“I am a great wonderer,” says one of Miss Austen’s characters. I think she was a great wonderer herself.

How fertile this interest in human nature was, what endless and richly varied entertainment it afforded, is made manifest in many passages throughout both novels and letters. “I did not know before,” says Bingley to Elizabeth, “that you were a studier of character. It must be an amusing study.” Elizabeth’s creatress found it so. When she visits picture galleries, she confesses that she cannot look at the pictures for the men and women. In trying social situations the watchful critical instinct remains imperturbable and revels in the unguarded display of emotions commonly concealed. “Anything like a breach of punctuality was a great offense, and Mr. Moore was very angry, which I was rather glad of. I wanted to see him angry.” Even in the most solemn crises the habit of curious observation cannot be wholly extinguished. Writing to her sister, with deep and genuine sympathy, on occasion of a sister-in-law’s death, she interjects this query, which strikes you like a flat slap on an unexpectant cheek. “I suppose you see the corpse? How does it appear?” Finally, like all profound, minute observers of character, she realizes how far from perfect her knowledge is, that she cannot predict, cannot foresee. “Nobody ever feels or acts, suffers or enjoys, as one expects.”

Miss Austen alone would be sufficient to disprove the contention that age and wide knowledge of the world are necessary for the understanding of the human heart. She had neither of these qualifications. Yet, though she may have missed many superficial varieties of experience, who knew better the essential motives that animate us all? She lived in a quiet neighborhood and saw comparatively few specimens; but those were enough. As she says, through Elizabeth, “people alter so much, that there is something new to be observed in them forever.”

Thus she herself enjoyed and pointed out to others the simplest, the most available, the most inexhaustible of all earthly distractions. Only, I could wish she might have seen mankind a little more constantly by the amiable side. As Lamb well observed, the great majority of Shakespeare’s characters are lovable. How few of Miss Austen’s are! Yet it may be that at twenty-one she knew better than Shakespeare.

IV
Madame D’Arblay

CHRONOLOGY