The Jane Austen Guide to Happily Ever After (56 page)
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Authors: Elizabeth Kantor
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20
You don’t have to hire a private investigator or demand that potential suitors agree to a credit check to be able to do some vetting of your prospects.
You don’t have to hire a private investigator or demand that potential suitors agree to a credit check to be able to do some vetting of your prospects.
21
The “misery” that makes Anne “shudder” to realize she might have been persuaded to marry Mr. Elliot and then been horrified to find out the truth about her husband when “time had disclosed all, too late.”
The “misery” that makes Anne “shudder” to realize she might have been persuaded to marry Mr. Elliot and then been horrified to find out the truth about her husband when “time had disclosed all, too late.”
22
“They wanted him to make a fine figure in the world in some manner or other. His mother wished to interest him in political concerns, to get him into parliament, or to see him connected with some of the great men of the day. Mrs. John Dashwood wished it likewise; but in the mean while, till one of these superior blessings could be attained, it would have quieted her ambition to see him driving a barouche. But Edward had no turn for great men or barouches. All his wishes centered in domestic comfort and the quiet of private life.”
“They wanted him to make a fine figure in the world in some manner or other. His mother wished to interest him in political concerns, to get him into parliament, or to see him connected with some of the great men of the day. Mrs. John Dashwood wished it likewise; but in the mean while, till one of these superior blessings could be attained, it would have quieted her ambition to see him driving a barouche. But Edward had no turn for great men or barouches. All his wishes centered in domestic comfort and the quiet of private life.”
23
Even where there’s no romantic interest involved, she’s going to gravitate toward that kind of person, as Elinor does to Colonel Brandon, in whom “alone, of all her new acquaintance did Elinor find a person who could, in any degree, claim the respect of abilities, excite the interest of friendship, or give pleasure as a companion.” If you’re a principled woman yourself, spending time with a principled man like Brandon means being able to relax from the meaningless bustle—the essential nothingness of dealing with people who grab and manipulate and care only about superficials—into something genuine. It’s a kind of “cut through the crap” experience—if you can use that expression when you’re talking about Elinor Dashwood.
Even where there’s no romantic interest involved, she’s going to gravitate toward that kind of person, as Elinor does to Colonel Brandon, in whom “alone, of all her new acquaintance did Elinor find a person who could, in any degree, claim the respect of abilities, excite the interest of friendship, or give pleasure as a companion.” If you’re a principled woman yourself, spending time with a principled man like Brandon means being able to relax from the meaningless bustle—the essential nothingness of dealing with people who grab and manipulate and care only about superficials—into something genuine. It’s a kind of “cut through the crap” experience—if you can use that expression when you’re talking about Elinor Dashwood.
24
Jane Austen put a lot of distance between her faulty-tempered men and the kind of physically dangerous man who doesn’t belong in a Jane Austen novel at all. That’s the difference between General Tilney as he really is—a bad-tempered man who makes life in his family really unpleasant by insisting that everyone cater to his whims—and General Tilney as he appears to Catherine’s Gothic novel-addled mind—capable of murdering his wife. The kinds of things Catherine imagines about the general aren’t material for a Jane Austen novel; in the regions her heroines inhabit, crimes of that magnitude don’t go undetected and unpunished. Murders and false imprisonment are fodder for peace-keeping authorities and the justice system, not material for novels of manners in which
women thread their way through social minefields with no weapons but their good principles, their wits, and their social skills. “Charming as were all Mrs. Radcliffe’s works, and charming even as were the works of all her imitators, it was not in them perhaps that human nature, at least in the Midland counties of England, was to be looked for. Of the Alps and Pyrenees, with their pine forests and their vices, they might give a faithful delineation; and Italy, Switzerland, and the south of France might be as fruitful in horrors as they were there represented. Catherine dared not doubt beyond her own country, and even of that, if hard pressed, would have yielded the northern and western extremities. But in the central part of England there was surely some security for the existence even of a wife not beloved, in the laws of the land, and the manners of the age. Murder was not tolerated, servants were not slaves, and neither poison nor sleeping potions to be procured, like rhubarb, from every druggist.”
Jane Austen put a lot of distance between her faulty-tempered men and the kind of physically dangerous man who doesn’t belong in a Jane Austen novel at all. That’s the difference between General Tilney as he really is—a bad-tempered man who makes life in his family really unpleasant by insisting that everyone cater to his whims—and General Tilney as he appears to Catherine’s Gothic novel-addled mind—capable of murdering his wife. The kinds of things Catherine imagines about the general aren’t material for a Jane Austen novel; in the regions her heroines inhabit, crimes of that magnitude don’t go undetected and unpunished. Murders and false imprisonment are fodder for peace-keeping authorities and the justice system, not material for novels of manners in which
women thread their way through social minefields with no weapons but their good principles, their wits, and their social skills. “Charming as were all Mrs. Radcliffe’s works, and charming even as were the works of all her imitators, it was not in them perhaps that human nature, at least in the Midland counties of England, was to be looked for. Of the Alps and Pyrenees, with their pine forests and their vices, they might give a faithful delineation; and Italy, Switzerland, and the south of France might be as fruitful in horrors as they were there represented. Catherine dared not doubt beyond her own country, and even of that, if hard pressed, would have yielded the northern and western extremities. But in the central part of England there was surely some security for the existence even of a wife not beloved, in the laws of the land, and the manners of the age. Murder was not tolerated, servants were not slaves, and neither poison nor sleeping potions to be procured, like rhubarb, from every druggist.”
And the faults in Dr. Grant’s and John Knightley’s tempers are so mild, compared to those of a violently bad-tempered man, that Jane Austen and her characters hesitate even to say their tempers are actually
bad
. We’ve seen that John Knightley was “not so often unreasonably cross as to deserve” to be called “an ill-tempered man,” but that “his temper was not his great perfection.” And Fanny bites her tongue rather than call Dr. Grant’s temper bad: “Whatever profession Dr. Grant had chosen, he would have taken a—not a good temper into it.”
bad
. We’ve seen that John Knightley was “not so often unreasonably cross as to deserve” to be called “an ill-tempered man,” but that “his temper was not his great perfection.” And Fanny bites her tongue rather than call Dr. Grant’s temper bad: “Whatever profession Dr. Grant had chosen, he would have taken a—not a good temper into it.”
And yet Jane Austen is quite clear that even these men’s mildly uncertain tempers can cause quite enough misery. Henry Tilney on the subject of his parents’ marriage: “He loved her, I am persuaded, as well as it was possible for him to—we have not all, you know, the same tenderness of disposition—and I will not pretend to say that while she lived, she might not often have had much to bear, but though his temper injured her, his judgment never did. His value of her was sincere; and, if not permanently, he was truly afflicted by her death.”
25
From a bedtime prayer Jane Austen wrote: “Bring to our knowledge every fault of temper and every evil habit in which we have indulged to the discomfort of our fellow-creatures.”
From a bedtime prayer Jane Austen wrote: “Bring to our knowledge every fault of temper and every evil habit in which we have indulged to the discomfort of our fellow-creatures.”
26
Jane Austen can criticize characters even for not saying anything at all, as she does the aunt in “Catherine, or the Bower” who “continued silent & Gloomy and was a restraint upon the vivacity of her companions.”
Jane Austen can criticize characters even for not saying anything at all, as she does the aunt in “Catherine, or the Bower” who “continued silent & Gloomy and was a restraint upon the vivacity of her companions.”
27
Fanny sees Mary very differently from how Edmund does: “so partial and so angry, and so little scrupulous of what she said” and “I knew she would be very angry with me.”
Fanny sees Mary very differently from how Edmund does: “so partial and so angry, and so little scrupulous of what she said” and “I knew she would be very angry with me.”
28
That would include me, I’m sorry to say—though I’m not quite as bad as I used to be.
That would include me, I’m sorry to say—though I’m not quite as bad as I used to be.
29
Like “character.” See note 7 above.
Like “character.” See note 7 above.
30
As in Mr. Weston’s “friendly and social disposition,” Elizabeth Watson’s similarly “hospitable, social temper” or Susan Price’s “disposition so totally different from [Fanny’s] own”: Susan has got an “open” and energetic temperament (Susan “tried to be useful, where
she
[Fanny] could only have gone away and cried”) in contrast to Fanny’s “more supine and yielding temper.” Or consider the contrast between Bingley and Darcy: “Bingley was endeared to Darcy by the easiness, openness, ductility of his temper, though no disposition could offer a greater contrast to his own, and though with his own he never appeared dissatisfied.” Note that Henry Crawford’s “temper” in these two distinct senses comes under discussion in different contexts. Fanny has no objection at all to Henry’s temper in the first sense; she agrees with Sir Thomas that she has no reason “to think ill of Mr. Crawford’s temper.” But talking to Edmund, she prefaces her objection to Henry’s principles with an objection to his temper in the other sense, that of temperament: “It is not merely in
temper
that I consider him as totally unsuited to myself; though, in
that
respect, I think the difference between us too great, infinitely too great: his spirits often oppress me.”
As in Mr. Weston’s “friendly and social disposition,” Elizabeth Watson’s similarly “hospitable, social temper” or Susan Price’s “disposition so totally different from [Fanny’s] own”: Susan has got an “open” and energetic temperament (Susan “tried to be useful, where
she
[Fanny] could only have gone away and cried”) in contrast to Fanny’s “more supine and yielding temper.” Or consider the contrast between Bingley and Darcy: “Bingley was endeared to Darcy by the easiness, openness, ductility of his temper, though no disposition could offer a greater contrast to his own, and though with his own he never appeared dissatisfied.” Note that Henry Crawford’s “temper” in these two distinct senses comes under discussion in different contexts. Fanny has no objection at all to Henry’s temper in the first sense; she agrees with Sir Thomas that she has no reason “to think ill of Mr. Crawford’s temper.” But talking to Edmund, she prefaces her objection to Henry’s principles with an objection to his temper in the other sense, that of temperament: “It is not merely in
temper
that I consider him as totally unsuited to myself; though, in
that
respect, I think the difference between us too great, infinitely too great: his spirits often oppress me.”
31
They also compare minds that are firm and persevering to those that are yielding, “supine,” and persuadable.
They also compare minds that are firm and persevering to those that are yielding, “supine,” and persuadable.
32
He talks about her “superiority of mind and manner,” refers to “such a woman as Jane Fairfax,” and so forth.
He talks about her “superiority of mind and manner,” refers to “such a woman as Jane Fairfax,” and so forth.
33
That’s how he puts it at first, but it’s really Mr. Knightley in particular—who says of himself “I love an open temper”—and
not
every man in general, who wants that particular disposition in a wife. When it comes out that Jane Fairfax is secretly engaged to Frank Churchill, it never occurs to anyone, Mr. Knightley included, to think that Jane’s reserve will be a handicap to their happiness, or that Frank Churchill will ever regret choosing her. (Just the opposite, in fact. Here’s Mr. Knightley on Frank Churchill’s prospects: “As he is, beyond a doubt, really attached to Miss Fairfax, and will soon, it may be hoped, have the advantage of being constantly with her, I am very ready to believe his character will improve, and acquire from her’s [sic] the steadiness and delicacy of principle that it wants.”) Mr. Knightley’s value for an open temper in a woman doesn’t really apply to all men.
That’s how he puts it at first, but it’s really Mr. Knightley in particular—who says of himself “I love an open temper”—and
not
every man in general, who wants that particular disposition in a wife. When it comes out that Jane Fairfax is secretly engaged to Frank Churchill, it never occurs to anyone, Mr. Knightley included, to think that Jane’s reserve will be a handicap to their happiness, or that Frank Churchill will ever regret choosing her. (Just the opposite, in fact. Here’s Mr. Knightley on Frank Churchill’s prospects: “As he is, beyond a doubt, really attached to Miss Fairfax, and will soon, it may be hoped, have the advantage of being constantly with her, I am very ready to believe his character will improve, and acquire from her’s [sic] the steadiness and delicacy of principle that it wants.”) Mr. Knightley’s value for an open temper in a woman doesn’t really apply to all men.
And it may not necessarily even be the absolute truth about Mr. Knightley himself. It’s not that he’s being dishonest; it’s just that certain circumstances may obscure his clear vision of his own mind and heart. It seems that
whenever Jane Austen characters are thinking that they could never love some particular person because of a temperamental dissimilarity between them, it inevitably turns out that they’re not
really
considering the question in the abstract at all. They’re already in love with a person who happens to have one sort of “temper,” so that of course the opposite temperament—the kind that the person they’re in love with
doesn’t
have—looks deficient in comparison.
whenever Jane Austen characters are thinking that they could never love some particular person because of a temperamental dissimilarity between them, it inevitably turns out that they’re not
really
considering the question in the abstract at all. They’re already in love with a person who happens to have one sort of “temper,” so that of course the opposite temperament—the kind that the person they’re in love with
doesn’t
have—looks deficient in comparison.
Notice that by the time he’s explaining that he could never love Jane Fairfax on account of her reserve and his love for an open temper, Mr. Knightley is already realizing that he’s in love with Emma.
Notice, too, that Anne Elliot’s preference for an open temper was formed by her “early impressions”—in other words, by having fallen in love with Frederick Wentworth before she ever met Mr. Elliot. “Her early impressions were incurable. She prized the frank, the open-hearted, the eager character beyond all others. Warmth and enthusiasm did captivate her still.”And take note that Fanny Price states her opposite temperamental preference—she feels oppressed by Henry Crawford’s high spirits—only when she, too, is already in love with someone of the opposite “temper” from the man whose personality type she’s rejecting.
It’s quite possible that in other circumstances Mr. Knightley could have fallen for a woman of the very temperament that he thinks (because he’s actually in love with Emma) would never suit him. And the same thing is true about Anne Elliot as well. And of course about Fanny; Jane Austen herself makes that case.
34
Wouldn’t this rule apply to principles, too, then? How can Jane Austen treat them as absolutes—and an absolute requirement for the kind of man a Jane Austen heroine ought to pick—if all mental qualities ought to have “proportions and limits”? The answer is that Jane Austen didn’t think of principles as qualities of the mind, so much as truths (“self-evident” ones, in Jefferson’s phrase) about nature: human nature and the nature of the universe.
Wouldn’t this rule apply to principles, too, then? How can Jane Austen treat them as absolutes—and an absolute requirement for the kind of man a Jane Austen heroine ought to pick—if all mental qualities ought to have “proportions and limits”? The answer is that Jane Austen didn’t think of principles as qualities of the mind, so much as truths (“self-evident” ones, in Jefferson’s phrase) about nature: human nature and the nature of the universe.
35
That’s the question about Edward that Marianne answers in his favor when Jane Austen tells us that she “knew his heart to be warm and his temper affectionate.” Marianne is recognizing Edward’s real “worth”—particularly in contrast to the shallow selfishness of their mutual relations. That’s why she considers him qualified to pay his addresses to her sister.
That’s the question about Edward that Marianne answers in his favor when Jane Austen tells us that she “knew his heart to be warm and his temper affectionate.” Marianne is recognizing Edward’s real “worth”—particularly in contrast to the shallow selfishness of their mutual relations. That’s why she considers him qualified to pay his addresses to her sister.
36
Sir Thomas thinks his daugher Maria is one of those to whom it’s less important; “her feelings, probably, were not acute,” he tells himself, when he’s blindly pushing along her disastrous marriage to Mr. Rushworth, only to discover too late
that his daughter’s “real disposition”—particularly Maria’s “high spirit and strong passions”—was totally “unknown to him.”
Sir Thomas thinks his daugher Maria is one of those to whom it’s less important; “her feelings, probably, were not acute,” he tells himself, when he’s blindly pushing along her disastrous marriage to Mr. Rushworth, only to discover too late
that his daughter’s “real disposition”—particularly Maria’s “high spirit and strong passions”—was totally “unknown to him.”
37
Henry doesn’t know it, but
we
know that mousy little Fanny is capable of passion because we’ve seen how she’s passionately in love with Edmund, crazy enough about him to treasure his “handwriting itself” with an “enthusiasm ... beyond the biographer’s”—that “of a woman’s love.”
Henry doesn’t know it, but
we
know that mousy little Fanny is capable of passion because we’ve seen how she’s passionately in love with Edmund, crazy enough about him to treasure his “handwriting itself” with an “enthusiasm ... beyond the biographer’s”—that “of a woman’s love.”
38
But Emma’s prejudice against him isn’t about a lack of intelligence. In fact, she has to disregard Mr. Martin’s “good sense” (not to mention his “warm attachment, liberality, propriety, even delicacy of feeling”) to be able to persuade herself that he’s not good enough for Harriet. Emma does her best to make it seem like Robert Martin is not up to Harriet’s intellectual level—but she’s really reaching.
But Emma’s prejudice against him isn’t about a lack of intelligence. In fact, she has to disregard Mr. Martin’s “good sense” (not to mention his “warm attachment, liberality, propriety, even delicacy of feeling”) to be able to persuade herself that he’s not good enough for Harriet. Emma does her best to make it seem like Robert Martin is not up to Harriet’s intellectual level—but she’s really reaching.
Emma tries to convince Harriet that Mr. Martin is a man of little knowledge or curiosity outside the business of farming. She makes a lot of the fact that he hasn’t yet gotten around to reading a book Harriet recommended—trying to make him look so engrossed in his earthy job that he doesn’t have time or mental energy for the higher things, like someone who is eventually sure to end up as “a completely gross, vulgar farmer, totally inattentive to appearances, and thinking of nothing but profit and loss.” The truth is, as Mr. Knightley points out, that Robert Martin is “as much [Harriet’s] superior in sense as in situation.”
39
“‘Will Mr. Frank Churchill pass through Bath as well as Oxford?’ was a question however, which did not augur much.”
“‘Will Mr. Frank Churchill pass through Bath as well as Oxford?’ was a question however, which did not augur much.”
40
“It was there our acquaintance begun, for my sister and me was often staying with my uncle.”
“It was there our acquaintance begun, for my sister and me was often staying with my uncle.”
41
Men who, like Sir John Middleton, suffer from such “total want of talent and taste” that they can’t think of anything to do when they’re not in a big social group are not much fun to be alone with. Lady Middleton shares her husband’s limitations, “which confined their employments, unconnected with such as society produced, within a very narrow compass.”
Men who, like Sir John Middleton, suffer from such “total want of talent and taste” that they can’t think of anything to do when they’re not in a big social group are not much fun to be alone with. Lady Middleton shares her husband’s limitations, “which confined their employments, unconnected with such as society produced, within a very narrow compass.”
42
“The youthful infatuation of nineteen would naturally blind him to everything but her beauty and good nature; but the four succeeding years—years which, if rationally spent, give such improvement to the understanding—must have opened his eyes to her defects of education, while the same period of time, spent on her side in inferior society and more frivolous pursuits, had perhaps robbed her of that simplicity which might once have given an interesting character to her beauty.”
“The youthful infatuation of nineteen would naturally blind him to everything but her beauty and good nature; but the four succeeding years—years which, if rationally spent, give such improvement to the understanding—must have opened his eyes to her defects of education, while the same period of time, spent on her side in inferior society and more frivolous pursuits, had perhaps robbed her of that simplicity which might once have given an interesting character to her beauty.”
43
“Lucy was naturally clever; her remarks were often just and amusing; and as a companion for half an hour Elinor frequently found her agreeable; but her powers
had received no aid from education: she was ignorant and illiterate; and her deficiency of all mental improvement, her want of information in the most common particulars, could not be concealed from Miss Dashwood, in spite of her constant endeavour to appear to advantage.”
“Lucy was naturally clever; her remarks were often just and amusing; and as a companion for half an hour Elinor frequently found her agreeable; but her powers
had received no aid from education: she was ignorant and illiterate; and her deficiency of all mental improvement, her want of information in the most common particulars, could not be concealed from Miss Dashwood, in spite of her constant endeavour to appear to advantage.”
44
The ultimate result is what Jane Austen calls an “illiberal” mind—like Mrs. Bennet’s, characterized by “little information” and a “mean understanding.”
The ultimate result is what Jane Austen calls an “illiberal” mind—like Mrs. Bennet’s, characterized by “little information” and a “mean understanding.”
45
“Men of sense do not want silly wives,” says Mr. Knightley.
“Men of sense do not want silly wives,” says Mr. Knightley.
46
For some reason I can hear Annette Funicello singing, “The perfect boy / Doesn’t have to be Euripides.” “
Ripides
,” the backup singers chime in. In one of several beach scenes from a movie entitled, no kidding,
How to Stuff a Wild Bikini
. A far cry from Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth at Lyme.
For some reason I can hear Annette Funicello singing, “The perfect boy / Doesn’t have to be Euripides.” “
Ripides
,” the backup singers chime in. In one of several beach scenes from a movie entitled, no kidding,
How to Stuff a Wild Bikini
. A far cry from Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth at Lyme.
47
As with all the qualities Jane Austen characters look for in other people, it’s much better to think about how important “sense,” “understanding,” “education,” “talent,” and “taste” are to you
before
you’ve gotten too deeply involved with a man who may be lacking them.
As with all the qualities Jane Austen characters look for in other people, it’s much better to think about how important “sense,” “understanding,” “education,” “talent,” and “taste” are to you
before
you’ve gotten too deeply involved with a man who may be lacking them.
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