Jane Austen and Her Times

by G. E. Mitton

Altogether, with the freedom from care for the future, the companionship of her sister, the increased health and energy of her mother, the solace of her writing, the comings and goings of the Chawton party, and the occasional visits to London and elsewhere, to give her fresh ideas, Jane’s life must have been as pleasant as external circumstances could make it. We can picture her sauntering out in the early summer sunshine, her head demurely encased in the inevitable cap, while the long stray curl tickles her cheek as she stoops to see the buds bursting into bloom or triumphantly gathers the earliest rose. We can picture her standing about watching Mrs. Austen feeding the chickens, and giving her opinion as to their management. Then going in to the little parlour, or living-room, and sitting down to the piano while Cassandra manipulated an old-fashioned tambour frame. In this little parlour, in spite of frequent interruptions, Jane did all her writing sitting at the big heavy mahogany desk of the old style, like a wooden box, which opened at a slant so as to form a support for the paper; at this time she was revising Sense and Sensibility for the press, or adding something to the growing pile of MS. called Mansfield Park. We cannot imagine that she wrote much at a time, for her work is minute, small, and well digested; probably after a scene or conversation between two of the characters, she would be interrupted by another member of the household, and stroll up to the Manor House to give orders for the reception of some of the Knight family, or go into Alton to buy some necessary household article. Occasionally a post-chaise would rattle past, or the daily coach and waggons would form a diversion.

For six months, during the year 1813, the whole of the Godmersham party lived at Chawton, while their other house was being repaired and painted, and this intercourse added greatly to Jane’s happiness. She cemented that affectionate friendship with her eldest niece Fanny, and Lord Brabourne gives little extracts from his mother’s diary to show how close the companionship was between the two, “Aunt Jane and I had a very interesting conversation,” “Aunt Jane and I had a very delicious morning together,” “Aunt Jane and I walked into Alton together,” and so on.

But during these years there was no abatement of the fierce turmoil in Europe, the Peninsular War, demanding ever fresh levies of men and fresh subsidies of money, was a continual drain on England’s resources, and the beginning of 1812 found the French practically masters of Spain; but in that year the tide turned, and after continual and bloody battles and sieges in which the loss of life was enormous, Wellington drove the French back across the Pyrenees, and in the following year planted his victorious standard actually on French soil.

But the effects of the continuous wars were being felt in England, in 1811 broke out the Luddite riots, nominally against the introduction of machinery, but in reality because of the high price of bread and the scarcity of employment and money. Austria had signed the disastrous Peace of Vienna with France in 1809, and during this and the following years the Continent with small exception was ground beneath the heel of Napoleon, who in 1812 commenced the invasion of Russia which was to cost him so dearly. In 1811 there is rather a characteristic exclamation in one of Jane’s letters apropos of the war: “How horrible it is to have so many people killed! And what a blessing that one cares for none of them!”

Napoleon’s tyranny and utter regardlessness of the feelings of national pride in the countries he had conquered now began to bring forth for him a bitter harvest. The Sixth Coalition of nations was formed against him, including Russia, Prussia, Austria, Great Britain and Sweden. After terrific fighting his armies were forced back over the Rhine, and the mighty Empire he had formed of powerless and degraded “Republics” melted away like snow in an August sun. In March 1814, Paris itself was forced to surrender to the triumphant armies of the Allies. In April, Napoleon signed his abdication and retired to Elba. Ever since he first appeared as an active agent on the battlefields of Europe he had kept the Continent in a perpetual ferment; cruelty, bloodshed and horror had followed in his train. His mighty personality had seemed scarcely human, and his very name struck terror into all hearts, and became a bugbear with which to frighten children.

We have two letters of Jane’s in the early part of March, written from London where she was staying with her brother Henry. There is not another until June, and that is dated from Chawton. Of course it is difficult to imagine that any intermediate letters she wrote can have been entirely free from allusion to the great news at which the whole Continent burst into pæans of thankfulness, and which must have made England feel as if she had awakened from a nightmare, but as we have no proof either way it must be left open to doubt.

In the June letter she says to Cassandra, who was in London, “Take care of yourself and do not be trampled to death in running after the Emperor. The report in Alton yesterday was that they would certainly travel this road either to or from Portsmouth.” This referred to the visit of the Allied monarchs to England after their triumph in Paris, and the “Emperor” was the Emperor Alexander of Russia, who but a few years ago had formed a secret treaty with Napoleon to the detriment of England!

Here we must leave political matters, to take a short review of the work which Jane had produced in the years since she had come to Chawton.

In 1811 the first of her books, Sense and Sensibility, was published at her own expense, and produced in three neat little volumes in clear type by T. Egerton, Whitehall. Her identity was not disclosed by the title-page, which simply bore the words “By a Lady.” She paid a visit to her brother Henry in London in order to arrange the details, with which Henry helped her very much. When in London with this object she writes, “No, indeed, I am never too busy to think of Sense and Sensibility. I can no more forget it than a mother can forget her sucking child, and I am much obliged to you for your enquiries. I have had two sheets to correct but the last only brings us to Willoughby’s first appearance. Mrs. K. regrets in the most flattering manner that she must wait till May, but I have scarcely a hope of its being out in June. Henry does not neglect it; he has hurried the printer, and says he will see him again to-day.”

Sense and Sensibility did not come out until she had returned to the country, and when she received £150 for it later on, she thought it “a prodigious recompense for that which had cost her nothing.” And certainly, considering her anonymity and the small chances the book had, she had good reason to be satisfied. The gratifying reception of Sense and Sensibility seems to have awakened the powers of writing which had so long lain dormant from want of encouragement. In 1812 she began Mansfield Park, perhaps in some ways the least interesting, though by no means the least well constructed, of her novels. Edmund and Fanny are both a little too mild for the taste of most people, and are far from taking their real place as hero and heroine. However, Edmund’s blind partiality for Miss Crawford is very natural, and, as Henry Austen himself said, it is certainly impossible to tell until quite the end how the story is going to be finished. The minor characters are throughout excellent; it is one of Jane’s shining qualities that no character, however small the part it has to play, remains unknown, she seems able to describe in a touch or two some human quality or defect which at once brings us into intimate relations with either man or woman. Mr. Rushworth’s self-importance, “I am to be Count Cassel and to come in first in a blue dress, and a pink satin cloak, and afterwards have another fine fancy suit by way of a shooting dress. I do not know how I shall like it ... I shall hardly know myself in a blue dress and pink satin cloak,” is excellent.