement to Mr. Hoggins was the occasion of - this gentle homily), “instead of being tossed about and wondering - where she is to settle, will be certain of a home among pleasant - and kind people, such as our good Miss Pole and Mrs. Forrester. - And Mr. Hoggins is really a very personable man; and so far as his - manners--why, if they are not very polished, I have known people with - very good hearts, and very clever minds too, who were not what some - people reckoned refined, but who were tender and true.” Again: “Don’t - be frightened by Miss Pole from being married. I can fancy it may be - a very happy state, and a little credulity helps one through life - very smoothly--better than always doubting and doubting, and seeing - difficulties and disagreeables in everything.” - -The finality of the above quotations may further remind us of an -unexpected conclusion to which a careful study of _Cranford_ must -compel the critic. Despite its apparent inconsequence, the desultory -nature of the narrative, and its surprising innocence of plot, the work -is composed with an almost perfect sense of dramatic unity. In reality -every event, however trivial or serious, every shade of character, -however subtle or obvious, is at once subordinate and essential to the -character of the heroine. A heroine, “not far short of sixty, whose -looks were against her,” may not attract the habitual novel-reader; -but unless we submit to the charm of Miss Matty’s personality, we have -misread _Cranford_. Deborah, the domineering, had not so much real -strength of character, and serves only as a foil to her sister’s wider -sympathies; the superficial quickness of Miss Pole never ultimately -misled her friend’s finer judgment; the (temporary) snobbishness of -the Honourable Mrs. Jamieson troubles her heart indeed, but leaves -her dignity unruffled; and the other members of the circle scarcely -aspire to be more than humble admirers of the “Rector’s daughter.” -Miss Matty, of course, is sublimely unconscious of her own influence, -and the authoress very nearly deceives us into fancying her equally -innocent. But she gives away the secret in her farewell sentence; and -I, for one, would not quarrel with her for pointing the moral. Miss -Matty can never lose her place in the Gallery of the Immortals, and we -would not neglect to honour the painter’s name. - -Mrs. Gaskell, in _Cranford_, may claim to have reached perfection by -one finished achievement; which embodies the ideal to which we conceive -that the work in fiction peculiar to women had been, more or less -consciously, directed from the beginning. Probably the art would have -been less flawless, if applied--as it was by sister-novelists--to a -wider range of persons and subjects. Nothing of quite this kind has -been again attempted, and it is not likely that such an attempt would -succeed. - -We should only notice, in passing, that Mrs. Gaskell left other -admirable, and quite feminine, work on more ordinary lines. _Wives and -Daughters_ is a delightful love story; while _North and South_ and -_Mary Barton_ are almost the first examples of that keen interest in -social problems, and the life of the poor, in legitimate novels (not -fiction-tracts), which we shall find so favourite a topic of women from -her generation until to-day. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[10] She is writing, again, to Miss Clavering. - -[11] When _Pride and Prejudice_, _Emma_, and _Mansfield Park_ had all -been published. - -[12] _Fraser’s Magazine_, Jan. 1838. - - - - -A LONELY SOUL - -(CHARLOTTE BRONTË, 1816-1855) - - -The genius of Charlotte Brontë presents several characteristics -which do not belong to the more or less orderly development of the -earlier women’s work. In the first place she is primarily a romancist, -depending far more on emotional analysis than on the exact portraiture -of everyday life. Though her materials, like theirs, are gained -entirely from personal experience, she clothes them with a passionate -imagination very foreign to anything in Miss Burney or Jane Austen. She -writes, in other words, because her emotions are forced into speech by -that very intensity; not at all from amused observation of life. It -would be difficult, indeed, to find outside her few remarkable stories -so powerful an expression of passion as felt by women--who do not, as -a rule, admit the power of such stormy emotions. Her work is further -remarkable for being mainly inspired by memory; while the recognition -of responsiveness in women leads her to paint _mutual_ passion as it -has been seldom revealed elsewhere. - -Much has been written of late years concerning the life of Charlotte -Brontë, and we have been told that the mystery is solved at last. For -despite the almost startling frankness of Mrs. Gaskell’s famous _Life_; -despite the intimate character of many of her published letters; it has -always been recognised that the Charlotte Brontë of the biographers -was _not_ the Charlotte Brontë of _Jane Eyre_ and _Villette_. Now -that we have the letters to Monsieur Heger, however, it seems to be -a prevailing conclusion that reconciliation, and understanding, are -possible. If Charlotte Brontë, like her own Lucy Snowe, was in love -with “her master”; if he was perfectly happy in his married life and, -however responsive to enthusiastic admiration, found warmer feelings -both embarrassing and vexatious; we have discovered the tragedy which -fired her imagination, the utter loneliness which taught her to dwell -so bitterly on the aching void of unreturned affection, to idealise so -romantically the rapture of marriage. Personally we are disposed to -accept these interpretations, but not to rely on them for everything. -To begin with, it is always dangerous to dwell upon any “explanation” -of genius; and, in the second place, it was not Charlotte Brontë’s -experiences (which others have suffered), but the nature awakened by -them, which determined their artistic expression. - -Part of the difficulty arises from the two almost contradictory methods -in which she “worked up” her stories. She had remarkable powers of -observation and borrowed from real life as recklessly as Shakespeare -borrowed plots, with very similar indifference to possible criticism. -In this matter, indeed, she cannot be altogether acquitted of malice or -spite; and we do not learn with unmixed pleasure how many “originals” -actually existed for her dramatis personæ. - -But, on the other hand, if “every person and a large proportion of the -incidents were copied from life,” the emotional power of her work is -entirely imaginative. As pictures of life, her stories are inadequate -and unsatisfying, partly because there is so much in human nature and -in life which does not interest her: so much of which she knew nothing; -and she is only at home in the heart of her subject. Here again she is -in no way realistic--as was Jane Austen in manners or George Eliot -in emotion--but entirely romantic, however original her conception of -romance. Her heroes and heroines are as far from everyday humanity, and -as ideal and visionary, as Mrs. Radcliffe’s, though she does not, of -course, follow the “rules” of romance: rather creating out of her own -brain a new heaven and a new earth, inhabited by a people that know not -God or man. - -Apart from the rude awakening at Brussels, again, she exhibited in -private correspondence by turns the strange contrasts between common -sense and emotionalism which mark her work. - -She defines the “right path” as “that which necessitates the greatest -sacrifice of self-interest”: she thinks, “if you can respect a person -before marriage, moderate love at least will come after; and as to -intense passion, I am convinced that that is no desirable feeling.” - -She advises her best friend that - - “no young lady should fall in love till the offer has been made, - accepted, the marriage ceremony performed, and the first half-year - of wedded life has passed away. A woman may then begin to love, but - with great precaution, very coolly, very moderately, very rationally. - If she ever loves so much that a harsh word or a cold look cuts her - to the heart, she is a fool. If she ever loves so much that her - husband’s will is her law, and that she has got into the habit of - watching his looks in order that she may anticipate his wishes, she - will soon be a neglected fool.” - -On the other hand, “if you knew my thoughts, the dreams that absorb me, -and the fiery imagination that at times eats me up, and makes me feel -society, as it is, insipid, you would pity me and I daresay despise me.” - -Her emotion on first seeing the sea is absolutely overpowering; and -surely we know the woman who insisted on visiting a maidservant -“attacked by a violent fever,” fearlessly entered her room in spite -of every remonstrance, “threw herself on the bed beside her, and -repeatedly kissed her burning brow.” - -Experience with her, in fact, had never been confined to the external -happenings, which can be accumulated, with more or less sympathy, by -the biographer; and her own declaration of how she worked up episodes -outside her own experience may be applied, without much modification, -to her manipulation of that experience itself. Asked whether the -description of taking opium in _Villette_ was based on knowledge, - - “She replied, that she had never, to her knowledge, taken a grain of - it in any shape, but that she had followed the process she always - adopted when she had to describe anything which had not fallen within - her own experience; she had thought intently on it for many and many - a night before falling to sleep--wondering what it was like or how it - would be--till at length, sometimes after the progress of her story - had been arrested at this one point for weeks, she wakened up in the - morning with all clear before her, as if she had in reality gone - through the experience, and then could describe it word for word as it - had happened.” - -It is obvious that, if no less feminine than her predecessors, the -nature and methods of Charlotte Brontë would produce very different -work from theirs. In narrative and description she remains domestic and -middle-class. She does not adopt the “high” notions of aristocracy, she -does not plunge into the mysteries of crime. Her plots are laid “at -home,” so to speak, and among the professional classes or small gentry -with whom she was personally familiar. The only material which may be -noticed as a new departure is derived from her particular experiences -in schools in England and abroad, combined with her intimate knowledge -of the governess and the tutor. In _Shirley_, again, she is one of the -earliest women to devote any serious attention to the progress of -trade and the introduction of machinery, with its effect on the social -problems of the working classes. - -In construction, on the other hand, she is admittedly inferior -to her predecessors, since her plots are melodramatic, and her -characterisation is disturbed by a somewhat morbid analysis of unusual -passion. Her feminine ideal has no parallel in the “sensibility” -of Fanny Burney or the sprightly “calm” of Jane Austen. Its most -distinguishing characteristic is, naturally, revealed in the attitude -assumed towards man. The hero, the ideal lover, is always “the Master” -of the heroine. Jane Eyre being a governess and Lucy Snowe a pupil, -we might perhaps miss the full significance of the phrase; but even -the strong-minded Shirley refuses Sir Philip Nunnely, because, among -other reasons, “he is very amiable--very excellent--truly estimable, -but _not my master_; not in one point. I could not trust myself with -his happiness: I would not undertake the keeping of it for thousands; I -will accept no hand that cannot hold me in check.” - -Jane Austen once playfully accused herself of having dared to draw a -heroine who had fallen in love without first having ascertained the -gentleman’s feeling. This is the normal achievement--in Charlotte -Brontë--not only of heroines, but _of all women_. It is, of course, -almost inevitable that since, in her work (as in those of her -sister-authors) we see everything _through the minds_ of the women -characters, we should learn the state of their heart _first_; but, in -most cases at least, it is certain that we are in as much doubt as the -heroine herself concerning the man’s feelings, and it is fairly obvious -that often he has actually not made up his mind. The women in Charlotte -Brontë, in fact, are what we now call “doormats.” They delight in -_serving_ the Beloved; they expect him to be a superior being, with -more control over his emotions; less dependent on emotion or even on -domestic comfort, appropriately concerned with matters not suited to -feminine intellects, and accustomed to “keep his own counsel” about the -important decisions of life. - -It is her achievement to have secured our enthusiastic devotion to -“females” so thoroughly Early Victorian; for the heroines of Charlotte -Brontë remain some of the most striking figures in fiction. They are -really heroic, and, while glorying in their self-imposed limitations, -become vital by their intensity and depth. Jane Austen once quietly -demonstrated the natural “constancy” of women; Charlotte Brontë paints -this virtue in fiery colours across all her work. Her incidental, but -most marked, preference for _plain_ heroines--inspired, apparently, by -passionate jealousy of popular beauty--serves to emphasise the abnormal -capacity for passion and fidelity which, in her judgment, the power of -easily exciting general admiration apparently tends to diminish. - -A contemporary reviewer in the _Quarterly_--probably Lockhart--found -this type of women disgustingly sly. The whole of _Jane Eyre_, indeed, -fills him with holy horror, which is genuine enough, though expressed -with most ungentlemanly virulence, and prefaced with the extraordinary -suggestion that “Jane Eyre is _merely another Pamela_ (!) ... a -small, plain, odd creature, who has been brought up dry upon school -learning, and somewhat stunted accordingly in mind and body, and who -is thrown upon the world as ignorant of its ways, and as destitute -of its friendships, as a shipwrecked mariner upon a strange coast.” -Rochester, on the other hand, he finds “captious and Turklike ... a -strange brute, somewhat in the Squire Western style of absolute and -capricious eccentricity.” The book is guilty of the “highest moral -offence a novel-writer can commit, that of making an unworthy character -interesting in the eyes of the reader. Mr. Rochester is a man who -deliberately and secretly seeks to violate the laws both of God and -man, and yet we will be bound half our lady writers are enchanted with -him for a model of generosity and honour.” - -We cannot, to-day, detect the “pedantry, stupidity, or gross -vulgarity” of the novel; nor do we distinguish so sharply between -the sly governess--“this housemaid _beau ideal_ of the arts of -coquetry”--determined to catch Rochester, and the “noble, high-souled -woman” who rejects his dishonourable proposals. The fact seems to be -that masculine critics of those days regarded the _expression_ of -emotion as indelicate in woman. Was it this criticism, or merely her -knowledge of men, that inspired that bitter passage in _Shirley_: - - “A lover masculine if disappointed can speak and urge explanation; a - lover feminine can say nothing; if she did, the result would be shame - and anguish, inward remorse for self-treachery. Nature would brand - such demonstration as a rebellion against her instincts, and would - vindictively repay it afterwards by the thunderbolt of self-contempt - smiting suddenly in secret. Take the matter as you find it; ask no - question; utter no remonstrance: it is your best wisdom. You expected - bread, and you have got a stone; break your teeth on it, and don’t - shriek because the nerves are martyrised: do not doubt that your - mental stomach--if you have such a thing--is strong as an ostrich’s: - the stone will digest. You held out your hand for an egg, and fate put - into it a scorpion. Show no consternation: close your fingers firmly - upon the gift; let it sting through your palm. Never mind; in time, - after your hand and arm have swelled and quivered long with torture, - the squeezed scorpion will die, and you will have learned the great - lesson how to endure without a sob.” - -Men could not conceive that any lady who was _conscious_ of love -had “really nice feelings” about it. Moreover, Jane Eyre is “a mere -heathen ... no Christian grace is perceptible upon her.” She upheld -women’s _rights_, which is “ungrateful” to God. “There is throughout a -murmuring against the comforts of the rich and against the privations -of the poor, which, as far as each individual is concerned, _is a -murmuring against God’s appointment_.” Wherefore the “plain, odd woman, -_destitute of all the conventional features of feminine attraction_,” -is not made interesting, but remains “a being totally uncongenial -to our feelings from beginning to end ... a decidedly vulgar-minded -woman--one whom we should not care for as an acquaintance, whom we -should not seek as a friend, whom we should not desire for a relation, -and whom we should most scrupulously avoid for a governess.” - -This outspoken, and unsympathetic, criticism is yet eminently -instructive. It shows us all that Charlotte Brontë accomplished for the -first time; and reveals the full force of prejudice against which she -was, more or less consciously, in revolt. - -It remains only to note that in the matter of style her critics at once -recognised her power. “It is impossible not to be spellbound with the -freedom of the touch. It would be mere hackneyed courtesy to call it -‘fine writing.’ It bears no impress of being written at all, but is -poured out rather in the heat and flurry of an instinct which flows -ungovernably on to its object, indifferent by what means it reaches it, -and unconscious too.” - -Passing to modern criticism, we find one writer declaring that -Rochester’s character “belongs to the realm of the railway bookstall -shilling novel,” while to another it seems “of all her creations the -most wonderful ... from her own inmost nobility of temper and depth of -suffering she moulded a man, reversing the marvels of God’s creation.” - -It is not, I think, necessary to be dogmatic in comparing the -“greatness” of _Villette_ and _Jane Eyre_. The former is “more -elaborated, more mature in execution, but less tragic, less simple -and direct.” The influence of personal tragedy (assuming her love -for Monsieur Heger) obviously permeates the work; leading to the -idealisation of the pedagogue genius (revived in Louis Gerard Moore, -Esq.--himself half Flemish), and to unjust hostility against the -Continental feminine (partially atoned for in Hortense Moore). On the -other hand, it is more in touch with real life; less melodramatic, -though still sensational; more acutely varied, and equally vivid, in -characterisation. - -Finally, in _Shirley_, if the spirit of Charlotte Brontë is less -concentrated, it burns with no less steady flame. Here, for almost -the first time in a woman-writer, we find that eager questioning upon -the earlier struggles between capital and labour--the risks attendant -upon the introduction of machinery, the proper relations between -master and men--which afterwards became part of the stock material for -fiction. We find, too, much shrewd comment upon her own experience -of clerical types--no less in the contrast between Helstone and Hall -than in the somewhat heavily satirised curates; and some, probably -inherited, injustice towards Dissenters. The characterisation is far -more varied and more realistic; since we have at least two pairs of -lovers, the numerous Yorke family, and a whole host of “walking ladies -and gentlemen,” more or less carefully portrayed. Local colour appears -in several passages of enthusiastic analysis of Yorkshire manners; and -the philosophy is frequently turned on everyday life. For example: - - “In English country ladies there is this point to be remarked. - Whether young or old, pretty or plain, dull or sprightly, they all - (or almost all) have a certain expression stamped on their features, - which seems to say, ‘I know--I do not boast of it--but I _know_ that - I am the standard of what is proper; let everyone therefore whom I - approach, or who approaches me, keep a sharp look-out, for wherein - they differ from me--be the same in dress, manner, opinion, principle, - or practice--therein they are wrong.” - -Yet the inspiration of _Shirley_ echoes _Jane Eyre_ and _Villette_. -Here, too, as we have seen,--though the heroine is a rich beauty,--Man -should be Master; and “indisputably, a great, good, handsome man is the -first of created things.” Yet neither Shirley nor her friend Caroline -have anything in common with the “average” woman, who, “if her admirers -only _told_ her that she was an angel, would let them _treat_ her like -an idiot”; or with her parents, who “would have delivered her over -to the Rector’s loving-kindness and his tender mercies without one -scruple”; or with the second Mrs. Helstone, who “reversing the natural -order of insect existence, would have fluttered through the honeymoon, -a bright, admired butterfly, and crawled the rest of her days a sordid, -trampled worm.” - - _Jane Eyre_, 1847. - _Shirley_, 1849. - _Villette_, 1852. - _The Professor_, 1857. - - - - -“JANE EYRE” TO “SCENES OF CLERICAL LIFE” - -(1847-1858) - - -EMILY BRONTË (1818-1848) can scarcely, in character or genius, be -accommodated to any ordered consideration of development. Regarded by -many enthusiasts as greater than her more famous sister, she stands -alone for all time. Her one novel, _Wuthering Heights_, is unique for -the passionate intensity of its emotions and the wild dreariness of -its atmosphere. Save for the clumsily introduced stranger, who merely -exists to “hear the story,” the entire plot is woven about seven -characters, all save one nearly related, and a few servants. - -“Mr. Heathcliff,” said the second Catherine, “_you_ have _nobody_ to -love you; and, however miserable you make us, we shall still have the -revenge of thinking that your cruelty arises from your greater misery. -You _are_ miserable, are you not? Lonely, like the devil, and envious -like him? _Nobody_ loves you--_nobody_ will cry for you when you die! I -wouldn’t be you!” - -Charlotte calls him “child neither of Lascar nor gipsy, but a man’s -shape animated by demon life--a Ghoul--an afreet”; and “from the time -when ‘the little black-haired swarthy thing, as dark as if it came -from the Devil,’ was first unrolled out of the bundle and set on its -feet in the farm-house kitchen, to the hour when Nelly Dean found the -grim, stalwart corpse laid on its back on the panel-enclosed bed, -with wide-gazing eyes that seemed to ‘sneer at her attempt to close -them, and parted lips and sharp white teeth that sneered too,’” this -human monster dominates every character and event in the whole book. -Men and women, Linton or Earnshaw, are but pawns in his remorseless -brain; thwarting his will, daring his anger time after time; yet always -submitting at last to the will of their “master”: save, indeed, at -the fall of the curtain, when he had “lost the faculty of enjoying -destruction.” For the passion of Heathcliff’s strange existence -is gloomy revenge--against fate and his own associates. Bitterly -concentrated on the few human beings--all occupying two adjacent -farms--with whom his life is passed, he seems the embodiment of an -eternal curse, directed to thwart every natural feeling, every hope of -happiness or peace. - -Emily Brontë reveals no conception of humanity save this fiendish -misanthrope; churlish boors like Hindley and Hareton Earnshaw; weak -good people like Edgar, Isabella, and Linton; passionate sprites like -the two Catherines. Old Joseph indeed contains some elements of the -comic spirit, exhibited in hypocrisy; and Nelly Dean alone has _both_ -virtue and strength of character. But in making, or striving to unmake, -marriages between these “opposites”; in forcing their society upon -each other, and hovering around his helpless victims; the arch-fiend -Heathcliff has ample scope for the indulgence of his diabolical whim. -The tormenting of others and of himself; the perverse making of misery -for its own sake; the ingenious exercise of brutal tyranny, are food -and drink to this twisted soul. In ordinary cases we should wonder what -might have happened had Catherine married him. We should set about -picturing Heathcliff in happy possession of the love for which he -craved so mightily: we should have murmured, “What cruel waste.” But -the power of Emily Brontë’s conception denies us such idle imaginings. -Heathcliff was manifestly incapable of “satisfaction” in anything, and -there, as elsewhere, was Catherine his true mate. No circumstances, the -most roseate or ideal, could have tamed his savage nature, quieted his -stormy discontents, or lulled his passion for hurting all creatures -weaker than himself. Such love as his must always have crushed and -devoured what it yearned for: he could never have had enough of it: -have rested in it, or rested upon it. He was, indeed, possessed by the -“eighth devil.” - -In reality, then, the resemblance between Charlotte and Emily Brontë -is comparatively superficial, arising from similarity of experience -and the bleak atmosphere of the scenes and people among which they -lived.[13] Emily can scarcely be called an exponent of human passion, -since the beings she has created bear little or no resemblance to -actual humanity. - -Charlotte has told us that her sister’s impressions of scenery and -locality are truthful, original, and sympathetic; the bleakness of the -atmosphere is not exaggerated. But, on the other hand, we learn--as we -should expect--that “she had scarcely more practical knowledge of the -peasantry among whom she lived, than a nun has of the country people -who sometimes pass her gates.... She knew their ways, their language, -their family histories: she could hear of them with interest, and talk -of them with detail, minute, graphic, and accurate; but with them she -rarely exchanged a word.” Hence, having a naturally sombre mind, she -drank in only “those tragic and terrible traits of which, in listening -to the secret annals of every rude vicinage, the memory is sometimes -compelled to receive the impress.” - -For those characteristics, more or less superficial, in which her -dramatis personæ resemble real life, they are drawn, with marvellous -insight and sympathy, from the moorlands; but they are not, themselves, -moorland folk. They are sheer creations of the imagination. The -terrible possibilities which lurk within us are used indeed in the -compounding, but so combined and concentrated as to banish all human -semblance. It is up to any of us to become such as Heathcliff and -the rest, for she has not violated the _possibilities_; but a kinder -fate, that grain of virtue and gentleness without which no human being -was ever born and held his reason, has saved us from the absolutely -elementary passions, tormenting and repining, of these strange beings. - -She is as far from realism as an “unromantic” writer can well be; -and, by sheer force of will or vividness of imagination, compels and -fascinates us to accept, as worthy of study and full of interest, the -characters she has created. - -And because, as has been often noticed, women are--curiously -enough--not usually pre-eminent in imagination, her work remains -supreme for certain qualities, which we may vainly seek elsewhere in -English literature. - - * * * * * - -ANNE BRONTË (1820-1849) sheds but a pale glimmer beside her fiery -sisters. She produced two novels: _Agnes Grey_, the record of a -governess, and _The Tenant of Wildfell Hall_, a morbid picture of -“talents misused and faculties abused”--both founded on personal -experience. She worked quietly, but with mild resolution; reproducing -exactly her own observations on life, never straying beyond what she -believed to be literally the truth. “She hated her work, but would -pursue it. When reasoned with on the subject, she regarded such -reasonings as a temptation to self-indulgence. She must be honest: she -must not varnish, soften, or conceal.” - -Anne Brontë has left us her “warning”; and if the stories embodying -the moral are not particularly stimulating or dramatic, they do, after -a painstaking fashion, reveal character and reflect life. She had, -moreover, a mild humour, entirely denied to Charlotte or Emily, as the -following description of an “unchristian” rector may serve to show: - - “Mr. Hatfield would come sailing up the aisle, or rather sweeping - along like a whirlwind, with his rich silk gown flying behind him and - rustling against the pew doors, mount the pulpit like a conqueror - ascending his triumphal car; then, sinking on the velvet cushion - in an attitude of studied grace, remain in silent prostration for - a certain time; then mutter over a Collect, and gabble through the - Lord’s Prayer, rise, draw off one bright lavender glove, to give the - congregation the benefit of his sparkling rings, lightly pass his - fingers through his well-curled hair, flourish a cambric handkerchief, - recite a very short passage, or, perhaps, a mere phrase of Scripture, - as a headpiece to his discourse, and, finally, deliver a composition - which, as a composition, might be considered good.” - -Like Charlotte, she prefers a plain heroine, seeming almost jealous of -beauty in others, and regards man as the natural “master” of woman. - -Art, inspired by a sense of duty, need not detain us further. - - * * * * * - -MRS. CRAIK (1826-1887) belongs, in all essentials, to the modern school -of novelists; although (like many another of her day) she appears -almost more out-of-date than the women of genius who preceded her. For -the “average” writers belong to one age and only one. Yet the enormous -mass of work she produced may still be read with some pleasure, -and deserves notice for its competent witness to certain phases of -development in women’s work. - -In the first place she practically invented the “novel for the young -person” (which is not “a children’s story”); and, in the second, -she carried to its extreme limit that enthusiasm for domestic -sentimentality (which is quite different from “sensibility”) so dear to -the Early Victorians. - -Obviously it can be no matter for surprise that, as women became -accustomed to the use of their pen and experienced in its influence, -they should wake at last to the peculiar needs of their daughters--for -a class of story which, without the false ideals of romance or the -coarseness of early fiction, was in itself thoroughly interesting and -absorbing. We have seen that, in purifying the novel, our greatest -women-novelists were, for the most part, content to practise their art -as an art. Jane Austen, undoubtedly, is a peculiarly wholesome writer -(and therefore an influence for good); but she had no direct moral -purpose. And the didactic elements in Miss Edgeworth, Hannah More, and -Harriet Martineau are somewhat inartistically pronounced. - -In Mrs. Craik’s day the desire for improvement was phenomenally active -and varied. She was “conscious” of this particular opening (afterwards -expressed and developed by Miss Yonge), and, in her own manner, -prepared to meet it. It is impossible not to recognise that the whole -appeal of _John Halifax, Gentleman_ is directed towards youth. The -feminine idealism, whether applied to men or women, embraces all the -vague and innocent dreams of heroic virtue which belong to the dawn of -life. The supreme domination of family life, the education “at home” -for boys and girls alike, and a thousand other minutiæ of feeling and -opinion, are designed for that period--possibly the most important in -character-training--before experience has tested the will. There is -no shirking of truth, the method is realistic; and we must recognise -the value of an atmosphere so refined and purified, yet manly and -practical. For John Halifax is always a fighter, one who makes his own -way--without sacrifice of principle or losing his sympathy with the -less capable, and less fortunate, among the sons of toil. - -_John Halifax_ may fairly be taken as “standing” for Mrs. Craik. Here -and in other novels (numbering about fifty) we may read her message, -understand the Early Victorian lady, and observe one groove along which -the woman-novelist was destined to work with comparative independence. -From revealing themselves, they have turned (as had Charlotte Brontë -with very different results) to give away their ideal of manhood. - - * * * * * - -MRS. OLIPHANT (1828-1897) belongs to the same group of thoroughly -efficient Victorian novelists as Mrs. Craik. Living to an old age -she produced nearly a hundred volumes, all witnessing the scope and -power which had now been accepted in women’s work. Her output is -far more varied than Mrs. Craik’s--bolder, more humorous, and less -sentimental. She published some admirable history, a notable record of -the Blackwoods--involving expert, if rather emotional, criticism--and -dabbled in the Unseen. Having great sympathy with the Scotch -temperament, she also imparted a more modern tone to the “national” -novel, somewhat after Galt’s manner. - -In her work also we find, very definitely, the “note” of protest. -Those truly feminine young ladies (a Jane Austen pair), the daughters -of the _Curate-in-Charge_, for example, are perpetually in revolt -against convention. Mab, the artist, suffers from a governess who -considers drawing “unladylike,” and believes that “a young lady who -respects herself, and who has been brought up as she ought, _never -looks at gentlemen_: There are drawings of _gentlemen_ in that book. -Is that nice, do you suppose?”[14] The practical Cicely shoulders the -family burdens; and is promptly “cut” by her friends, _because_ she -takes up the post of village schoolmistress. Like “John Halifax” she -had been compelled to face life (for others as well as herself) with -absolutely nothing but “her head and her hands.” With less fuss she -made an equally good fight, with no encouragement from that proud and -tender-hearted old gentleman, her father, whose one idea of happiness -was to “fall into our quiet way again.” He “felt it was quite natural -his girls should come home and keep house for him, and take the trouble -of the little boys, and visit the schools: How is a man like that to be -distinguished from a Dissenting preacher?” To them it still seems: “We -cannot go and do things like you men, and we feel all the sharper, all -the keener, because we cannot _do_.” - -It is doubtful if women had ever been less conscious of their -limitations, or less dissatisfied with them; but the definite -expression of criticism arose at this period, because they were -acquiring the habit of expressing themselves, and had glimpses of -possible change. From Charlotte Brontë, women not only pictured life -from a feminine standpoint, but discussed and criticised it--a movement -which “found itself” in George Eliot. - -Mrs. Oliphant still speaks, and thinks, consciously, as a woman. But -she does not “accept” everything. As to the craftmanship of fiction, -we may now assume it for women, as had the public. We are reaching, -indeed, the time when her province is no longer to stand aside. The -later writers speak as individuals among artists, not as part of a -group or school. - -As mentioned above, Mrs. Oliphant also wrote competent criticism -and played the part, still comparatively novel among women, of an -all-round practical journalist, knowing the world of letters, familiar -with publishers and the “business” of authorship, handling history or -biography like a person of culture. In her later years she essayed, -in _The Beleaguered City_ and elsewhere, some way into that field of -psychic inquiry--developed by her son Laurence--and since their day a -familiar topic in fiction. - -At one time, indeed, greater things were expected of her. _The -Chronicles of Carlingford_ (1863) approach genius. They appeared -after _Adam Bede_, and it is scarcely surprising that men imagined -the discovery of a second George Eliot. We find in them that almost -masculine insight--from an intellectual eminence--of parochial -affairs, small society, and the country town, combined with passionate -character-analysis, emotional philosophy, and bracing humour, which -constituted the individuality of George Eliot. - -Mrs. Oliphant, in her early days, produced several “Chronicles,” in -which the characters reappear, though diversely centralised; and we may -consider two examples at some length. - -_Miss Marjoribanks_, following the woman’s lead, is professedly a -study in a certain feminine type. The heroine was known among her -schoolfellows as “a large girl.” - - “She was not to be described as a tall girl--which conveys an - altogether different idea--but she was large in all particulars, full - and well-developed, with somewhat large features, not at all pretty - as yet, though it was known in Mount Pleasant that somebody had said - that such a face might ripen into beauty, and become ‘grandiose,’ for - anything anybody could tell. Miss Marjoribanks was not vain; but the - word had taken possession of her imagination, as was natural, and - solaced her much when she made the painful discovery that her gloves - were half a number larger, and her shoes a hair-breadth broader, - than those of any of her companions; but the hands and feet were - perfectly well-shaped; and being at the same time well-clothed and - plump, were much more presentable and pleasant to look upon than the - lean rudimentary school-girl hands with which they were surrounded. - To add to these excellences, Lucilla had a mass of hair which, if it - could but have been cleared a little in its tint, would have been - golden, though at present it was nothing more than tawny, and curly - to exasperation. She wore it in large thick curls, which did not, - however, float or wave, or do any of the graceful things which curls - ought to do; for it had this aggravating quality, that it would not - grow long, but would grow ridiculously, unmanageably thick, to the - admiration of her companions, but to her own despair, for there was no - knowing what to do with those short but ponderous locks.” - -After which unconventional description, we are not surprised to learn -that our heroine “was possessed by nature of that kind of egotism, or -rather egoism, which is predestined to impress itself, by its perfect -reality and good faith, upon the surrounding world.... This conviction -of the importance and value of her own proceedings made Lucilla, as she -grew older, a copious and amusing conversationalist--a rank which few -people who are indifferent to, or do not believe in, themselves can -attain to.” - -Miss Marjoribanks had two objects in life--to “be a comfort to” her -widowed father and “to revolutionise society.” Undoubtedly she “made” -Carlingford, and, though her father was perfectly satisfied with his -own management of life, she did actually succeed in proving herself -essential to his well-being. A young woman who, on her own showing, -“never made mistakes” and was “different” from other ladies, was able -to effect much with the “very good elements” of Carlingford. She -created a social atmosphere of peculiar distinction, she managed the -most intractable of archdeacons, she found “the right man” to represent -the borough. She was as fearless as, and far more successful than, Miss -Woodhouse, in making marriages; and in every respect went her own way -with a most engaging self-confidence. Dr. Marjoribanks respected and -“understood” her, though he thought her more “worldly” than she proved -herself; and no one gave her full credit “for that perfect truthfulness -which it was her luck always to be able to maintain.” - -The character is worth our study; for it is improbable that fiction -has ever produced, or will ever venture to repeat, a heroine so -entirely convinced of a mission in life, and so competent to carry -it out. Scarcely ever concerned with sentiment, she had a genius for -doing “the right thing,” and thoroughly enjoying the contemplation of -her own achievements. Yet she was really generous and kind-hearted, -entirely above jealousy or meanness. We may question, perhaps, whether -any woman, or man either, was ever quite so consistent: since even -in yielding to Cousin Tom’s importunities, she was but planning a -new campaign--“to carry light and progress” into “the County.” Yet -few readers will fail to recognise the power and charm of Lucilla -Marjoribanks--a new revelation of what a woman conceives woman may be. - -In all her dialogue, in the narrative, and in the minor -characterisation, Mrs. Oliphant here proves herself an easy master -of convincing realism. We know Carlingford and its inhabitants as -intimately as our native town. - -_Salem Chapel_, indeed, reveals another side of the picture. Miss -Marjoribanks and her friends were staunch church people. The sturdy -deacons, their women-folk, and Mr. Vincent’s whole flock, belong to -another sphere. “Greengrocers, dealers in cheese and bacon, milkmen, -with some dressmakers of inferior pretensions, and teachers of -day schools of similar humble character, formed the _élite_ of the -congregation.” Indeed, “the young man from ’Omerton” proves to be -something of a firebrand among these simple souls. His declaration -of independence does not meet with their approval: “Them ain’t the -sentiments for a pastor in our connection. That’s a style of thing as -may do among fine folks, or in the church where there’s no freedom; but -them as chooses their own pastor, and don’t spare no pains to make him -comfortable, has a right to expect different.” Since the poor fellow -is “getting his livin’ off them all the time,” he must go their way -without question: “A minister ain’t got no right to have business of -his own, leastways on Sundays. Preaching’s his business.” The most -loyal of them can always recall “that period of delightful excitation -when they were hearing candidates, and felt themselves the dispensers -of patronage”; though, as the caustic Adelaide truthfully remarked, -“even when they are asses like your Salem people, you know they like a -man with brains”; and Mr. Vincent had “filled the chapel.” - -Mrs. Oliphant has contrasted the limitations of Dissent with a -somewhat melodramatic personal tragedy which insensibly draws Mr. -Vincent under the influence of “them great ladies” who “when they’re -pretty-looking” are “no better nor evil spirits,” and, alas, “a -minister of our connection as was well acquainted with them sort of -folks would be out of nature.” The whole atmosphere is obviously -uncongenial, and we see that it makes the man totally unfit for his -work. - -Nevertheless, it is with two characters wholly “within the fold” that -our sympathies must finally remain. It is Mrs. Vincent and Tozer the -Butterman who are the real hero and heroine. Certainly the gentle widow -cannot understand her clever son, and her absolute lack of common sense -is quite exasperating; but everyone recognises that she is “quite the -lady,” and no Roman mother of classic immortality ever revealed such -perfect loyalty under such tragic difficulties. She knew “how little a -thing makes mischief in a congregation,” for “she had been a minister’s -wife for thirty years,” and her superb devotion to doing the right -thing by everybody conquered persons of far greater intellect and -assurance, under difficulties that few men could have faced for any -consideration. Again and again this quiet and most provokingly fussy of -women absolutely dominates the stage, conquering all adversaries. She -is almost absurdly inadequate for the “realities” of life; but such a -past mistress of tact and decorum, so instinctively aware of “what is -expected of her,” and so courageously punctilious in manner, that she -triumphs over odds the most overwhelming, proving inflexible where she -knows her ground. Entirely without control over her emotions, she yet -never forgets or fails in her “duty.” - -The heroism of Mr. Tozer, naturally, does not depend upon such -subtleties or refinements. He is of sterner stuff; but it would be hard -to find, in life or fiction, a zealous deacon, so thoroughly conversant -with the duties and the privileges of his position, who could rise -with such broad-minded charity to circumstances so exceptional. He -is genuinely kind, and really loyal to Mr. Vincent. Without the -slightest knowledge, or any power to appreciate the emotional turmoil -which had thrown that young minister off his balance, the worthy -shopkeeper trusts his own instincts, fights like a hero for his friend, -and absolutely pulverises the enemy. He has no natural gifts for -eloquence, no diplomacy or tact; but he has faith, insight, and courage. - -The minister’s wife and the deacon entirely remove the reproach we -might otherwise level against Mrs. Oliphant of satirical contempt for -Nonconformity. With Miss Marjoribanks, they establish her power in -characterisation. - -Finally, the crowded picture of life at Carlingford given in the -two novels prepares us for that conscious and professional study of -“material” for fiction which women had only recently acquired, and -which bears its finest fruit in George Eliot. - - * * * * * - -CHARLOTTE M. YONGE (1823-1901) presents almost as many facets as Mrs. -Oliphant, but her work more nearly resembles Mrs. Craik’s. Primarily -a High-Churchwoman and a sentimentalist, she was more directly -educational than either. Her _Cameos of English History_ are models of -popular narrative, a little coloured by prejudice; but no praise can be -too high for that children’s story, also historical, _The Little Duke_, -or for the equally charming _The Lances of Lynwood_. - -As a novelist she was chiefly concerned, as hinted already, with the -_conscious_ development of the tale “for the young person,” which she -defines and justifies in her - - - PREFACE TO “THE DAISY CHAIN; OR, ASPIRATIONS” - - “No one can be more sensible than is the author that the present is - an overgrown book of a nondescript class, neither the ‘tale’ for the - young, nor the novel for their elders, but a mixture of both. - - “Begun as a series of conversational sketches, the story outran both - the original intention and the limits of the periodical in which it - was commenced; and, such as it has become, it is here presented to - those who have already made acquaintance with the May family, and may - be willing to see more of them. It would beg to be considered merely - as what it calls itself, a Family Chronicle--a domestic record of home - events, large and small, during those years of early life when the - character is chiefly formed, and as an endeavour to trace the effects - of those aspirations which are a part of every youthful nature. That - the young should take the hint, to think whether their hopes and - upward breathings are truly upwards, and founded in lowliness, may be - called the moral of the tale. - - “For those who may deem the story too long, and the characters too - numerous, the author can only beg their pardon for any tedium that - they may have undergone before giving it up. - - “Feb. 22nd, 1856.” - -As it happens, this passage contains several points which serve to -elucidate the special characteristics of its author’s work. We see at -once the serious moral purpose, and its direct aim. We may notice, -again, that she at least recognises, and admits, what may be called -disparagingly the chief function of women novelists--the narration of -“Family Chronicles,” the domesticity, the emphasis on “home” life. -And, finally, we have a confession of her tendency to overcrowd the -characters; her devotion for persons to whom the reader has been -already introduced, now reappearing--for further development--in -another tale. - -Miss Yonge, in fact, had a weakness for genealogy. One novel often -describes the children of persons figuring in another. We may -recognise old friends in every chapter. No doubt the habit may become -wearisome, and it was carried to excess. But, on the other hand, we -must be conscious of exceptional familiarity with “the May family,” -for example; and the process, when restrained with discretion, is a -perfectly legitimate application of the realistic ideal. In real life -the plots are not rounded off in one volume. Reunions that are utterly -unexpected, if not unwelcome, are constantly surprising us, and the -children of friends or relatives have a natural bias towards each other. - -Moreover, in this matter Miss Yonge reveals extraordinary skill. -Technically, we could name the heroine of _The Daisy Chain_. She has -several peculiarities, recalling Maggie Tulliver. But we are nearly -as intimate with the two Margarets; the “worldly” sister is drawn -with subtle command of detail; the innumerable brothers are perfectly -differentiated; Dr. May stands out clear in every mood; the “heiress” -is absolutely alive; and there is no hesitation about the minor -characters. Miss Yonge can “manage” as many people as you please. There -is no faltering or hesitation about her touch anywhere. - -To-day, probably, we do not quite willingly accept so much religiosity. -We certainly cannot “assume” the Church. Our “aspirations” may not -expend themselves upon a steeple or a Sunday school. But there can be -no question about this good lady’s understanding of young people. The -family picture is sound and wholesome. No member of the group offends -us by his or her sanctimonious perfection. All are perfectly human, -youthfully impulsive, and wholesomely eager. And the Early Victorians -_were_ sentimental. - -As in _John Halifax, Gentleman_, the atmosphere belongs to the dawn of -life. The love-stories--of which, needless to say, we have several--are -whole-hearted, without complexity. There is no juggling with right and -wrong, no “questioning,” no element of sordidness. - -Though we should alter a good deal, perhaps, in detail--of manner, -thought, and ideal--it is difficult to see how work could be done -better for the particular class of readers appealed to; who would, -undoubtedly, actually prefer a crowd. - -Once more, Miss Yonge is frankly feminine. She has established one -more special function for women novelists, a legitimate offspring of -the domestic realism which they followed from the first; a work almost -impossible to man. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[13] As Lockhart expresses it in the _Quarterly_, “There is a decided -family likeness between _Jane Eyre_ and _Wuthering Heights_, yet the -aspect of the Jane and Rochester animals in their native state, as -Catherine and Heathcliff, is too odiously and abominably pagan to be -palatable even to the most vitiated class of novel readers. With all -the unscrupulousness of the French school of novels it combines that -repulsive vulgarity in the choice of its vice which supplies its own -antidote.” - -[14] “She did not approve of twilight walks. Why should they want to go -out just then like the tradespeople, a thing which ladies never did.” - - - - -A PROFESSIONAL WOMAN - -(GEORGE ELIOT, 1819-1880) - - -George Eliot once declared that “if art does not enlarge men’s -sympathies, it does nothing morally.... The only effect I long to -produce by my writings is that those who read them shall be better able -to _imagine_ and to _feel_ the pains and joys of those who differ from -themselves.” - -It is written in _Adam Bede_: - - “My strongest effort is to avoid any arbitrary picture, and to give a - faithful account of men and things as they have mirrored themselves - in my mind. The mirror is doubtless defective; the outlines will - sometimes be disturbed, the reflection faint or confused; but I feel - _as much bound_ to tell you as precisely as I can what that reflection - is, _as if I were in a witness box narrating my experience on oath_.... - - “I would not, even if I had the choice, be the clever novelist who - could create a world so much better than this, in which we get up - in the morning to do our daily work, that you would be likely to - turn a harder, colder eye on the dusty streets and the common green - fields--on the real breathing men and women who can be chilled by - your indifference or injured by your prejudice, who can be cheered - and helped onward by your fellow-feeling, your forbearance, your - outspoken, brave justice. - - “So I am content to tell my simple story, without trying to make - things seem better than they were; dreading nothing, indeed, but - falsity, which, in spite of one’s efforts, there is reason to dread. - Falsehood is so easy, truth so difficult.... - - “It is for this rare, precious quality of truthfulness that I delight - in many Dutch paintings; which lofty-minded people despise. I find - a source of delicious sympathy in these faithful pictures of a - monotonous, homely existence, which has been the fate of so many more - among my fellow-mortals than a life of pomp or of absolute indigence, - of tragic suffering or of world-stirring actions. I turn, without - shrinking, from cloud-borne angels, from prophets, sibyls, and heroic - warriors, to an old woman bending over her flower-pot, or eating - her solitary dinner, while the noonday light, softened perhaps by a - screen of leaves, falls on her mob-cap, and just touches the rim of - her spinning wheel, and her stone jug, and all those cheap common - things which are the precious necessaries of life to her; or I turn to - that village wedding, kept between four brown walls, where an awkward - bridegroom opens the dance with a high-shouldered, broad-faced bride, - while elderly and middle-aged friends look on, with very irregular - noses and lips, and probably with quart-pots in their hands, but with - an expression of unmistakable contentment and good-will.... - - “All honour and reverence to the divine beauty of form! Let us - cultivate it to the utmost in men, women, and children--in our - gardens and in our houses.... Paint us an angel if you can, with a - floating violet robe, and a face paled by the celestial light; paint - us yet oftener a Madonna, turning her mild face upward and opening - her arms to welcome the divine glory; but do not impose on us any - æsthetic rules which shall banish from the region of art those old - women scraping carrots with their work-worn hands, those heavy clowns - taking holiday in a dingy pothouse, those rounded backs and stupid, - weather-worn faces that have bent over the spade and done the rough - work of the world--those homes with their tin pans, their brown - pitchers, their rough curs, and their clusters of onions.... - - “There are few prophets in the world, few sublimely beautiful women, - few heroes. I can’t afford to give all my love and reverence to such - rarities: I want a great deal of those feelings for my everyday - fellow-men, especially for the few in the foreground of the great - multitude whose faces I know, whose hands I touch, for whom I have - to make way with kindly courtesy. Neither are picturesque lazzaroni - or romantic criminals half so frequent as your common labourer, who - gets his own bread, and eats it vulgarly but creditably with his - own pocket-knife. It is more needful that I should have a fibre - of sympathy connecting me with that vulgar citizen who weighs out - my sugar in a vilely-assorted cravat and waistcoat, than with the - handsomest rascal in red scarf and green feathers; more needful - that my heart should swell with loving admiration at some trait of - gentle goodness in the faulty people who sit at the same hearth with - me, or in the clergyman of my own parish, who is perhaps rather too - corpulent, and in other respects is not an Oberlin or a Tillotson, - than at the deeds of heroes whom I shall never know except by hearsay, - or at the sublimest abstract of all clerical graces that was ever - conceived by an able novelist.” - -Woman has found, and proclaimed, her mission. She is a moral realist, -and her realism is not inspired by any idle ideal of art, but by -sympathy with life. Jane Austen and Mary Mitford were compared, -condescendingly, with Dutch painters. George Eliot claims the parallel -with pride. It may be questioned if realism was ever defended with so -much eloquence, from such high motives. Finally, if the romance of -high life has no place in these pictures, neither has the romance of -crime, adventure, or squalid destitution. They hold up the mirror to -mediocrity. They present the parish. - -And for many years George Eliot influenced thought and culture among -the middle-classes more widely, and perhaps more profoundly, than -any other writer. We can remember a generation for whom the moral -problems involved in the relations between Dorothea and Will Ladislaw -were a favourite topic for tea-table conversation in serious families; -and when the novelist herself married a second time, it seemed to -many that an ideal had been desecrated. Her intensity of religious -feeling, combined with independence towards theological authority, -expressed with truly artistic effect the whole temperament of an -age whose spiritual cravings were almost exclusively ethical. Her -contribution to literature, placing her in the highest rank, was the -creation of many characters, instinct with humanity, struggling with -fine moral earnestness towards the attainment of an ideal, halting -long and stumbling often by the way. Their appeal to young readers -of each generation is irresistible; while the crowded backgrounds, -so truthfully and dramatically portrayed, of a day when the English -middle-classes were ever eager in extending their moral and mental -horizon, can never lose value as an important chapter in social history. - -If we have read them rightly, it is this for which women’s work had -been all along preparing the way. George Eliot certainly had not so -great a genius as Jane Austen or Charlotte Brontë; she was not a -pioneer like Fanny Burney. But she had greater breadth, more firm -solidity; and she was conscious of her aim, with the professional -training, the culture, _and_ the genius to achieve. - -Women, we see, have been always realistic and parochial. They have -avoided the glitter of wealth and the grime of sin. Tender to -prodigals, they have loved the home. If the “intense and continuous -note of personal conviction,” so conspicuous in George Eliot, began -with Charlotte Brontë, women have always felt and thought morally. - -She has been summarily dismissed as an “example of the way in which the -novel--once a light and frivolous thing--had come to be taken with the -utmost seriousness--had in fact ceased to be light literature at all, -and began to require rigorous and elaborate training and preparation in -the writer, perhaps even something of the athlete’s processes in the -reader.” - -But such seriousness was characteristic of her age, and everyone had -then learnt to demand professionalism in art; while, on the other hand, -readers of 1821 were assured that “Miss Austen had the merit of being -evidently a Christian writer,” who conveyed “that unpretending kind of -instruction which is furnished by real life,” and whose works may “on -the whole be recommended, not only as among the most unexceptionable of -their kind, but as combining, in an eminent degree, instruction with -amusement.” - -Charlotte Brontë, we may remember, was declared, by her contemporaries, -“one who has, for some sufficient reason, long forfeited the society -of her sex”; and George Eliot herself was accused of “coarseness and -immorality,” in her attempt “to familiarise the minds of our young -women in the middle and higher ranks with matters on which their -fathers and brothers would never venture to speak in their presence ... -and to intrude on minds which ought to be guarded from impurity the -unnecessary knowledge of evil.” To such critics her claim to kinship -with the “honest old Dutchman” is set aside for a parallel to “the -perverseness of our modern ‘pre-Raphaelites,’ with their choice of -disagreeable subjects, uncomely models, and uncouth attitudes.” - -Such is the natural result of women daring to think for themselves. -To-day we are content rather to notice that Miss Burney first cleansed -the circulating library, and Miss Austen most unobtrusively extolled -the domestic virtues; while their sisters in art all contributed to the -prevalence of wholesome fiction; until Miss Brontë and George Eliot -stirred up the conscience of man towards woman. In reality women are -born preachers, and always work for an ideal. - -The period, indeed, is already approaching in which women’s work can no -longer be treated _en masse_ and by itself, apart from men’s. It is no -longer essentially spontaneous or unconscious, as in Miss Burney and -Jane Austen. We have described the writers immediately preceding George -Eliot as professional experts, careful of art; and once the world had -learnt to _expect_ good work from woman and grown accustomed to her -as an artist, there remained no further occasion for her to speak as -a woman among aliens. George Eliot, indeed, like Charlotte Brontë, -had been, by some of her contemporaries, taken for a man; but the -youngest and most inexperienced reader to-day could scarcely have been -momentarily deceived. There are, indeed, certain tricks, or mannerisms, -of masculinity; but they are superficial, and not actually worn with -much grace or skill. - -No earlier woman-writer, indeed, had assumed so comprehensive a -philosophy, or scarcely any attempt at ordered opinion on life in -general, on character, or on faith. But, despite the enthusiasm of -certain biographers, despite the influence--unquestioned--of Herbert -Spencer, Strauss, George Henry Lewes, and others, we are not personally -disposed to grant much weight to our author’s generalisations; while -certainly the obtrusiveness of her moralising is an artistic blemish. - -The fact is that George Eliot’s outlook remains thoroughly emotional -and feminine. In herself, we know, she always saw life through a -man-interpreter; and the didactics of her novels are derived from the -study of books, not from the exercise of independent reason or thought. -If she _talked_ ethics, she _felt_ faith. - -But, on the other hand, her work has little external affinity with -that of the women of genius preceding her (though it may be a natural -development from theirs), because it is obviously the result of -training and study, that is _professional_. It is, moreover, the -first important contribution by women to the problem novel with a -purpose. Both points can be easily illustrated by the most elementary -comparison. - -We have tacitly assumed, and with obvious justification in fact, that -Fanny Burney and Jane Austen, for example, wrote entirely out of their -own personal experience. We picture their own surroundings from the -society in their novels, noting the power acquired by the limitation. -Charlotte Brontë did not go beyond her own circle, save in imagination. -But George Eliot, no less certainly, _studied_ mankind _for copy_. It -is true that she made more direct _use of_ her own family and friends -than they. Maggie Tulliver is no less autobiographical than Lucy Snowe. -True also that for description and atmosphere she depended largely on -memory. But even here the treatment is that of a self-conscious artist, -composing and presenting from outside, studying effects, grouping -types; always alive to a comparison between life and literature. And -as she _uses_ the human material which has come to her in the natural -order of things, she increases it by the journalist’s eye for new copy, -piquant contrast, and unexpected revelation. She invokes, moreover, the -assistance of every literary device--prepared humour, scholarly style, -cultured allusion, local colour, analytical characterisation, and -dramatic construction. We have here no longer a spontaneous revelation -of woman; rather her captain in full array, armed for fight. - -Nor is the message, or open discussion of problems, less novel or -less deliberate. It was possible, indeed inevitable, to notice in the -earlier examples of woman’s work that she held theories on life not -quite in accord with what man had always expected from her. Part of -her inspiration, no doubt, was the desire to express these. On certain -points, recognised womanly,--such as education and the ordering of a -home,--she soon learnt to speak openly; but, in the main, we studied -the woman’s ideal of character and conduct from her portrait-painting; -we deduced her approval from her sympathy, her budding criticism from -her scorn. If she attempted direct teaching, it was mostly in support -of mere conventional duty; the reward of virtue and the punishment of -vice, tentatively measured perhaps by a standard, not quite blindly -copied from men. The greatest artists among women before Charlotte -Brontë never obtruded the moral, discussed the problem. - -But what was fearlessly urged on a few chosen topics from the -Haworth parsonage became the foreground and main subject with the -assistant editor of the _Westminster Review_. We are, to-day, somewhat -overweighted with problem novels; but George Eliot was the first among -us to realise the full power of fiction as a vehicle more persuasive, -if not more powerful, than the pulpit; for the fearless and intimate -discussion of all the questions and difficulties which must confront a -man, or a woman, who is not content to accept things as they are, or to -believe all he is told. To-day we may detect - - “a curious _naïveté_ in the whole impression George Eliot’s novels - convey.... The ethical law is, in her universe, as all powerful as - the law of gravitation, and as unavoidable. Remorse, degeneration of - character, and even material loss, are meted out for transmission with - the rigid and childlike sense of justice which animated the writers of - the Old Testament. Her temper was Hebraistic, and goodness was more to - her than beauty. It may be doubted whether in the world, as we see it, - justice works as impartially and with such unmistakable exactitude, - whether the righteous is never forsaken, and evil always hunts the - wicked person to overthrow him.” - -But we must remember that George Eliot’s conception of wickedness, -if limited, was well in advance of her age; that she understood -temptation, and could draw a most dramatically “mixed” character. Her -people are not all black or all white. She knew how slight an error or -slip, how amiable a weakness, could lead to actions which the Pharisee -called sin, and the Puritan would punish with hell-fire. She entirely -forgave Maggie Tulliver, she held out the hand of fellowship to Godfrey -Cass, and even to Arthur Donnithorne. If “we are almost afraid of” -Dinah Morris, she, too, certainly loved sinners. George Eliot, in -fact, will not accept any opinion on authority, or follow the world in -judgment; and if “the world has never produced a woman philosopher,” -her work remains pre-eminent as the first complete and outspoken record -of woman’s “scientific speculation to discover an interpretation of the -universe,” her first conscious message to mankind; destined to “raise -the standard of prose-fiction to a higher power; to give it a new -impulse and motive.” She has now spoken for herself on conduct and on -faith. - -Nevertheless George Eliot remains a woman. We still look to her -primarily for the revelation of woman, and woman’s vision of man. We -have taken another step, onward and inward, towards the mystery of -the feminine ideal, the meaning of the Home and the Family to those -who make it. All this is far more complex, indeed, than anything we -have studied in earlier chapters. It embraces, in _Romola_, some -reconstruction of past times; in _Daniel Deronda_, some study of an -alien race. It includes sympathy for a woman wandering so far from -the natural feminine instincts as to abandon, and half murder, her -own child; for a girl who, given to dreamy ideals and passionate -self-sacrifice, will yet suffer attentions from the acknowledged lover -of her cousin, simply because he is handsome. It reveals the genuine -repentance and uplifting of a drunken wife; it permits “friendship” -between a married woman and a young artist whose very vices are more -attractive than the heartless tyrannical egoism of her husband. We -have travelled a long way, certainly, from Catherine Morland and Fanny -Price. We can imagine a new Lydia Bennet under George Eliot. - -Still the problems are women’s problems: the solutions are feminine, -as we may see from the eagerness with which they were condemned by -man, the conservative and the conventional. “I’m no denyin’,” said Mrs. -Poyser, “the women are foolish. God almighty made ’em to match the -men.” It was George Eliot’s ambition, towards which she accomplished -much, that “the women” should be less intent upon that _matching_, more -willing, and able, to mould themselves after their own pattern: in -their turn to form a creed, to establish a standard--wherein she was -following, but more consciously, those who had gone before. As Huxley -remarked, in answer to Princess Louise, she did not “go in for” the -superiority of women. She rather “_teaches the inferiority of men_.” - -For, verily, there is no more in it. Her women are lost outside the -home; they are not financially, or intellectually, “independent.” -They have no professions, no clubs, no sports. Their interests are -confined to religion, domesticity, and love. Nor does George Eliot -attempt to follow “the men” into politics[15] or business, on to the -cricket field or the parade ground. A soldier is distinguished by his -regimentals, a scholar by his library, a doctor by his gig. She has -a strong partiality, tempered by criticism, for the clergy; she can -distinguish, intelligently, between Church and Dissent; she knows a -good deal about squires and farmers; she loves the labourer. We may -safely regard her work as the continuation, and the completion, of our -subject. - -The completion, indeed, is rather intellectual than artistic. She -covers the whole ground, as none of her predecessors had attempted; she -makes the last final addition of subject by discovering, and facing, -social problems; she applies the last word in literary professionalism; -but inasmuch as her characters are more typical and more studied than -Jane Austen’s, they are, in a sense, less modern and less universal. We -may learn _more_ from her about women, and women’s opinions; but these -are the women of one age only--fast awakening, indeed, and conscious of -many troubling possibilities, but not free. - -Their chief aim is, while widening their knowledge and sympathy, -to speak with imperious accents of duty, that “stern Daughter of -the Voice of God.” Despite her assumption of masculine logic and -reasoning, itself an artistic blemish, she offers no explanation of -her categorical and materialistic, ethical dogma. The distinction -between good and evil with her is in the last resort a question of -emotional instinct, haunted by “the faltering hope that a spiritual -interpretation of the universe may be true.” It is impossible to avoid -feeling that she accords the greatest strength of character to serene -piety like that of Dinah Morris, or to Adam Bede’s conception of the -“deep, spiritual things in religion ... when feelings come into you -like a rushing, mighty wind.... His work, as you know, had always been -part of his religion, and from very early days he saw clearly that good -carpentry was God’s will.” In her heart of hearts, George Eliot, we are -certain, would have echoed Mrs. Poyser’s preference for character over -doctrine: “Mr. Irvine was like a good meal o’ victual, you were the -better for him without thinking on it; and Mr. Ryde was like a dose o’ -physic, he gripped you and worrited you, and, after all, he left you -much the same.” - -It was Mr. Irvine, you will remember, who put on his slippers before -going upstairs to his plain, invalid sister; and “whoever remembers how -many things he has declined to do even for himself, rather than have -the trouble of putting on or taking off his boots, will not think this -last detail insignificant.” It needs a woman, however, to appreciate -such a service of love. - -George Eliot, indeed, could be humorous, somewhat pedantically, and -even genial about little things, and she recognised most fully their -importance in life. But her more calculated and accumulative effects -were all tragic or subdued melancholy; partly, no doubt, from this -uncertainty of hers about faith and her passionate sense of justice, -so relentless in its demand for the punishment of sin; partly also -from that tinge of sadness which overshadows the narrow, old-fashioned -dogma by which her own childhood was moulded. Hard as she strove for -intellectual freedom, and eagerly as she proclaimed independence of -judgment, the halter of early impressions was round her neck; and it -is only by dwelling upon incidents or individuals, and ignoring the -studied main motive, that we can gain from her work any of the joy in -physical or natural beauty which should be an artist’s first care to -impart. - -Yet, after all, nature has triumphed over temperament. In reality, -for example, Dinah Morris lives for us in her tactful tenderness for -the querulous old Lisbeth, and in her yearning towards Hetty; not in -the “call,” the “leading,” and the “voices” by which her ministry was -inspired. On the other hand, we admire her dignified superiority to -masculine criticism of women’s preaching: “It isn’t for men to make -channels for God’s Spirit, as they make channels for the water-courses, -and say, ‘Flow here, but flow not there.’” - -Hetty Sorrel, again, was only adventurous through misfortune; she -belongs to the fireside. Dorothea was a hero-worshipper; Maggie -Tulliver is the ideal sister; Mary Garth the ideal helpmate. The crimes -of Rosamond Vincy, if there be no mercy in their exposure, are wholly -domestic; the sins of Janet are committed for her husband. - -It is the same with the men. Amos Barton is only a poor country -clergyman, and grey-haired Mr. Gilfil “filled his pocket with -sugar-plums for the little children.” Adam Bede “had no theories about -setting the world to rights,” and “couldn’t abide a fellow who thought -he made himself fine by being coxy to’s betters.” The Tullivers, father -and son, were, in their different ways, as fine specimens of honest -tradesmen as Bulstrode was a consummate hypocrite of the provinces. -Lydgate was no more than an exceptionally clever and cultured general -practitioner, and we fancy that Will Ladislaw was a better lover -than artist. George Eliot’s squires are typical ornaments of the -countryside; her farmers belong as permanently to one side of the -hearth as their wives to the other. Silas Marner, practising a trade -that could not “be carried on entirely without the help of the Evil -One,” since “all cleverness was in itself suspicious,” had no power of -filling his life with “movement, mental activity, and close fellowship” -outside the “narrow religious sect” in which his youth was passed. - -Nancy Osgood “actually said ‘mate’ for ‘meat,’ ‘’appen’ for ‘perhaps,’ -and ‘’oss’ for ‘horse,’ which, to young ladies living in good Lytherly -society, who habitually said ’orse, even in domestic privacy, and only -said ’appen on the right occasions, was necessarily shocking.” She -supported “a cheerful face under rough answers and unfeeling words by -the belief that ‘a man must have so much on his mind’”; and “had her -unalterable code” ready for all occasions. - -They are not an heroic company, you perceive, these sons and daughters -of a highly intellectual woman-novelist. In its more primitive -exponents their “kindness” is “of a beery and bungling sort,” their -anger is brutal and bigoted; they are not really interested in general -principles, in psychological analysis, in refined passion, or in -the future of mankind. Yet they are very serious about life, a good -deal puzzled by the apparent injustice of God, and filled with love -or hatred towards all their neighbours. In this parish, as in most, -everyone knows all about everyone else’s affairs, and finds them of -supreme interest. - -Thus George Eliot maintains the feminine attention to minutiæ; the -woman’s centralisation of Life round the family. She has acquired -knowledge, “read up” literature, and to some extent digested -philosophy; but she applies her powers, her culture, and her -training--from practice and association with professional writers--to -the amplification and rounding off of woman’s art. She established -domestic realism by the expression of feminine insight. She is content -to leave other things to other pens. The appearance of generalisations -not influenced by her sex is misleading. It is only a modern form of -the old story. Her heart, and her genius, are those of a woman, womanly. - - _Scenes of Clerical Life_, 1858. - _Adam Bede_, 1859. - _The Mill on the Floss_, 1860. - _Silas Marner_, 1861. - _Romola_, 1863. - _Felix Holt_, 1866. - _Middlemarch_, 1872. - _Daniel Deronda_, 1876. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[15] _Felix Holt_ is a possible, but not a successful, exception. - - - - -THE GREAT FOUR - - -Before completing our general conclusions as to the aim and achievement -of women’s work, it may be well to institute certain comparisons -between the four writers of genius around whom we have chronicled our -record of progress; to estimate the ground covered by their work; to -analyse their ideals, witnessing change and development. - -Although, as we have seen, all primarily domestic, if not actually -parochial, the middle-class, “set” as a subject by Richardson, -became--more or less consciously--subdivided in their hands. Fanny -Burney confined herself, almost without reserve, to studies of town -life, with an occasional digression to fashionable health resorts. -It is true that her heroines may sigh for a sylvan glade or dream of -green fields: no woman of sensibility could do less. In their minds the -country must inevitably be allied to virtue and content. But we cannot -pretend that the rural scenes of _Camilla_ are drawn from nature; and -Miss Burney was, undoubtedly, most at home in the drawing-room, at -the assembly, in the opera-house, or at the baths. Nowhere else can -we find so vivid and lifelike a picture of Society in the eighteenth -century--the dramatic contrast with “Commerce at play” recalling -_Vanity Fair_. It is here, in fact, that Miss Burney’s exceptional -personal experience gave her the enviable opportunity of drawing both -Mayfair and Holborn at first hand. She is specifically Metropolitan, -though we should not say Cockney. In her imagination there is no world -outside London, no higher ambition than notoriety about Town. - -The difference in Jane Austen’s work is almost startling. She seems -practically unaware of London; and it would be difficult to name any -group of intelligent persons so absolutely indifferent to its gaieties, -its activities, or its problems as the characters in _all_ her novels. -It may be that Lucy Steele could not so easily have caught Robert -Ferrars elsewhere; but the few Town chapters in _Sense and Sensibility_ -only illustrate our contention as a whole, since the relations between -all remain precisely the same as in the country, and practically -everyone is delighted to “get away again.” The John Knightleys and the -excellent Gardiners, indeed, live in London: but we only meet them -away from home; and, after all, the one “suggestive” comment on town -life is the “unexpected discovery” that people who “live over their -business” were able to “mix with” the County. - -Jane Austen’s familiars are all drawn from the most unpromising -circle: those who live “just outside” small towns, have just enough -to live on without working for it, are just sufficiently well-bred -to marry into “the County,” just simple enough to welcome a few -“superior” townspeople. Doctors, attorneys, and--of course--clergymen, -are included, as well as officers, naval or military, retired or -on promotion. Elizabeth’s “He is a gentleman, I am a gentleman’s -daughter,” defines the enclosure. The men, presumably, have business -to transact, affairs to arrange. They read the newspapers and talk -politics--among themselves. But Miss Austen does not concern herself -with these aspects of life. Her heroines are not so gay as Miss -Burney’s; they are not so thoroughly “in the swim.” But her picture is -similarly one of home life, varied by “visiting” and “receiving.” She -describes the distribution of one family into several--by “suitable” -marriages. One section of English society, at one period, in the home, -is completely brought to life again. - -Miss Brontë, even more thoroughly ignoring London, does not -exhaustively represent any one class, and has, indeed, little concern -with “manners.” Nevertheless, practically all her characters have -“something to do.” They follow a profession, or own a factory. -Clergymen are still largely in evidence, but education--in different -forms--has come to the front, and, what is still more significant, some -of her heroines have to work for their living. Wherefore, apart from -the increased intensity of emotion, the external atmosphere is far more -strenuous, and in Shirley we even find the dawn of a social problem, -echoes of the early struggle between Capital and Labour. The pictures -of school life, at home and abroad, do not merely reproduce facts, -but cry out for improvements. The intimate knowledge of Continental -conditions is, in itself, a new feature. - -Finally, George Eliot extends the sphere of action in many directions. -Maintaining the middle-class realism of Richardson, in her case -largely concentrated on small-town tradesmen and farmers, she still -avoids London, but embraces every “profession,” and approaches, by -expert study for “copy,” the labourers and mechanics “discovered” -by Victorian novelists. She travels lower and more widely than her -predecessors for atmosphere. She does not confine herself, like them, -to personal experience. In _Felix Holt_ she deliberately arranges -for the illustration of economic politics; in _Daniel Deronda_ she -opens a big “race” problem; in _Romola_ she essays “historical” -romance. The passionate emotional outbursts of Charlotte Brontë have -become psychological analyses; “problems” of all sorts are discussed -with philosophical composure and professional knowledge. Within her -self-imposed limits, woman has covered the field. - -For the revelation of womanhood, through the types chosen for heroines, -we find that Miss Burney still idealises a form of “sensibility,” -which does not exhibit much advance on the ethereal purity of the -old-world romance. The difference, however, is important, since -the type is studied from life, not created by the imagination. The -essential features of this quality are susceptibility to the fine -shades, delicate refinement, and an exalted ideal of love. It is itself -thoroughly romantic, and separates heroines from ordinary mortals. -Similar characteristics, if betrayed by men, may be attractive, but do -not command respect. - -Jane Austen, planting her challenge in the very title of her first -novel, extols sense. Marianne, and--more subtly, perhaps--her mother, -remain to secure our affection for a vanishing feminine grace; but, -evidently, the type cannot survive the century. For, though few writers -have actually said less about the rights of women or the problems of -sex, no one has established with more undaunted conviction the progress -to a new position. Gaily, and with well-assumed irresponsibility, -brushing aside for ever “the advantages of folly in a pretty girl,” -Jane _assumes_--with irresistible good humour--woman’s intellectual -equality in everything that really matters. Catherine Morland is -obviously a relic, conceived of parody; and Fanny Price was born at a -disadvantage. Generally speaking, her heroines judge for themselves as -a matter of course, and judge wisely. They even “judge for” the men. -Their charm arises from mental independence. - -Though to our modern notions their lives may seem empty enough, a -thousand and one touches reveal advance on the eighteenth-century -conception of “what is becoming to elegant females.” They demand -rational occupation, common-sense culture, the right to express -themselves. They fall in love at the dictate of their own hearts. They -set the standard of fidelity. It is true that Colonel Brandon’s adopted -daughter and Maria Bertram submit to convention, and that Lydia Bennet -is let off more easily because Darcy had “patched up” the affair; but -the feeling about purity is sound and clear--that is, feminine. The -“sense of sin” experienced by Jane Fairfax may be a little strained, -but we meet with no high-flown notions of self-sacrifice in Emma; -Elizabeth encourages Darcy to an explanation; and women are no longer -afraid of happiness. They have grown to recognise that their life -is in their own hands, not in those of man; that it is largely in -their own power to shape their own destiny; that they will be wise to -create their own standard of conduct, to settle their own affairs. -The ideal emerging is startlingly modern in essentials. Though the -problems confronting us to-day have not arisen, we feel that Jane -Austen’s young ladies could have faced them with equanimity, possibly -with a more balanced judgment than our own. There is a hint, indeed, -in _Mansfield Park_ that the poor woman may one day triumph over her -sisters of leisure; for are not Fanny, William, and even Susan, the -only real “comforts” to their elders? Sir Thomas “saw repeated, and -for ever repeated, reason to ... acknowledge the advantages of early -hardship and discipline and the consciousness of being born to struggle -and endure.” - -Curiously enough, Charlotte Brontë, while uttering the first feminine -protest, seems to have slipped back somewhat on this question. -Taking for text Anne Elliot’s claim that women love longer without -hope or life, she demands, even for Shirley, a male “master.” The -explanation of this attitude was partly temperament--since women of -vigorous intellect always need a flesh and blood prophet (witness -Harriet Martineau and George Eliot): and it arose partly from her -individual circumstances. The men of her family were, in different -ways, exasperatingly weak; the “strong” men of her native moorlands -were naturally domineering: her imagination was stirred, and her -mind trained, by the Belgian Professor, Monsieur Heger, who _was_ -her master--technically, and who--as we learn from independent -testimony--always took a delight in scolding his pupils. We do not, -to-day, admire the feminine footstool; nevertheless Charlotte Brontë’s -heroines have strong individual character, and are much given to -defying the world. The type will never become popular in fiction, -it is too angular intellectually, and too discontented. The quality -of physical plainness has been seldom adopted by novelists, male or -female. But in _Shirley_ Miss Brontë generously abandons many of her -favourite ideals, for _both_ heroines. The types are mixed here; and -we must feel that had circumstances encouraged a larger output, we -might be compelled to modify many of our conclusions. It remains a -fact that the authoress of _Jane Eyre_ and _Villette_ does not stand -in the direct line of progress: save that she introduces the awakening -of women to serious topics, and proves them intent not merely on -self-revelation, but on reform. Her central inspiration, however, is -passion: which no woman had hitherto handled; which few have since so -powerfully portrayed. - -It is not easy, even if possible, to summarise the more complex, and -much varied, ideals of womanhood exhibited by George Eliot. Each of -her heroines is a study from life; and, by this time, women were not -all created in one pattern. Again, we can scarcely say that she has -given us a heroine in _Adam Bede_, whereas _Middlemarch_ might claim -to offer three. Maggie Tulliver shows little resemblance to Romola. -Yet, undoubtedly, George Eliot had more conscious, and more definite, -theories on women than any of her predecessors: she deliberately set -out to expound and enforce them. - -We are tempted, however, to conclude that her favourite ideal was -self-sacrifice. Her outlook was inclined to be melancholy; and she -introduces us to that struggle between temperament and circumstances -which is the keynote of modern fiction, forming the problem novel. -In Fanny Burney and Jane Austen the heroine was simply more refined, -or more sensible, than her family; and the story was founded on this -difference. In George Eliot each heroine has her own temperament and -her own set of circumstances which create her own problem. Women are -now no longer concerned only with manners and delicacy: they have -entered into life as a whole. The central fact, which may be seen in -the earliest women-writers, is now expressed and deliberately put -forward--that their moral standard is higher than men’s, that they have -been treated unfairly by the world. Charlotte Brontë had emphasised -this protest on one question, George Eliot applies it everywhere. - -The elementary truth which the women novelists revealed (and for which -they were censured by masculine critics) was that women do fall in -love without waiting to be wooed. George Eliot develops this into a -declaration of feminine judgment on life and character. Woman is no -longer man-made, man-taught, or man-led. The door is opened for her -independence. - -Finally, it must not be forgotten that--whether intentionally or by -instinct concerned with the revelation of their own nature--the great -women-writers have been always awake to the humour of life. One says -continually that women _have_ no sense of humour; but this mistake -arises from generalisings, where the true test can only be applied by -discrimination. Nothing differs so widely between _individuals_ as -the appreciation of humour; though it is true that much masculine wit, -tending towards farce, appeals to few women. - -In our “leading ladies” (here scarcely including Charlotte Brontë) we -find peculiar power and extensive variety. Fanny Burney depends on an -eye for comedy, Jane Austen on the humorous phrase, George Eliot on the -study of wit. - -In _Evelina_ and _Cecilia_ the comic effects are mostly produced by -the sudden meeting of opposites; the gay, irresponsible exaggeration -of types; the clash of circumstances. Dickens, consciously or -unconsciously, borrowed much of his method from Fanny Burney. The -characters of each have their allotted foible, their catch phrase, -their moral label, which somehow delights and surprises us afresh, -however expected, at each repetition. Those inherently uncongenial are -forced into close contact, one exposing the other. Speaking roughly, -this is the stage manner. Could we not fancy the speakers confronted, -and imagine their expressions of mutual astonishment, there would be -little fun in them. They are not always quite so comic to our eyes as -in each other’s. Captain Mirvan needs Madame Duval as a foil; that -egregious fop Lovel is always playing up to Mrs. Selwyn; and, if Miss -Branghton does not herself see the humour of the inimitable Smith, she -brings it out. In _Cecilia_, again, the guardians produce each other; -the “Larolles” is never so happy as when expounding Mr. Meadows; Mr. -Gosport requires an audience. - -Miss Burney’s wit is the child of Society generated in a crowd; it -savours of repartee. Although spontaneous and true to life, it does not -flash out from the nature of things, but from deliberate arrangement. -It has been sought and is found. The material is well chosen. The -people are “put together” for our amusement. - -Jane Austen has used, and refined, this method--as she has adapted -everything from Miss Burney--in her earlier work. The titles--_Pride -and Prejudice_, _Sense and Sensibility_--and the ideas behind them -betray their own inspiration. Elizabeth Bennet, clearly, is _intended_ -to strike fire from Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine; Mrs. Bennet -would scarcely have seemed so funny to another husband. The “Burney” -innocence of Catherine Morland tempts Isabella to extremes in knowing -vulgarity; Mrs. Jennings cannot ruffle Lady Middleton. - -But on her own account, and in her best moments, Miss Austen is far -more subtle. Hers is an intimate humour, dependent on shades, not -contrasts, of character. Even the more boisterous figures of fun, -even Catherine’s ridiculous applications of Udolpho, are complete -in themselves, needing no foil. Miss Austen possesses a humorous -imagination, where Miss Burney could only observe. A mere list of her -quaint characters would fill a chapter, and no one of them is only -comic. They are human beings, not mere puppets set up to laugh at. -Moreover, the humour of them is derived from the polished phrase. -Generally a few words suffice, fit though few. - -Most assuredly, on the other hand, Miss Austen does not depend for -her humour upon her comic characters. To begin with, these are never -dragged in for “relief,” they “belong to” the plotting; and in the -second place, much of her most perfect satire arises from scenes -in which they have no part. We have, for example, the dialogue on -generosity between Mr. and Mrs. John Dashwood; the paragraph about -“natural folly in a beautiful girl”; Miss Bingley’s ideal for a ball; -Harriet’s “most precious treasures”; Sir Thomas Bertram’s complacent -pride in Fanny; Mary Musgrave’s anxiety about “the precedence that was -her due”; with other incidents too numerous to mention. - -The fact is that almost every sentence of Miss Austen’s is pointed with -humour; the finished phrasing of her narrative and her descriptions -are unrivalled in wit. There is no strain or distortion, no laboured -antithesis or uncouth dialect: merely the light touch, the unerring -instinct for the happy phrase. At times we can detect indignation -behind the laughter: her scorn is often most biting, she indulges -in cynicism. But, in the main, her object is plainly derisive: the -sheer joy of merriment, the consolation of meeting folly with a gay -heart. And analysis will prove that, in her opinion, hypocrisy and -pose are the sins unforgivable, the only legitimate occasion of joy -to the jester. Elizabeth may turn off her discomfiture with a joke, -but in reality she is honest, and wise enough to know that Darcy is -unassailable by reason of his good qualities. - -The attributes Miss Austen ridicules are those she seriously despises -or dislikes, however generously she often secures our affection for -their possessors. Her “figures of fun” are not wholly despicable. - -Attention has been drawn of late to a marked contrast between the -French comedy of “social gesture”--which is entirely intellectual--and -the whole-souled laughter of the English. Shakespeare’s comic “figures -are not a criticism of life--no great English literature is that. It -is a piece of life imaginatively realised. Falstaff is not judged, -he is accepted. Dogberry is not offered as a fool to be ridiculed -by his intellectual betters. We are not asked to deride him. We are -asked to become part of his folly. Falstaff appeals to the Falstaff in -ourselves. Dogberry is our common stupidity, enjoyed for the sake of -the dear fool that is part of every man. Shakespeare’s laugh includes -vice and folly in a humour which is the tolerance of Nature herself for -all her works.... English laughter lives in good fellowship.” - -Since Macaulay did not hesitate to compare Jane Austen with Shakespeare -in one matter, we may repeat his audacity here. The definition, if -definition it can be called, will surely apply to _Emma_ and _Pride -and Prejudice_. They are “_pieces of life imaginatively realised_.” We -laugh _with_ the eccentricities, not _at_ them. Properly speaking, Miss -Austen is no satirist. She can amuse us without killing emotion. - -As hinted already, Charlotte Brontë has neither humour nor wit. She -takes life most seriously; and, in attempting a comic relief, becomes -lumping or savage. The fact of her “Shirley” curates recognising, and -enjoying, their own portraits may serve to measure the limit of her -success. Such men could only enjoy the second-rate. Her satire against -charity schools and Belgian pensionnats is mere spite. - -We must pass on, therefore, to George Eliot, who certainly had wit, and -was once acclaimed very humorous. Here, as elsewhere, our authoress -appears to have gathered up the resources of her predecessors, -developed them by study and culture, dressed them up in the language -of the professional. The fact that the mechanism of her humour can -be analysed, however, must prove its limitation. It is “worked in,” -skilfully, but obviously. There is everywhere an “impression of -highly-wrought sentences which are meant to arrest the reader’s -attention and _warn him what he is to look for_ of tragedy, of humour, -of philosophy.” The humour is obviously “composed” to heighten the -tragic effect by contrast. In her earlier work, indeed, every form of -elaboration in style was but “one sign of her overmastering emotion,” -therefore “fitting and suitable”; but repetition made it tedious -and mechanical. After a time we see through “the expression of a -humorous fancy in a pedantic phrase; the reminiscence of a classical -idiom applied to some everyday triviality; the slight exaggeration of -verbiage which is to accentuate an aphorism ... moulded on the plaster -casts of the schools.” - -The fact is that humour, and even wit, flourish most happily in -uncultured fields--for there is only one George Meredith. Yet, within -her limitations, there is triumph for the genius of George Eliot. None -can deny tribute to Mrs. Poyser, or the “Aunts” in _The Mill on the -Floss_. That very severe study and applied observation, which kills -spontaneity, lent her the power to excite tears and laughter. She has -given us oddities as rugged as, and more various than, Miss Burney’s, -contrasts of manners as bustling; scenes and persons as humanly -humorous as Jane Austen’s. She combines their methods, enriching them -by dialect, antithesis, allusion, and the “study” of types. There is -humour _and_ wit in her work. - -If, as we certainly admit, both are “worked out” carefully and the -labour shows through, we must also acknowledge that she has embraced, -and extended, all the achievements of woman before her day, indicating -the powers realised and the possibilities to be accomplished. - - - - -THE WOMAN’S MAN - - -Although, as we have seen everywhere, the women novelists did so much -in lifting the veil and, so to speak, giving themselves away; they also -held up the mirror to man’s complacency, and, in a measure, enabled the -other sex to see himself as they saw him. In the process they created -a type, beloved of schoolgirls, which can only be described as the -“Woman’s Man,” and must be admitted a partial travesty on human nature. -It does not, however, reveal any less insight than much of man’s -feminine portraiture. - -Curiously enough, the earliest “Woman’s Man” in fiction was of male -origin. We all know how Richardson, having given us Clarissa, was -invited to exert his genius upon the “perfect gentleman.” But the -little printer had ever an eye on the ladies, and, whether or no of -malice prepense, drew the immaculate Sir Charles Grandison--frankly, -in every particular--not as he must have known him in real life, but -rather according to the pretty fancy of the dear creatures whose -entreaties had called into being the gallant hero. - -And, as elsewhere, Fanny Burney took up the type, refined it, and lent -an attractive subtlety to that somewhat monumental erection of the -infallible. The actual imaginings of woman are proved less wooden than -Richardson supposed them, and infinitely more like human nature. In -many things Lord Orville resembles Sir Charles. He is scarcely less -perfect, but his empire is more restricted. The chorus of admiration -granted to Grandison, and his astounding complacency, are replaced by -the unconscious revelations of innocent girlhood naturally expressing -her simple enthusiasm to the kindest of foster-parents. The peerless -Orville, indeed, is not exactly a “popular” hero. It needs a superior -mind to appreciate his superiority; and we suspect there were circles -in which he was voted a “prodigious dull fellow.” His life was not -passed in an atmosphere of worship. It is only in the heart of Evelina -that he is king. Nor can we fancy Miss Burney submitting her heroine -to the ignominy, as modern readers must judge it, of patiently and -contentedly waiting, like Harriet Byron, until such time as his -majesty should determine between the well-balanced claims of herself -and her rival to the honour of his hand. Personally, we have never been -able to satisfy ourselves whether Grandison loved Clementina more or -less than Harriet; if he was properly “in love” with either. - -It was, indeed, rather becoming so fine a gentleman to be wooed than -to woo; and the visit to Italy was, in all likelihood, actually -brought in as an afterthought, mainly designed to illustrate the power -of conscience over a good man. Anyone less perfect than Sir Charles -would be universally charged with having compromised Clementina; and -the real motive of his English “selection in wives” was to escape -the consequences of an entanglement involving difficulties about -religion and constant association with the Italian temperament. Having -thoroughly investigated the circumstances and judicially examined his -own heart, the cool-headed young man decides that he is not in honour -bound; gently but firmly severs the somewhat embarrassing connection; -and, in dignified language, communicates his decision to “the other -lady.” Humbly and gratefully she accepts his self-justification and his -love. It is obvious that no one could ever have either refused him or -questioned the dictates of his conscience. But as Jane Austen remarks, -in a very different connection, “It is a new circumstance in romance, -I acknowledge, and dreadfully derogatory of a heroine’s dignity.” No -woman writer would permit it. - -Nevertheless, in the essential qualities of heart and mind, no less -than in the heroine’s mental attitude towards their perfections, Lord -Orville and Sir Charles Grandison belong to the same order of men: made -by women for women. So far as I am aware, Miss Burney originated the -semi-paternal relationship (reappearing, with variations, in Knightley -and Henry Tilney) which certainly helped to deceive Evelina as to the -state of her heart, and has in itself a peculiar charm. There is real -delicacy, quite beyond Richardson or his Sir Charles, in Orville’s -repeated attempts to preserve Evelina from her own ignorance; to give -her (as none of her natural guardians ever attempted) some slight -knowledge of the world; protect her from insult; and advise her in -difficulty. He never intrudes or presumes; and, because, after all, -women’s first and last mission as novel-writers was the refinement of -fiction, it cannot be too often emphasised that Miss Burney was most -extraordinarily refined for her age. The very coarseness in certain -externals which she admits without protest, should serve only to -establish her own innate superiority. - -But it remains true that the essential attribute of Orville, as -of Grandison, was perfectibility. He is a very Bayard, the _preux -chevalier_, and the Sir Galahad of eighteenth-century drawing-rooms. -Neither the author, nor her heroine, would have ever imagined it -possible to criticise this prince of gentlemen. It really pained them -when persons of inferior breeding or less exalted morality occasionally -ventured to oppose his will or question his judgment. His praise, and -his love, were alike a mighty condescension; his mere notice an honour -almost greater than they could bear. - -This is the modern, civilised notion of knighthood; the personification -(in terms of everyday life) of that pure dream which has haunted, and -will ever haunt, the musings of maidenhood; the pretty fancy that one -day He, prince of fairyland, will ride into her very ordinary little -existence, acclaim her queen, and carry her away somewhere to be happy -ever after. Miss Burney translated the vision for her generation, -making it, verily, not greatly dissimilar from actual human experience. - -We shall see later how certain women of the Victorian era visualised -the same ideal. - -In the numberless remarkable signs of feminine advance between the -authoress of _Evelina_ and Jane Austen we find that this particular -attitude and ideal has almost completely vanished. The hero is no -longer quite perfect; condescension is not now his most conspicuous -virtue. The heroine, indeed, has become the one woman who ventures to -criticise him. Darcy learns quite as much from Elizabeth as she from -him. As already hinted, “Mr. Knightley” is the nearest approach in -Jane Austen to the old type. He is the only person in Highbury who -“ventured to criticise Emma”--without being sufficiently snubbed for -his pains. He is, admittedly, the personification of superiority; -though he is not very “sure of the lady.” Again the character is gently -satirised in Henry Tilney, the situation of Northanger Abbey, as we -have said above, being a more subtle parody of Evelina than of Udolpho. -The young clergyman is nearly faultless. Catherine swears by him in -everything--from theology to “sprigged muslin.” He, too, teaches her -all she ever knew about the “great world”; and guides her, without a -rival in authority, among the bewildering intricacies of men and books. - -But, in her own domain and as to her most original creations, Miss -Austen has been criticised for her occasional lack of insight towards -men. It may be true, indeed, that neither Darcy nor Knightley always -speaks, or behaves, quite like a gentlemen; which means that, like all -women, she had not an absolutely unerring instinct for the things which -are “not done.” In all probability, as men will never quite understand -women’s emotional purity, women will never fully appreciate men’s alert -sense of honour. Generally speaking, of course, the feminine standard -in all things is far higher than the masculine; and the women novelists -have done much in pulling us up to their level. But there are a few -points, which concern deeper issues than social polish, of which few -women, if any, can attain to the absolute ideal of chivalry. - -There are, of course, many more superficial aspects by which the -men in Jane Austen may be easily recognised as woman-made. We hear -comparatively little of their point of view in affairs of the -heart, with which the novels are mainly concerned, save in that most -thoughtful passage closing _Persuasion_; and we know even less of their -attitude towards ethics, citizenship, business, or social problems. -Only clergymen or sailors are shown to be even superficially concerned -with any profession in life; and this is merely because the authoress -was personally intimate with both. It is, in fact, an infallible -instinct for her own limitations which saved her from more obvious -failure as a portrait-painter of men. Man at the tea-table is her -chosen theme; and this too is a work which could not have been safely -entrusted to any male pen. - -The Brontës, on the other hand, exhibit a startlingly original -and unexpected revival of the early type, in the central feature -of its conception. Here once more the hero is most emphatically -“the master”--of body and soul. Jane Eyre, we remember, loved--and -served--her “employer”; Lucy Snowe and Shirley their “teachers.” There -are, probably, no more arrogant males in fiction than these gentlemen; -no more enslaved female worshippers. Yet the combination is totally -unlike the Richardson-Burney brand. To begin with, the dominant, -and domineering, hero is represented in each case as almost, if not -quite, unique; not as the man normal. Nor are we called upon to admire -without qualification. There is nothing ideal about Rochester, Monsieur -Heger, Paul Emmanuel, or Louis Moore. The Brontë heroines did not at -all admire perfection in man, and they abominated good looks. Nor were -they, on the other hand, in the least humble by nature, generally -yielding and clinging, or ever grateful for guidance and information. -They had no patience and very little respect for the genus Homo. - -There is, indeed, a touch of melodrama in the sharp contrast exhibited -between their proud prickliness towards mankind and their idolatry -of The Man. Few women have written more bitterly of our idle vanity, -our heartless neglect and supreme selfishness, our blind folly, and -our indifference to moral standards. None has spoken with more biting -emphasis of woman’s natural superiority, or of the grinding tyranny -which, for so many generations, she is herein shown to have stupidly -endured. Yet Charlotte Brontë has declared, without qualification and -more frankly than any of her sisters, that no woman can really love a -man incapable of mastery; that she is ever longing for the whip. - -To assert herself, to demand liberty or even equality, is uncongenial; -and the aggressive attitude is only adopted as a duty, undertaken -for the weaker sister from a passionate instinct for justice and an -intolerance of sham. There were two things Charlotte Brontë hated: -a handsome man and a deceitful woman. But hate left her very weary. -It was the strain of playing prophetess that inspired her taste for -“doormats.” - -Obviously, the conception of a Hero thus evolved is essentially -feminine. The most complacently conservative among us, however -intolerant of the fine shades, could never have either conceived or -admired a Rochester. We should certainly not suppose him attractive -to any woman of character. To us he appears mere tinsel, the obvious -counterfeit and exaggeration of a type we have come to despise a little -at its best. Naturally, such men fancy that they can “do what they like -with the women”; but _we_ knew better, until the novelist confirmed the -truth of their boast. Miss Brontë, moreover, is very much farther from -our idea of a gentleman than Miss Austen. It may be doubted if men -ever like or applaud rudeness, which she apparently considers essential -to honest manliness. - -Yet, however unique in its external manifestations, and however -exaggerated in expression, the Brontë hero-recipe involves, like Miss -Burney’s, an assumption that happy marriages are achieved by meeting -mastery with submission. However diverse their conceptions of the -proper everyday balance between the sexes, both find their _ideal_ in -the absolute monarchy of Man. - -It must be always more difficult and more hazardous to determine an -author’s private point of view as her art becomes more professional and -self-conscious. George Eliot’s characters are all deliberate studies, -neither the instinctive expression of an ideal nor the unconscious -reflection of experience; and such manufactured products naturally -tend to be extensively varied, seeking to avoid repetition or even -similarity. We may, perhaps, say that George Eliot, out of her wider -experience and more scholarly training, understood men better than her -predecessors. She certainly avoided, as did Jane Austen, the specific -“Woman’s Man”; and, on the other hand, she penetrated, without losing -her way, more deeply into the masculine mystery than the creator of -Messrs. Elton and Collins. - -Tom Tulliver’s whole relationship with his sister is an admirable -study in the conventional notion of a stupid man’s “superiority” to a -clever woman; but it cannot be criticised, or in any way regarded, as -a feminine conception. That provokingly worthy and obstinate young man -is perfectly true to life. There is neither mistake nor exaggeration -here. We must all feel that “this lady” knows. In marriage, Tom would -certainly have played the master to any woman “worthy of him,” but -would not thereby have become less normal or natural. If men question -or puzzle over anything in _The Mill on the Floss_, it is not Maggie’s -toleration of Tom, but her temporary infatuation for Stephen. He indeed -is something of a lady’s man, not a woman’s; but probably we may not -disown the type. To some extent, again, Adam Bede is “masterly” to -his mother, and would probably--barring accidents on which the plot -hinges--have been accepted by Hetty in the same spirit; but he is -certainly _not_ perfect, and seldom, if ever, outruns probability. - -But although George Eliot, having a wide outlook, recognises and -illustrates the tendency in man to play the master, she does not -associate it with any idea of perfection, nor does she idealise -submission in women. Yet we know that personally, though less intensely -than Charlotte Brontë, she too disliked sex-assertion, and found -comfort in what the other only desired, a large measure of intellectual -rest, by letting a man think and act for her. At all times her religion -and her philosophy were largely borrowed or reflective--for all -their assumption of independence--and every page of her life reveals -the carefully protective influence of George Henry Lewes. Only less -than any of the other chief women novelists did George Eliot permit -self-expression in her work, and the particular portraiture of man we -are here discussing was not the result of study but the exposure of -conviction. - -Finally, it was reserved for later writers, not of supreme genius, to -develop the type to its extremity. Charlotte Yonge, with her usual -superabundance of dramatis personæ, has _two_ “women’s men” in _The -Heir of Redclyffe_, and the contrast between them is most instructive. -The aggressive “perfection” of Philip, indeed, is crude enough. Miss -Yonge deliberately exaggerates his manifold virtues in order to -darken the evil within. The reader and his own conscience alone ever -realise the full force of his jealous suspicions and obstinacy in -self-justification. Guy’s faults, on the other hand, are all on the -surface; but his exalted saintliness is even more superhuman than the -other’s unerring morality. Both exemplify a feminine ideal; though -Philip has only one worshipper, her faith is unfaltering. His, indeed, -is the type that lives to hold forth, to inform, and to dogmatise. Woe -to the woman who ventures to think for herself. The power or charm of -Guy is unconscious. They love his passionate outbursts, his generous -impetuosity, his childish remorse and “sensibility.” In him, however, -there are _some_ qualities which men esteem: he was a sportsman, -adventurous, and transparently sincere. Only his final “conversion” and -the death-bed scene spoil the picture. He becomes, in the end (what -Philip had always been), the sport of feminine imagination with its -craving for perfectibility. He loses the human touch, vanishing among -the gods. - -We have the “last word” in this matter from _John Halifax, Gentleman_. -With school-girl naïveté Phineas tells us on every page that “there was -never any man like him.” His smile, his tenderness, his courage, his -independence, his tact and tyranny in the home, his quiet influence -on Capital and Labour, are certainly unique, and no less certainly -monotonous. He _understands_ everybody, and “deals with them” easily. -It costs him nothing to lead men and dominate women. Quietly and -without effort, he pursues his way--to an admiring chorus, always “the -master,” the perfect gentleman. He was dignified, attractive, and very -“particular over his daintiest of cambric and finest of lawn.” The -little waif of the opening chapters indignantly repudiated the name of -“beggar-boy”: “You mistake; I never begged in my life: I am a person of -independent property, which consists of my head and my two hands, out -of which I hope to realise a large capital some day.” And he kept his -word. - -Prompt and acute in business, of unflinching integrity, and guided -by generous understanding as to the serious labour problems of his -generation, John was one of those fine English tradesmen who effected -so much, not only towards the foundation of our commercial empire, but -towards removing the barriers between their own class and a Society -largely composed of “fox-hunting, drinking, dicing fools.” The girl who -loved him was “shocked” to hear of his being “in business,” although -her feelings quickly developed to proud worship. - -It is here, indeed, that Mrs. Craik reveals most power. Towards the -“world”--his equals, his “men,” or his “superiors”--John Halifax is -the true gentleman, and a splendid specimen of manhood. He has rare -dignity, shrewd insight, and ready command of language. The scene of -his “drawing-room” fracas with Richard Brithwood is extremely dramatic, -and gives us almost a higher opinion of the hero than any other. -Entirely free from the narrow-mindedness of the ordinary self-made man, -he almost subdues our dislike of the gentle despotism which he assumes -towards wife and family. The complacent masculinity is exaggerated by -the author’s persistence in keeping him to the centre of the picture; -and we are disposed to believe that it might have been less open to -criticism if expressed, as well as conceived, by a woman. Phineas -Fletcher, the fictional Ego, has some charm; but he is absolutely -feminine, if not womanish, and the Jonathan-David attitude of every -page becomes wearisome by repetition. There is no doubt that this -perpetual enthusiasm of one man for another offends our taste, and -has a tendency to make both a little ridiculous. John has a positive -weakness for perfection, and we should observe the fact with more -pleasure if it were less frequently “explained.” - -Here the man creates his surroundings or sets the tone, presumably -exemplifying the author’s ideal. He is singularly pure-minded, -preposterously domestic, and very confident about the natural supremacy -of man. It is the immense amount of tender detail, the infinite number -of soft touches which convict the author of femininity. Her hero, -however, is no knight of romance, no Bayard of the drawing-room, no -love-lorn youth of dreams, no “fine gentleman,” the mate of a girl’s -sensibility. He is not all soul and heart. He is of tougher fibre in -groundwork (despite his “halo”), and primarily practical. Concerned -externally with such tough problems as trade depression, the “bread -riots,” and the introduction of machinery, he is more often placed -before us as lover, husband, father, and friend. Frank and decisive, -he has remarkable self-control, and remains ideally simple. He has -no doubts about sin and goodness, indifference or faith. We should -be tempted to say that he spent his life in the nursery, though -sometimes, indeed, the view of the nursery is not unworthy of our -attention: - - “I delighted to see dancing. Dancing, such as it was then, when young - people moved breezily and lightly, as if they loved it; skimming - like swallows down the long line of the Triumph--gracefully winding - in and out through the graceful country-dance--lively always, but - always decorous. In those days people did not think it necessary to - the pleasures of dancing that any stranger should have the liberty to - snatch a shy, innocent girl round the waist, and whirl her about in - mad waltz or awkward polka, till she stops, giddy and breathless, with - burning cheek and tossed hair, looking--as I would not have liked to - see our pretty Maud look.” - -Most of us, I fancy, would think better of John without Phineas at his -elbow, if he were less supremely self-conscious, less given to that -analysis of his own acts and emotions which is essentially feminine. -But Mrs. Craik will not let her hero alone. She thrusts him upon us -without mercy, till we are driven to cry “halt.” We are convinced that -no human being could comfortably carry about with him so heavy a burden -of perfectibility. He is (as women have often fancied us) not what we -are but what she would have us be; and here, as elsewhere, even the -Ideal does not please man. - - - - -PERSONALITIES - - -All art is the expression of an individuality, and environment has -some influence on genius. Without question _Evelina_ and _Cecilia_ owe -much to the accidents of Miss Burney’s own experience. Hers, indeed, -was an eventful, almost romantic, life. To-day we only remember Dr. -Burney as the father of Fanny; but he was a man of mark in his own -generation, and his industrious enthusiasm was obviously infectious. -Fanny was not early distinguished among his clever children, and we -must conclude that she had something of that delicate refinement -granted her heroines, making her rather shy and diffident among the -mixed gatherings in which he took such pride and delight. As one of -her sisters remarked, this lack of self-confidence gave her at times -the appearance of hauteur; and it is quite obvious that no suspicions -could have been aroused in any of them of her capacity for “taking -notes.” Hers was always the quiet corner where “the old lady,” as -they called her at home, could observe the quality, occasionally -join in a spirited conversation, and--after her own fashion--enjoy -“the diversions.” Her characteristics, says fourteen-year-old Susan, -“seem to be sense, sensibility, and bashfulness, even to prudery.” It -would be kinder, perhaps, to credit her with modesty such as we find -expressed in her own account of _Evelina; or, A Young Lady’s Entrance -into the World_: - - “Perhaps this may seem rather a bold attempt and title for a female - whose knowledge of the world is very confined, and whose inclinations, - as well as situation, incline her to a private and domestic life. All - I can urge is, that I have only presumed to trace the accidents and - adventures to which a ‘young woman’ is liable; I have not pretended to - shew the world what it actually is, but what it _appears_ to a young - girl of seventeen: and so far as that, surely any girl who is past - seventeen may safely do? The motto of my excuse shall be taken from - Pope’s _Temple of Fame_: - - ‘In every work, regard the author’s end; - None e’er can compass more than they intend.’” - -How far she had actually experienced adventures, or at least met -characters, similar to those of her novel, her entertaining Diaries -most abundantly illustrate. One is almost ashamed before the enthusiasm -which, between domesticities considered becoming a lady, secretarial -work for Dr. Burney, and voluminous letters to her faithful friend -Daddy Crisp, the authoress accomplished so much in so comparatively -short a period. - -For she had not only to “scribble” _Evelina_, but to copy it all out in -a feigned upright hand. It was natural enough that Lowndes, bookseller, -should have refused to publish without the whole manuscript, but -equally natural that she should complain: - - “This man, knowing nothing of my situation, supposed, in all - probability, that I could sit quietly at my bureau, and write on with - expedition and ease, till the work was finished. But so different - was the case, that I had hardly time to write half a page a day; - and neither my health nor inclination would allow me to continue my - _nocturnal_ scribbling for so long a time, as to write first, and then - copy, a whole volume. I was therefore obliged to give the attempt and - affair entirely over for the present.” - -Genius, of course, would not be stifled; and, in the end, she completed -her work within the year, gaily accepting the payment of £20 down for -the copyright, to which the publisher added £10 when its success was -assured by a sale of 2300 copies during 1778. - -Frances Burney became immediately the pet of Society. The diaries -of this period are crowded with records of flattery which may seem -extravagant, if not ludicrous, to modern reticence; and she has been -criticised for repeating them. Yet for us it is fortunate that there -were “two or three persons,” for whom her diaries were written, “to -whom her fame gave the purest and most exquisite delight.” They have -become history, and, as Macaulay remarks, “nothing can be more unjust -than to confound these outpourings of a kind heart, sure of perfect -sympathy, with the egotism of a blue-stocking who prates to all who -come near her about her own novel or her own volume of sonnets.” - -The fact is that, by a comparison with the Early Diaries, we may feel -confident that Miss Burney was never spoilt by popularity. Inevitably -she came out of the shade, talked more as she was more often singled -out for compliments or conversation; but there is no appearance -of conceit, and little increase in self-confidence. The youthful -simplicity of her work remains her prevailing characteristic; and the -slight maturity of _Cecilia_, not always an advantage, is obviously no -more than a desire to please. It is not her own sense of dignity in -authorship, but the pride of Crisp and the affection of Dr. Johnson -which stimulates the effort. Always “instinct with the proprieties and -the delicacies implanted by careful guardians,”[16] it was her business -to “describe the world as it seems to a woman utterly preoccupied with -the thought of how she seems to the world,” to picture man “simply -and solely as a member of a family.” One recognises the limit and -single-mindedness of her aim, in her reason for abandoning drama. -She found she could not “preserve spirit and salt, and yet keep up -delicacy.” - -We are all familiar enough to-day with the cruelty of the reward by -which foolish persons thought to acknowledge her prowess. The five -years’ imprisonment at Court, though it could not ultimately tame her -spirit, brought about temporary physical wreck, and seems to have -lulled for ever the desire for literary fame. We have endeavoured to -show, in an earlier chapter, that _Camilla_ is not entirely without -significance; but there can be no question that after her marriage she -wrote only for money, and, if not without individuality, yet, as it -were, to order and by rule. - -We are concerned here only with her earlier years, when she was the -replica of her own heroines. - -The real character of Miss Austen almost defies analysis. Contemporary -evidence, of any discrimination, is practically non-existent; her life -presents no outstanding adventure; and it is very dangerous to assume -identity between any expression in the novels and her experience or -opinion. As a matter of fact, she never even states a truth, exhibits -an emotion, or judges a case except by implication. Even the apparent -generalisations or author’s comments on life are really attuned to the -atmosphere of the particular novel in which they appear. - -“It is a truth universally acknowledged,” we read, “that a single -man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.” Miss -Austen knows better. She is perfectly aware of the perverseness often -exhibited by wealthy bachelors. The sentence is no more than a most -ingenious stroke of art. It plunges us at once into the atmosphere -of Meryton and the subject of the tale. It betrays Mrs. Bennet and, -in a lesser degree, Lady Lucas. It prepares us for her vulgarity, at -once distressing, and elevating by contrast, the refinement of Jane -and Elizabeth. Never surely did a novel open with a paragraph so -suggestive. Again, the first page of _Mansfield Park_ contains a phrase -of similar significance. The author remarks: “There certainly are not -so many men of large fortune in the world as there are pretty women -to deserve them.” Again, she is not speaking in her own person. Lady -Bertram felt this--so far as she ever formed an opinion for herself. -Mrs. Norris and Mrs. Price had personal experience of its truth. The -subtle irony reveals _their_ point of view, not Miss Austen’s. - -It requires, of course, no particular subtlety to trace from her novels -the type of character she approves and loves best, her general standard -of manners and conduct, and her scorn for hypocrisy. We have even -hazarded to affirm evidence for her opinions on one or two questions of -more importance. But they do _not_ reveal her personality in detail; -and to say, with her nephew, that she possessed all the charms of all -her heroines, would be to make her inhuman. - -There is, in fact, an undiscriminating conventionality about such -descriptions as we possess which gives us no real information. We are -told, for example, that - - “her carriage and deportment were quiet, yet graceful. Her features - were separately good. Their assemblage produced an unrivalled - expression of that cheerfulness, sensibility, and benevolence - which were her real characteristics. Her complexion was of the - finest texture. It might with truth be said that her eloquent blood - spoke through her modest cheek. Her voice was extremely sweet. She - delivered herself with fluency and precision. Indeed, she was formed - for elegant and rational society, excelling in conversation as much - as in composition. In the present age it is hazardous to mention - accomplishments. Our authoress would, probably, have been inferior - to few in such acquirements had she not been so superior to most in - higher things.” - -It would seem as if the writer were really intent on describing -perfection. - -And _yet_, we are convinced personally that Miss Austen had a peculiar -charm of her own. Undoubtedly she lived among persons as empty-headed -as those she has immortalised; probably she had met Mrs. Norris, -Mr. Elton, and Mr. Collins: apparently she was happy. No doubt her -devotion to Cassandra (suggesting her partiality for sister-heroines) -counted for much; and all her family were agreeable. They had a good -deal of “sense.” Her life provided even less variety of incident than -she discovered at Longbourn or Uppercross; and, if she was fond of -reading, she knew nothing about literature. Her letters do not suggest -the uneasiness attached to the possession of a soul--as we moderns -understand it. - -Yet one point merits attention and may partially reveal. There can -be no question that the very breath of her art is satire, and she is -at times even cynical. Yet the one thing we know positively of her -private life is that she was a favourite aunt, a devoted sister, a -sympathetic daughter. Now the child-lover, beloved of children, must -possess certain qualities, which prove that her cynicism was not -ingrained, misanthropic, or pessimistic; that her pleasure in fun was -neither ill-natured nor unsympathetic. There must have been strength -of character in two directions not often united. Her life was, in a -measure, isolated--from superiority. She gave more than she received. -Nor can we believe her entirely unaware of what life might have yielded -her in more equal companionship; entirely without bitterness--for -example--in the invention of Mrs. Norris. There can be no question, -we think, that life never awakened the real Jane Austen. She lived -absolutely in, and for, her art, of which the delight to her was -supreme. Yet family tradition declares, with obvious truth, that her -genius never tempted her to arrogance, affectation, or selfishness. -She worked in the family sitting-room, writing on slips of paper that -could immediately, without bustle or parade, be slipped _inside_ her -desk at the call of friendship or courtesy. At any moment she suffered -interruption without protest. The absolute self-command so obvious in -the work governed her life. - -But we have always believed that one passage in _Pride and Prejudice_ -does give us a suggestive glimpse--again only by implication--of very -real autobiography: - - “‘You are a great deal too apt,’ says Eliza to Jane Bennet, ‘to like - people in general. You never see a fault in anybody. All the world - are good and agreeable in your eyes. I never heard you speak ill of a - human being in my life.’ - - “‘I would not wish to be hasty in censuring anyone,’ answers Jane, - ‘but I always speak what I think.’ - - “‘I know you do, and it is _that_ which makes the wonder. With _your_ - good sense, to be so honestly blind to the follies and nonsense - of others. Affectation of candour is common enough--one meets it - everywhere. But to be candid without ostentation or design--to take - the good of everybody’s character and make it still better, and say - nothing of the bad--belongs to you alone.’” - -This is, we like to fancy, a portrait of her own sister, Cassandra. -Jane Austen herself was _not_ “a great deal too apt to like people in -general,” though she too could be marvellously tender with Marianne -Dashwood, most “silly” of heroines, and her still more ridiculous -mother. It is certain, indeed, that she never neglected even the most -tiresome “neighbours,” but she did not love them. There is evidence -enough in _Persuasion_ that she could sympathise with deep feelings, -which were necessarily suppressed in such surroundings as she gives all -her heroines, and had experienced herself. - -Her reverend father, “the handsome proctor,” like most clergymen of his -generation, was essentially a country gentleman, not very much better -educated, and scarcely more strenuous, than his neighbours. His wife -took a simple and honest pride in the management of her household; -and his sons followed their father’s footsteps, entered the navy, -or pursued whatever other profession they could most _conveniently_ -enter. The whole atmosphere of the vicarage was complacently material -and old-fashioned, where the ideas of progress filtered slowly and -discontent was far from being considered divine. The personal aloofness -from characters delineated, so conspicuous in her art, was borrowed -from life. Everywhere, and always, the real Jane stood aside. - -Nor were there granted her any of the consolations of culture. We have -no doubt that she received no more education than might be acquired at -Mrs. Goddard’s: - - “A school, not a seminary, or an establishment, or anything which - professed, in long sentences of refined nonsense, to combine liberal - acquirements with elegant morality, upon new principles and new - systems--and where young ladies, for enormous pay, might be screwed - out of health and into vanity--but a real, honest, old-fashioned - boarding-school, where a reasonable quantity of accomplishments were - sold at a reasonable price, and where girls might be sent out of the - way and scramble themselves into a little education, without any - danger of coming back prodigies.” - -It needed, perhaps, some such unromantic, unruffled, and unvaried -existence, with a mind perfectly composed, to produce those six -flawless works of art which remain for us the most complete -expression of good sense, the most complete triumph over the fanciful -exaggerations of romance. Genius alone could adjust the balance with -such nicety and leave us content. She forces us, by sheer wit and -sympathy, to love and admire the very persons of all time and place who -have in themselves least to interest or attract. - -The character of Charlotte Brontë, like her work, brings us at once -into a new atmosphere. All here is emotionally strenuous, if not -melodramatic. The bleak parsonage, the stern widowed father, the -vicious son, the three wonderful sisters: around and about them the -mysteries of _Wuthering Heights_. The picture of those lonely girls, -all the world to each other and nothing to the world, dreaming and -scribbling in the cold, without sympathy and without guidance, is -stamped for ever on our imagination. We know something, moreover, from -_Jane Eyre_, about their cruel experience of schooldays, something, -from _Agnes Grey_, about their noble efforts at independence. Finally, -we have studied and talked over “the Secret”--supposed to reconcile -work and life. As to the main outlines of temperament, at any rate, -there can be no question. - -Charlotte Brontë’s experience of life was strictly limited: she had -little interest about the trivialities of the tea-table. But she -observed keenly, had a tenacious memory, and felt with intensity. -Without hardness or conceit, she was entirely self-centred: there is no -aloofness about her work: it centres passionately around the heroine, -reflecting her own emotional outlook. She took life seriously, like -her heroines: acutely sensitive to words and looks; caring nothing for -what did not personally affect her. No doubt there is something Irish, -something too of the grim moorlands, in that mysterious instinct which -fired Charlotte, and her sisters, to their perpetual questionings of -Providence, their burning protests against the harshness and hypocrisy -of the world. Circumstances stifle them and they must speak. Speaking, -they must strike. - -Charlotte Brontë, indeed, lived almost as much aside from the world -as Jane Austen. But Haworth was not Stevenage: the Rev. Patrick was -certainly not a “handsome proctor,” and Bramwell could never have risen -in “the Service.” It was in nature, however, that the contrast is most -marked. The author of _Jane Eyre_, however shy and unsociable, was -not content to stand aloof and look on. With little enough experience -of actualities, she was for ever _making life_ for herself, sending -that plain, visionary, eager, and sensitive ego of hers out into the -world; and uttering with fiery eloquence her comments on what she -imagined herself to have done and seen. Until recently, indeed, we have -supposed that even the heart of her work, that passionate devotion -which she was the first of women to reveal, was entirely imaginative, -an _invention_ created without guidance from personal experience. -Now evidence has been published which scarcely permits doubt; that -whereas, obviously, her pupil-teacherdom at Brussels widened her -social outlook, it also awoke her heart. Charlotte Brontë, evidently, -fell in love with the “Professor” at the Pensionnat Heger; and thus -gained the memory of passion. But it may be reasonably questioned, -after all, whether the experience did much for her art. Since Monsieur -Heger, no less certainly, did not return her love, and seldom even -answered her letters, he could not have taught her the mysteries; and -as, like her heroines, she was fatally addicted to exaggeration--in -love or hate--it is not probable that her heroes--or ideal men--bear -any very real likeness to him in character. After all, she practically -“invented” him, as independent witnesses have established; and the -accident of her idealisations centring about a living man is not -particularly significant. Her attitude, and that of her heroines, -towards mankind in general, and towards “the man” in particular, is -really woven out of a strong imagination: and the essence of her being -remains a dreamer’s. _Jane Eyre_ and _Villette_ are, transparently, -the work of one who created her own world for herself only; and we -need not modify this impression from any letters of hers ever printed -or written. Emotionally she was nourished on her own thoughts; and, -in her case, we may read them fearlessly in her work. It was not her -nature to suppress, or conceal, anything. _She has put herself on -record._ Here lies the essential difference between her work and Miss -Burney’s or Jane Austen’s. While they reflected, with almost unruffled -enjoyment, the surface of life, she tore off the wrappings and revealed -a Soul. That, too, was of her very self. She had missed everything that -mattered. It was at once her consolation and her revenge to project -herself into the heart of life, and tell the tale. - -The character and experience of George Eliot is far more complex, like -her achievement, than that of those who preceded her. Like them, bred -in retirement, though among more strenuous surroundings, her youth -gave her also much insight into what life means to “small” people. But -there was a strong religious atmosphere around her, accident gave her -the early control of affairs, and her education--of a later date--was -more thorough. Then came the stirring of doubt, from associations with -sceptics; the professional training from practical journalism; and the -“problem” evoked by her friendship with George Henry Lewes. Life was -training her for modern work. - -The intense seriousness, the active conscience of primitive faith, -remained always with her, influencing characterisation. But it was -the wider teachings of philosophy, the later experiences, and the -conscious desire after advance that made her didactic. Her letters -reveal an unexpected sentimentalism and an intense craving for personal -affection; her teachings are all interpreted by what she has read, or -inspired by men she has met; but they are in touch with real life and -directed by real thought. It was her personal experience and character -which enabled George Eliot to combine the “manners” comedy of Fanny -Burney and Jane Austen with Miss Brontë’s moral campaign; to weld the -message of woman into modernity. - -She was, however, before all things, a professional student of -humanity. Though she actually commenced novelist at a comparatively -advanced age, the previous years, and every item of character, had -been a training for this work. She observed with accuracy, remembered -without effort, and studiously cultivated her natural literary -powers. Emotionally and intellectually she got the most out of life; -never, perhaps, quite letting herself go, but keenly alive to every -impression, on the alert for experience and information. It was not in -her ever to let things alone. - -Such a temperament, of course, does not produce either spontaneous fun, -sleepless humour, or unbridled self-torment; but it acquires the power -of responding to all human difficulties, understanding the “problem” of -life, and sympathising in its beauty and joy. George Eliot was always -pondering about truth, considering the remedies for evil, looking -forward towards progress. Her own experience was utilised freely, with -an instinct for dramatic effect, but it is not the whole body of her -work. That was a deliberately composed art, put out as an instrument -for a given purpose, studied and ornamented. But while thus nurtured -and apart, it is also the expression of herself, the sum of her being. -Therein, like an actress, she plays many parts, putting on the mood of -each new story and living in it. - -She is, in fact, a typical woman of letters, as we now understand the -term, with all the excellences and all the limitations of even the -greatest among us. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[16] Her stepmother. - - - - -CONCLUSION - - -We find, in the main, that women developed--and perfected--the domestic -novel. They made circulating libraries respectable, establishing the -right, and the power, of women to write fiction. - -They carried on the traditions of Richardson and Fielding by choosing -the middle-class for subject, at first confining themselves to Society -and the County, but extending--with George Eliot--to all “Professions,” -and to a study of the poor. They made novels a reflection, and a -criticism, of life. - -It seems curious that, with the possible exception of Charlotte Brontë, -women were all stern realists: while even her imaginativeness can -scarcely be called romantic. The fact is, probably, that the heroes -and heroines of romance were mainly conceived for young ladies, and -popularly supposed to represent their ideal. Wherefore, when women -began to express themselves, they--more or less consciously--set out -to expose this fallacy: to prove that they could enjoy and face real -life. No school of writers, indeed, has more fearlessly or more -persistently created their characters from flesh and blood than the -school represented by Jane Austen and George Eliot. None has dwelt more -persistently on the trivial details of everyday life, the conquests of -observation. Whether concerned, like Miss Burney, with the Comedy of -Manners; or, like George Eliot, with the Analysis of Soul; they have -one and all found their inspiration in human nature. And, in reality, -this was the main progress achieved in fiction between Richardson and -the nineteenth century--the growth on which the true modern novel was -built up. Critics, indeed, have treated the “romance” and the “novel” -as independent entities; and if we limit the term romance to work -preceding _Pamela_, we may accept their dictum. There is an essential -difference between “making up” characters from a pseudo-ideal of the -possibilities in human nature, and reflecting life. The old system, no -doubt, was unhealthy in two ways: The ideals not well-chosen, being -composed by high-flown exaggeration; and they were so mingled with -actuality as to deceive the young person. For that matter the complaint -is still living that girls and boys continually fancy real life will -prove “just like a novel.” It does not, of course, differ greatly -from those of Jane Austen or George Eliot. The former, in fact, was -accused--in her own day--of setting too high a price on “prudence” in -matrimony; and the latter of encouraging a gloomy outlook. - -Obviously realism, as here applied, has no connection with that -Continental variety of the art which has more recently usurped the -name. Women-writers, of this era, had not developed the cult of -Ugliness, they did not confound painting with photography, they did not -busy themselves with the morbid or the abnormal. Their works are not -documents, but revelations. They dwell on manners, without ignoring -their spiritual significance. To-day we have some use for the new -realism, while dreading its predominance. They had none. - -In enumerating the classes, or types, of humanity with whom the -women-writers were mainly concerned, we were witnessing, of course, -the allied progress of history. It was during the second half of the -eighteenth, and the first of the nineteenth, centuries that the great -English middle-class steadily grew in power and importance, boldly -educating itself for influence,--before labour was heard in the land. - -Fanny Burney has given us the “classes” at play; we fancy that Jane -Austen, betraying their empty-mindedness, must have longed for, if she -did not actually anticipate, better things; Charlotte Brontë utters -the first protest, indicating a struggle for existence; George Eliot -finds them busy about the meaning of life and its possibilities. Thus, -finally, we read of real workers--men and women with the world at their -feet, building an Empire, facing problems, questioning the gods. - -And, in their own particular sphere,--the revelation of Woman,--we -have seen already the same advance. Each of them gives us, for -her own generation, a “new woman”; creating, by the revelation of -possibilities, an actual type. By teaching us what was “going on” _in -women_, they taught women to be themselves. They opened the doors of -Liberty towards Progress. - -Minor achievements, on the other hand, were mostly directed towards -the extension of subject matter, and the provision of new channels -for fiction. Mrs. Radcliffe--who stood aside from the line of -advance--established the School of Terror, applying romance methods to -melodrama, with more power than we can find elsewhere in English. Maria -Edgeworth introduced the story for children, which was not a tract, -but the literary answer to “Tell me a story,” the exploitation of -nursery tales told by mothers from time immemorial. This was developed -by Harriet Martineau and Charlotte Yonge, bearing fruit later in -libraries of most varied achievement. As we all know, there have been -several works of genius written expressly for children (as were not the -_Pilgrim’s Progress_, _Robinson Crusoe_, and _Gulliver’s Travels_); -innumerable delightful stories of a similar nature, and much inferior -work. - -The earlier women-writers set an excellent example in this field, if -they retained overmuch moralising. They gave us a few nursery classics -which show practical insight into the child’s mind, and the gift of -holding his interest by healthy wonder. We need only compare _Sandford -and Merton_ with _Frank_ to recognise their peculiar fitness for such -work. - -The invention (by Mrs. Craik) of the “novel for the young person” -is an allied achievement. It was developed by Charlotte Yonge, and -has been always a legitimate province for women. Its dangers are -over-sentimentalism (kin to Romance proper) and the idealism of the -Woman’s Man. Mrs. Craik gave us one type in _John Halifax, Gentleman_; -there are two in Miss Yonge’s _Heir of Redclyffe_. - -It must be noted further that Harriet Martineau exploited philanthropy, -and introduced the didactic element developed by George Eliot. Most -women are born preachers--even Jane Austen occasionally points a -moral--and this characteristic became prevalent early in their work. It -was employed sometimes in the defence, or the exposure, of particular -religious tenets; at others, on questions of pure ethics. There is -a sense, of course, in which every story of life must carry its own -moral; but George Eliot and most of the minor novelists obtrude this -matter. In many cases the lesson is the motive, which is false art. -However, the “novel with a purpose” clearly has come to stay. It -outlived the period with which we are concerned, and is still vital. -Speaking generally, the earlier women novelists contented themselves -with raising the standard of domestic morality, upholding the family, -and hinting at _one_ ideal for the _two_ sexes. George Eliot, indeed, -went into individual cases with much detail; but we note in all that -their pet abomination is hypocrisy and cant. - -Finally, and most important of all in outside influence, Maria -Edgeworth invented the “national” novel--developed by Susan Ferrier -and Mrs. Oliphant. We have noted already that in banishing the stage -Irishman Miss Edgeworth inspired _Waverley_; and the list of more -recent examples (sprung from India, the “kailyard,” the moorlands, -and a hundred localities) would prove too formidable for passing -enumeration. Her instinctive patriotism has sprung a mine that is -practically inexhaustible and has given us much of our best work. The -“Hardy” country and all “local colour” are similarly inspired. It is -not too much to say that in this matter Miss Edgeworth introduced an -entirely new element, only second in importance to the revelation of -femininity, which is woman’s chief contribution to the progress of -Fiction. - -While women were thus developing English fiction, with no rival of -genius except Scott in his magnificent isolation, men had in some way -advanced from Richardson to Thackeray and Dickens. It is worth noticing -how far the two Victorian novelists showed the influence of feminine -work, in what respects they reverted to the eighteenth century, and -what new elements they introduced. - -Both are still middle-class and, in one sense, domestic realists. -Thackeray satirises Society (like Miss Burney and Jane Austen); Dickens -works on manners, expounds causes, and takes up the poor. Both caught -an enthusiasm for history from Scott, in which women did nothing of the -first importance. Thackeray capped Lady Susan with Barry Lyndon, and -Dickens produced a few overwrought washes of childhood--which women, -curiously enough, never treated in their regular novels. - -A certain resemblance in scope and arrangement has been noted already -between _Vanity Fair_ and _Evelina_; but, speaking generally, it is -obvious that Thackeray writes of Society more as a man of the world, -and with broader insight, than either Miss Burney or Miss Austen. -He not only observes, but criticises. One might say that, like all -moderns, he feels morally responsible for the world. The “manners” -which constitute the humour of Dickens are more varied and, on the -other hand, more caricatured than those of the women-writers. His fury -against social evils is more public-spirited and less specialised; his -knowledge of the poor more intimate and genuinely sympathetic. - -They have learnt, it would seem, from women to elaborate details in -observation, to depend on truthful pictures of everyday life, avoiding -romance-characterisation or the aid of adventure in the composition of -their plots. In fact, the development from Richardson’s revolution is -consecutive, taken up by the Victorians where the women left it. New -side-issues are introduced; the novel becomes more complex with the -increased activities of civilisation, and grows with the growth of the -middle classes. It is now the mouthpiece of what Commerce and Education -began to feel and express. But the _direction_ of progress is not -changed. - -So far it may fairly be said that Thackeray and Dickens have followed -the women’s lead, and bear witness to their influence. - -Yet Thackeray reverts, particularly in _Pendennis_, to the “wild-oats” -plot of Fielding; Dickens is quite innocent of artistic construction, -as perfected in Jane Austen; and neither of them seems to have -benefited at all from the extraordinary revelation of womanhood which -we have traced from its earliest source. - -Thackeray’s heroines are, one and all, obviously made by a man for men. -Amelia is a hearth-rug, with a pattern of pretty flowers. Beatrice -and Blanche are variants of the eternal flirt--as man reads her. Lady -Castlewood, Helen and Laura Pendennis are of the women who spend their -lives waiting for the right man. Ethel Newcome is a man’s dream; and we -venture to fancy that if ever a woman be born with genius to draw Becky -Sharpe, she would find _something_ to add to the picture. - -The case of Dickens is even more desperate. His “pretty housemaids,” -indeed, are “done to a turn”; and Nancy is of the immortals. He -could illustrate with melodramatic intensity certain feminine -characteristics, good or evil, tragic or comic. But all his heroines -belong to a few obvious waxwork types--the idiotic “pet” or the -fireside “angel”; the “comfort” or the prig, composed of curls, -blushes, and giggles; looks of reproach and tender advice. Possibly -Dora is rather more aggravating than Dolly Varden, Agnes is wiser than -Kate Nickleby, but they all work by machinery, with visible springs. - -It was reserved for George Meredith to understand women. - - - - -APPENDIX - -LIST OF MINOR WRITERS - -(Their dates will indicate their place in our history of development: -where they are not alluded to.) - - - MARGARET, DUCHESS OF NEWCASTLE (1624-1673), in her _CCXI Sociable - Letters_ (1664), tells an imaginary narrative by correspondence, which - she describes as “rather scenes than letters, for I have endeavoured - under cover of letters to express the humours of mankind.” Also author - of _Nature’s Pictures drawn by Fancie’s pencil_ (1656). - - FRANCES SHERIDAN.--Her _Memoirs of Miss Sydney Biddulph, extracted - from her own Journal_ (1761), made a name by its supreme melancholy. - The heroine suffers from obeying her mother, and receives no - reward. Dr. Johnson “did not know whether she had a right, on moral - principles, to make her readers suffer so much.” - - MISS CLARA REEVE (1725-1803) began to write novels at fifty-one, - and attempted in _The Old English Baron_ (1777) to compromise with - the School of Terror, by limiting herself to “the utmost _verge_ of - probability.” Her “groan” is not interesting, and Scott complains of - “a certain creeping and low line of narrative and sentiment”; adding, - however, that perhaps “to be somewhat _prosy_ is a secret mode of - securing a certain necessary degree of credulity from the hearers of a - ghost-story.” - - ANNA SEWARD (1747-1809), a florid and picturesque poetess, whose - verse-novel _Louisa_ was valued in her day. She has a place in Scott’s - _Lives of the Novelists_. - - CHARLOTTE SMITH (1749-1806).--Her _The Old Manor House_ reveals - independent, and novel, appreciation of scenery, illustrated by an - unobtrusive familiarity with natural history. Her plots “bear the - appearance of having been hastily run up,” but her characterisation is - vigorous. There is a “tone of melancholy” throughout. - - HARRIET (1766-1851) and SOPHIA (1750-1824) LEE wrote some of the - earliest historical novels--_The Recess; or, A Tale of other Times_ - (1783), introducing Queen Elizabeth and the “coarse virulence that - marks her manners,” and the _Canterbury Tales_, from which Byron - borrowed. - - MRS. BENNET, whose _Anna; or, The Memoirs of a Welsh Heiress_ (1785) - is a bad imitation of Miss Burney, “with a catchpenny interspersion.” - - REGINA MARIA ROCHE, author of the once popular _The Children of the - Abbey_ (1798). Richardson, diluted with Mackenzie--in “elegant” - language. - - MRS. OPIE (1769-1853).--One of her best stories, _Adeline Mowbray; or, - The Mother and Daughter_ (1804), is partially founded on the life of - Godwin, and shows the influence of his theories. - - JANE PORTER (1776-1850), author of _Thaddeus of Warsaw_ and _The - Scottish Chiefs_, who claimed unjustly to have “invented” the - historical romance, _copied_ by Scott. Very famous in her day. - - Also ANNA MARIA PORTER (1780-1832), author of _Don Sebastian_. - - MRS. BRUNTON (1778-1818), author of the excellent _Self-Control_ - (1811) and _Discipline_ (1814), which were overshadowed by Susan - Ferrier. Lacking humour, her morality becomes tiresome, but she could - draw living characters. The Highland experiences of her heroine, - who, after marrying a minister, retained “a little of her coquettish - sauciness,” are significant for their date. - - LADY MORGAN (1783-1859), as Miss Sydney Owenson, published _Wild Irish - Girl_ (1806), which is a fairly spirited réchauffé of all things - Celtic. Thackeray found here the name Glorvina, meaning “sweet voice.” - - HENRIETTA MOSSE (otherwise Rouvière), whose _A Peep at our Ancestors_ - (1807) and other novels have been described as “blocks of spiritless - and commonplace historic narrative.” - - ANNA ELIZABETH BRAY (1789-1883), author of _The Protestant_, various - competent historical romances, and “local novels.” - - MRS. SHERWOOD, an evangelical propagandist, who naïvely enforced her - views in _The Fairchild Family_ (1818) and _Little Henry and his - Bearer_. - - ELIZABETH SEWELL set the style of High-Church propaganda, developed - by Miss Yonge. Her chief tales, _Gertrude_ and _Amy Herbert_ (1844), - are rigidly confined to everyday life. The characters, if living, are - uninteresting; and her morals are obtrusive. - - CATHERINE GORE (1799-1861), author of over seventy tales; and, in her - own day, “the leader in the novel of fashion.” - - LADY G. FULLERTON (1812-1885), author of _Emma Middleton_, who shares - with Miss Sewell the beginnings of High Church propaganda in fiction. - - ANNE CALDWELL (MRS. MARSH), one of the best writers of the “revival” - in domesticity. Her _Emilia Wyndham_ (1846) was unfairly described as - the “book where the woman breaks her desk open with her head.” Though - contemporary with _Pendennis_, has no ease in style. - - MRS. ARCHER CLIVE (1801-1873), author of an early and well-told story - of crime, entitled _Paul Ferroll_ (1855). - - MRS. HENRY WOOD (1814-1887).--A good plot-maker, whose _East - Lynne_--both as book and play--has been phenomenally popular for many - years; though _The Channings_, and others, are better literature. - - - - -INDEX OF AUTHORS AND TITLES - - - _Abbess, The_, 146. - - _Absentee, The_, 63. - - _Adam Bede_, 191, 204, 205, 220, 235. - - _Agnes Grey_, 184, 275. - - _Atherton_, 142. - - Austen, Jane, 17, 52, 55, 66-116, 117-30, 140, 152, 155, 156, 164, - 166, 170, 172, 189, 207, 209, 211, 213, 219, 227-9, 231-3, 235, 237, - 238-42, 244, 248, 250-2, 255, 268-75, 276, 280, 283, 284, 285, 289. - - - _Barry Lyndon_, 108, 289. - - Behn, Mrs. Aphra, 2-5. - - _Beleaguered City, The_, 191. - - _Belford Regis_, 142. - - _Belinda_, 62, 130. - - Brontë, Anne, 184-6. - - -- Charlotte, 164-78, 180, 183, 185, 188, 190, 209, 210, 213, 229, - 230, 233-4, 236, 237, 252-5, 257, 275-8, 280, 282, 285. - - -- Emily, 179-84, 185. - - Burney, Fanny (Madame D’Arblay), 2, 7-53, 59, 62, 67, 68, 70, 91, - 117-30, 131, 137, 152, 155, 164, 170, 209, 211, 213, 226-7, 230-1, - 235, 237, 238, 243, 246-250, 253, 255, 263-8, 280, 283, 289. - - -- Dr., 11, 68. - - Byron, Lord, 58. - - - _Cameos of English History_, 199. - - _Camilla_, 35-53, 127, 128, 133, 226, 267. - - _Castle of Otranto_, 56. - - _Castle Rackrent_, 63. - - _Cecilia_, 13, 15, 48, 85, 118-23, 127, 128, 130, 140, 237, 238, 263, - 266. - - _Chronicles of Carlingford, The_, 191-9. - - _Clarissa_, 14, 67, 245. - - _Cœlebs in Search of a Wife_, 64. - - Crabbe, 74, 141. - - Craik, Mrs., 186-8, 189, 199, 258-62, 286, 287. - - _Cranford_, 152-62. - - _Curate-in-Charge_, 189. - - - _Daisy Chain, The_, 200-3. - - _Daniel Deronda_, 2, 217, 230. - - _David Simple_, 5. - - Day, Thomas, 60. - - _Deerbrook_, 150. - - Defoe, Daniel, 1, 7, 108. - - _Destiny_, 135, 139. - - Dickens, Charles, 289-92. - - _Domestic Manners of the Americans_, 146. - - - Edgeworth, Maria, 32, 60-3, 81, 131, 187, 286, 288. - - Eliot, George, 167, 190, 191, 199, 204-25, 229-30, 233, 235-6, 237, - 242, 243, 244, 255-57, 278-81, 282-284, 285, 287. - - _Émile_, 61. - - _Emma_, 80, 94-6, 121, 123, 242. - - _Essay on Irish Bulls_, 62. - - _Evelina_, 2, 11, 15, 18 _seq._, 66, 71, 85, 121, 123, 124, 125-6, - 129, 140, 237, 250, 263, 265. - - - _Felix Holt_, 218, 230. - - _Female Quixote_, 5. - - _Female Spectator_, 5. - - Ferrier, Susan, 131-40. - - Fielding, Henry, 5, 10, 13, 26, 30, 55, 282, 290. - - -- Sarah, 5. - - _Frank_, 61, 286. - - _Frankenstein_, 143-5. - - - Galt, John, 189. - - Gaskell, Mrs., 152-63, 165. - - Godwin, William, 143. - - Goldsmith, Oliver, 10, 14. - - _Gulliver’s Travels_, 286. - - - Hardy, Thomas, 288. - - Hazlitt, 32. - - _Heir of Redclyffe_, 257, 258. - - Heywood, Mrs., 5. - - _Hour and the Man, The_, 150. - - - Inchbald, Mrs., 59, 60. - - _Inheritance_, 135, 139. - - - _Jane Eyre_, 2, 165, 170, 172-6, 182, 234, 275, 276, 278. - - _John Halifax, Gentleman_, 187, 188, 190, 203, 258-62. - - Johnson, Dr., 11, 12, 13, 30, 52, 53, 267. - - Jonson, Ben, 30. - - - _Lady Susan_, 105-16, 128, 289. - - Lamb, Charles, 140. - - _Lances of Lynwood, The_, 199. - - Lennox, Charlotte, 5. - - _Letters to Literary Ladies_, 61. - - _Little Duke, The_, 199. - - Lockhart, John Gibson, 172-175, 182. - - - Macaulay, 6, 27, 241, 266. - - Mackenzie, Henry, 60. - - _Man of Feeling_, 59. - - Manley, Mrs., 5. - - _Mansfield Park_, 72, 96-100, 122, 124, 139, 233, 269. - - Marivaux, 67. - - _Marriage_, 135, 136, 139. - - Martineau, Harriet, 148-52, 187, 233, 286, 287. - - _Mary Barton_, 163. - - Meredith, George, 292. - - _Mill on the Floss, The_, 243, 256. - - _Miss Marjoribanks_, 192-5. - - Mitford, Mary Russell, 140-3, 207. - - _Moral Tales_, 61. - - More, Hannah, 63-5, 187. - - _Mysteries of Udolpho_, 21-23, 54-9, 134, 239, 250. - - - _Nature and Art_, 60. - - _New Atlantis, The_, 5. - - _Noctes Ambrosianæ_, 131, 142. - - North, Christopher (Prof. Wilson), 131, 142. - - _North and South_, 162. - - _Northanger Abbey_, 56, 80, 91-3, 118, 121, 125-7, 250. - - - Oliphant, Laurence, 191. - - -- Mrs., 188-99. - - _Oroonoko_, 3-5. - - _Our Village_, 140-3. - - - _Pamela_, 5, 7, 14, 67, 283. - - _Parent’s Assistant_, 61. - - _Peasant and Prince_, 150. - - _Pendennis_, 290. - - _Peregrine Pickle_, 72, 76. - - _Persuasion_, 80, 100-4, 121, 122, 252, 273. - - _Pilgrim’s Progress_, 286. - - _Playfellow Series_, 149, 150. - - Ploughman Poet, see The “Shepherd.” - - Pope, Alexander, 9, 264. - - _Practical Education_, 61. - - _Pride and Prejudice_, 85-9, 118-20, 124, 125, 127, 139, 238, 242, - 272. - - _Pursuit of Literature, The_, 55. - - - Radcliffe, Mrs., 21-23, 32, 50, 54-9, 81, 91, 118, 167, 285. - - Richardson, Samuel, 1, 5, 7, 10, 13, 16, 50, 55, 67, 72, 229, 245, - 248, 253, 282, 290. - - _Robinson Crusoe_, 286. - - _Romola_, 217, 230, 235. - - Rousseau, 3, 61. - - - _Salem Chapel_, 195-9. - - _Sandford and Merton_, 60, 286. - - Scott, Sir Walter, 59, 72, 81, 131, 132, 288. - - _Sense and Sensibility_, 2, 89-91, 122, 126, 139, 227, 238. - - Shaw, Bernard, 26. - - Shelley, Mary, 143-5. - - “Shepherd,” The (that is, James Hogg), 7, 131, 142. - - _Shirley_, 169, 170, 176-8, 234. - - _Simple Story_, 60. - - _Sir Charles Grandison_, 24, 246-9. - - _Sketch Book, The_, 140. - - Smith, Sydney, 64. - - Smollett, Tobias, 10, 13. - - Sterne, Laurence, 10, 13. - - - _Tales of Fashionable Life_, 62. - - Thackeray, W. M., 108, 112, 289-91. - - _The Tenant of Wildfell Hall_, 184. - - _Tom Jones_, 72, 76. - - Trollope, Mrs., 145-8. - - - _Vanity Fair_, 227, 289. - - _Vicar of Wrexhill, The_, 146. - - _Villette_, 165, 168, 169, 170, 176, 234, 278. - - - Walpole, Horace, 56, 57. - - _Wanderer, The_, 127. - - _Waverley_, 72. - - Whately, Archbishop, 80, 81. - - _Wives and Daughters_, 162. - - _Wuthering Heights_, 179-84, 275. - - - Yonge, Charlotte M., 199-203, 257, 258, 286, 287. - - -PRINTED BY MORRISON AND GIBB LTD., EDINBURGH - - - - -Transcriber’s Notes - -Errors in punctuation have been fixed. - -Page 14: “That mar-marvellous” changed to “That marvellous” - -Page 139: “Aunts in _Marrriage_” changed to “Aunts in _Marriage_” - -Page 274: “Mrs. Goodard’s” changed to “Mrs. Goddard’s” and “when young -ladies” changed to “where young ladies” - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WOMEN NOVELISTS *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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