Dear Laurie,

You raise a good point that has not been addressed at this forum. Knightley was 16 years older than Emma and that is a curious point. A matter of more concern is that he seems to have served, in part, as Emma's mentor, and it is unethical for any mentor to become a lover. A mentor simply has too much influence. I don't understand why he had to be so much older; it is crucial, of course that it is his younger brother that is married to Emma's older sister and that requires some gap - but sixteen years? Jane Austen often introduced such a difference in age; Colonel Brandon was considerably older than Marianne Dashwood and even Darcy was eight years older than Elizabeth Bennet.

My first try at this is to point out that Jane Austen respected men, in general, and she saw women as searching, evolving, maturing beings. All of her novels are about the maturing of heroines who are basically of superior intelligence and character, but who have a lot to learn. Now, Jane Austen's first purpose would not have been as coherent if she had involved her heroine with a man who had some growing-up of his own to do. That is my first attempt to deal with your observations

Let me try to say something specific about the events in Emma; in particular, I want to investigate my own question, did Knightley violate a trust and the expectation of a civilized society. First of all, Emma's official mentor was Mrs. Weston (the former Miss Taylor). In that capacity, this governess would also have served as a chaperone. Recall that Mrs. Weston was convinced that Knightley was in love with Jane Fairfax, a worrisome point for Emma who preferred to believe that he might be in love with Miss Smith. To me, this is an indication that Knightley had behaved himself and given no indication to Emma of his true feelings by ever doing something inappropriate - bravo. Recall that Emma had no idea of Knightley's feelings for her. Also, when he finally does declare himself to her, she is a young adult. Also, he takes the position of any suitor and does not play upon any special family relationship or past friendship in order to gain advantage in his suit.

Think about Knightley's state near the end of the novel when he goes to London to consult with his brother. He is convinced that Emma is in love with Frank Churchill, but he has already guessed the true relationship of Frank Churchill to Jane Fairfax. In other words, he thinks that Emma is headed for a fall. The question that drives him at this point is whether or not he should declare himself to Emma when that happens. My guess is that he was bothered by the same questions that you and I are asking and he sought some guidance. Alas, these problems do not yield to reason and sage consideration and the mere sight of Emma's sister in London helps Knightley understand that he will approach Emma whether it is a good idea or not. Jane Austen was so damn romantic. And our Lady understood men.

Finally, on this matter, Let me say that I find the relationship between Knightley and Emma not to be that of a father-daughter; rather, I see it as that of a long-married couple. In other words, I think Jane Austen reversed the natural order of things, so that the passion came after the steady-state accommodations of marriage.

I won't write anything more about the Frank Churchill/Jane Fairfax relationship because I had my say in a lively debate with Ms. Grassi last fall. If you are interested, here is the link to the beginning of that debate on 12/2/98; although, the best thing is to link to the archive and follow the debate beginning with Ms. Grassi's post of December 2. Our friend then revived the debate with posts on 12/16/98 and 12/26/98.

[ A statement in which Heather reacts to a statement made
by the Meister in a previous posting. The Meister has,
subsequently, edited his original remarks.]

Dear Ashton,

Oh dear, another problem with definitions.  This time, I fear it is that loaded term, "feminist."  Your second paragraph to Laurie seems to indicate, if I read it right, that Austen is not a feminist because she respects men.  Does it follow then, that feminists do not respect men?  Then, is it impossible for a man to be a feminist?  (I have long suspected that most if not all of the gentlemen who post here could wear the label with impunity.) My definition is characteristically overly simple:  Someone who respects women.  And I believe Austen did, don't you?

But "feminist" is really a pejorative for some people, and what with all the goings on in the last couple or triple of decades in the name of feminism, I can see why. I think it's time to dump all the baggage and start over.  In my opinion, you can respect one person without devaluing another.

Now, as for the rest of your posting on the Knightley/Emma union, I think you have some interesting comments.  The long-married couple idea, which I hadn't considered before, bears further consideration.  I am interested.  All in all, however, I have never been completely satisfied with the relationship, and even your comments do not clear up the troublesome spots for me, although I do respect your opinion.

Dear Mowgli,

Please, please don't think that I speak for anyone else on this matter. My opinions are strictly my own. I am very sorry if my opinion hurts or angers, but I assure you I am sincere and I think the opinion is considered. In any case, I don't want this discussion to go too far or to detract from Laurie's posting. For that reason, I have edited my original response to Laurie to eliminate the offending phrase. I will also allow a limited number of responses to this posting.

You say

"Your second paragraph to Laurie seems to indicate, if I read it right, that Austen is not a feminist because she respects men. Does it follow then, that feminists do not respect men?  Then, is it impossible for a man to be a feminist?"

I am willing to go on record and say that no true feminist respects men. However, yes, of course, it is possible for a man to be a feminist; in fact, I shall shortly give examples. Be clear on one point, I am not actually saying that men are worthy of anything other than contempt, I am just saying that one cannot ascribe to the feminist acts of faith and then be considered respectful of men.

I can't imagine why there should be any confusion over this definition. As you well know, the philosophical niche called "feminism" has been well defined for centuries. I am thinking of the French writers - male writers - who inspired Mary Wollstonecraft and others of Jane Austen's age to clearly outline that mode of thinking. In the nineteenth century, the view was expanded upon by John Stuart Mill, Freidrich Engels, and (indirectly) W.E.B. DuBois. You are more familiar with that literature than I am. This literature that stereotypes the man as the cruel, ignorant oppressor of woman. I can't understand, for the life of me, how anyone can read these things and find anything but disrespect for the male sex in any of this. But then, I am the same guy who read all of Malcolm X's editorials in Muhammad Speaks and then couldn't understand how anyone could think him anything but an uncomplicated racist.

You would prefer that we think of a feminist as "someone who respects women", but I find precious little about women in feminist literature and discussion: It is all about men or, rather, stereotypical men. However, if it turns out that you are correct, then, as you say, Jane Austen was a fanatical feminist - and so am I. It seems to me that your definition means that if a man is not a misogynist, he is a feminist; I don't think that at all accurate or useful.

Perhaps you can knock me off this position. Please do so. Perhaps you can quote from feminist literature a position that is accepting and respectful of men. If it is not stereotypical, then all the better. I don't think you can do it. I think it an axiom that all "ism"s are based upon stereotypes and over-generalization.

Dear Laurie,

I sympathize with you in trying to justify the marriages Austen arranges in Emma. When I was your age, the "cradle-robbing" disturbed me, too, but now I’m older than Knightley, the only thing that really bothers me is the student/teacher relationship.  This is a common occurrence in literature of Austen’s time, and the Victorians loved it, so we cannot fault her for trying it on for size.

I think it is my rampaging inner feminist that is bothered by the fact that the teacher is usually the man in the relationship and the student is usually the woman.  Fortunately, I am able to keep the feminist under control by assuring her that Emma has a few things to teach Mr. Knightley, too.  I hope he is as willing to learn as he is to educate, but my grumbling feminist is also a bit of a pessimist, and is betting otherwise.  What we both know for sure, my pessimistic feminist and I, is that Emma’s effervescence is not likely to be quelled very much under Knightley’s tutelage, and she has the strong personality that it will take to keep Knightley from forming all her opinions for her.  I think they’ll be all right.  I am convinced that Frank would never have made a good match for Emma, even if she had been seriously interested, and the events on Box Hill are clear evidence that they do not influence each other in ways that enhance the community.  Since Austen must end her novels with a marriage, who else is there?

You will be better off on your second read, because you already know the ending and you will be able to find all the cues that Austen tucks into the novel that Knightley and Emma are really a good match.  From a literary viewpoint, Austen couldn’t make Knightley the obvious choice from the start, or the whole surprise would be ruined at the end.  Austen really wants us to be mislead much as Emma is herself, so that we can experience a bit of what she is feeling.  Quite clever, actually.

Dear Voices,

Prepare yourselves.  I am about to quote Samuel Richardson.  This is one of my favourite passages from a truly yucky book.  I hope my terminology there is not too technical for you. You will find some people who adore Richardson.  Austen may have been one of them.  He was certainly popular in his time.  The passage I am about to quote is so awful it’s funny, but people really took this stuff seriously at the time, and probably could hardly read it for the tears in their eyes.

Clarissa is written as a series of letters, a conceit which authors still love to use, and contemporaries picked it up not only to copy it, as Austen does in Lady Susan, but sometimes, as with Fielding’s Shamela, to ridicule it.  Fielding has his heroine fiercely writing letters while her would-be lover is virtually climbing into bed with her. In Clarissa the Lovelace is a rake who has pursued his quarry relentlessly, taken her from those who would "protect" her, and when all techniques of seduction and betrayal failed, he finally had to drug her and rape her.  Considering the volume of verbage, and the amount of time that passes from the moment Clarissa places herself under his protection to the time that he actually betrays it, Lovelace is a very patient man. However, in this serious novel which is meant to enlighten and instruct young virgins, we have the bad guy’s (former) best friend, Belford, relating in a letter to Lovelace (many pronounce his name "Loveless") the effect his behaviour has had on Clarissa. In the terms of 18c literature, he has ruined Clarissa and she must either marry Lovelace, transport herself to a new world, or die.  Since she refuses to marry the very man who stole her value, and suicide is not an option to this perfect Christian Lady, she’s transporting herself ­ but not to Tasmania.  Here she lies, languishing in the arms of a kind friend:

One faded cheek rested upon the good woman’s bosom, the kindly warmth of which had overspread it with a faint, but charming flush  the other paler and hollow, as if already iced over by death.  Her hands, white as the lily, with her meandering veins more transparently blue than ever I had seen even hers (veins so soon, alas! To be choked up by the congealment of that purple stream which already so languidly creeps rather than flows through them!)  . . . her aspect was sweetly calm and serene  and though she started now and then, yet her sleep seemed easy  her breath indeed short and quick  but tolerably free, and not like that of a dying person.

Jane Austen’s "Frederic and Elfrida" also contains a delightfully descriptive paragraph which I offer for your comparison.  Frederic, Elfrida and Charlotte are introduced to Jezalina and Rebecca Fitzroy.  Jezalinda is beautiful, but Rebecca

enchanted them so much that they all with one accord jumped up and exclaimed.
‘Lovely and too charming Fair one, notwithstanding your forbidding Squint, your greazy tresses and your swelling Back, which are more frightfull than imagination can paint or pen describe, I cannot refrain from expressing my raptures, at the engaging Qualities of your Mind, which so amply atone for the Horror, with which your first appearance must ever inspire the unwary visitor.’

And to think, this was before Shelley’s Frankenstein.  Okay, so my comparison is this, that, again, Austen is using the ridiculous to create humour.  More importantly, she is poking fun at the requirement in literature for all the young ladies to be perfect examples of ideal womanhood.  She is more subtle with Emma, later, when she lets her heroine make mistake after mistake.  Austen gives her ideas an intellectual bent in that passage from P&P in the library when Darcy and Elizabeth have a discussion on the merits of an accomplished woman.  In the above passage, however, Austen is having pure fun with the whole idea of the perfect female. On some levels, she’s quite the radical, isn’t she?  It doesn't matter what a woman looks like on the outside, take a moment to find out what she holds in her mind.

Also, look at what she does to the polite form of address and social intercourse that she so carefully observes in all her later novels.  When the choice has to be made between honesty and diplomacy, Austen’s heroines are usually diplomatic.  When we consider what words Austen is capable of placing into her heroine’s mouths, Emma is downright polite up there on Box Hill.

Next posting:  Fielding’s Joseph Andrews (1742) and "The Beautiful Cassandra" Chapter the 4th.

Dear Ashton: After 42 years of marriage you would deny your wife cake and ice cream? Shame on you.  I hope you let her have some popcorn.  (I have been into the archives, you see.) Nevertheless, conflagrations. And now, since you are allowing "Hot-Hands Heather" to run with the ball, I shall continue to do so, but  I’m getting up such a head of steam it will soon be difficult to stop me.  (Oh dear, malapropisms and mixed metaphors!  Someone had better get in here soon, as I’m showing no signs of fatigue and there’s no telling what sort of damage I could do.)

Dear Voices:  Another "contemporary" of Austen’s (from much earlier in the 18th century) Henry Fielding wrote Joseph Andrews as his second satire of Richardson’s Pamela, being longer and more in-depth than his "Shamela."  After Richardson sent his heroine to work as a servant at Squire B’s house, Fielding sent her younger brother, Joseph, to work at Lady Booby’s abode where he parodies and parallels his sister’s adventures.  Lady Booby, Fielding tells us, is the Squire’s sister (Richardson never gives the Squire’s full name).  Like her brother before her, Lady Booby falls madly in lust with a young Andrews ­ only this time the typical literary roles of male and female have been reversed.  Fielding’s hero is as chaste and innocent as Richardson’s (at least for a while), only, as a virile young man and the hero of a Fielding novel, he has no need to be so pure.

Lady Booby’s housekeeper Mrs. Slipslop has also admired the young man, but early in the novel each of them severally has had her advances rebuked so by the time this passage begins each is a woman scorned:

'I am afraid,' said Lady Booby, 'that he is a wild young fellow.' ­ 'That he is,' said Slipslop, 'and a wicked one too.  To my knowledge he games, drinks, swears, and fights eternally  besides, he is horribly indicted to wenching.' ­ 'Ay!' said the lady, 'I never heard that of him.' ­ 'O madam!' answered the other, 'he is so lewd a rascal, that if your ladyship keeps him much longer you will not have one virgin in your house except myself.' . . . 'Sure, Slipslop,' says she, 'you are mistaken: but which of the women do you most suspect?' ­ 'Madam,' says Slipslop, 'there is Betty the chambermaid, I am almost convinced, is with child by him.' ­ 'Ay!' says the lady, 'then pray pay her her wages instantly.  I will keep no such sluts in my family. And as for Joseph, you may discard him too.'

I take this passage because it demonstrates the more bawdy humour of mid-century.  Had it been taken from one of today’s sit-coms, you could almost hear the canned laughter following the 'no virgins . . . except me' and 'sure Slipslop, you are mistaken' lines.  Following this discussion, Andrews will find himself making his own way in the world, the perfect situation for an 18th century hero.  I take Austen’s answer to Henry Fielding from "The Beautiful Cassandra" Chapter the 4th, in which her heroine, not coincidentally, I’m sure, bears the same name as Austen’s own darling sister:

[Cassandra] then proceeded to a Pastry-cooks where she devoured six ices, refused to pay for them, knocked down the Pastry Cook and walked away.

Although this is a short excerpt, it clearly demonstrates that Austen is also using role reversal here, and turning a literary convention on its ear.  While thieves and cheats and other disreputable characters are regular elements in the novels of the time, the main characters are usually fairly honest, are falsely accused of something or other, and are forced out of the home where they have wonderful adventures.  Austen, on the other hand, has allowed her hero to be a thief and a bully, and relishes endowing her character with criminal behaviour. When Fielding allows his hero to become a criminal, the hero remains ignorant of it, as when Tom Jones makes a discovery of Oedipal proportions.

I imagine that Austen had great fun tying shocking behaviour to her sister’s name  it must have been good for a number of laughs among the family.  While (I hope) Cassandra Austen could never be induced to be so rude, in this tale she gets some relief from being well-bred and genteel, if only vicariously.  Cassandra might not have felt as restricted by social conventions as I am implying, nevertheless, Austen not only defies literary convention here, she also bestows on her sister a freedom never to be attained by a decent young woman in polite society outside the boundaries of fiction.  Indeed, were it to be attempted, it wouldn’t be quite so funny.

Well, I’m every inch Mary Bennet at the piano, so next time I’m going to post a pair of quotations and let others make the connections and distinctions.  Like Mary, I’m barely qualified to be here, since I’ve read these books, but I’ve forgotten most of them, and am getting this stuff from some scanty notes taken in my "Jane Austen as Radical" seminar.  Unlike Mary, however, none of my audience has to pay attention to me.  So, next time:  Samuel Johnson’s Rasselas Chapter 44 (1759) and Austen’s "Love and Freindship" Letter 5th.

Here’s the set up for the next quotation, which I take from Samuel Johnson’s Rasselas. The title character is the prince of a utopian nation totally unreachable by the outside world. The young prince is curious about what goes on outside his valley, and "escapes" with his sister and a handful of friends in an effort to expand their horizons.  The literary convention which this passage demonstrates is one in which a youth engages in a deep philosophical discussion with a sage, by which means the author is able to instruct his/her reader.  Here, the group discovers an interesting old man and travels with him:

'Sir,' said the princess, 'an evening walk must give to a man of learning like you pleasures which ignorance and youth can hardly conceive.  You know the qualities and the causes of all that you behold, the laws by which the river flows, the periods in which the planets perform their revolutions.  Everything must supply you with contemplation, and renew the consciousness of your own dignity.'
'Lady,' answered he, 'let the gay and the vigorous expect pleasure in their excursions  it is enough that age can obtain ease.  To me the world has lost its novelty  I look round, and see what I remember to have seen in happier days. . . . I have ceased to take much delight in physical truth  for what have I to do with those things which I am soon to leave?'

Fielding and Sterne parody this convention by having the discussion take place in rude surroundings among ignorant or hypocritical people, but the arguments remain relevant to the telling of the tale.  Here’s what Austen does with the same literary trick in "Love and Freindship" Letter 5th.  The family is seated in their rustic cottage when they hear a knock at the door:

My Father started ­ 'What noise is that,' (said he.) 'It sounds like a loud rapping at the Door' ­ (replied my Mother.)  'It does indeed.' (cried I.)  'I am of your opinion' (said my Father) 'it certainly does appear to proceed from some uncommon violence exerted against our unoffending Door.'
'Yes,' (exclaimed I) 'I cannot help thinking it must be somebody who knocks for Admittance.' 'That is another point' (replied he ) 'We must not pretend to determine on what motive the person may Knock ­ tho' that someone does rap at the Door, I am partly convinced.'

I just love the youthful exuberance of it all!

Dear Ray,

From memory, and I stand ready for correction, I believe the quote to which you allude was made by Jane Austen herself, in one of her letters to Cassandra.  Please feel free to tell me to pull my head in, if I am mistaken.

As for your patrician pretensions (alliteration, natural in the poet, as Mr Higgins said), the comparison, at least, is irrelevant, as there is no common denominator between our age and that of Jane Austen, at least as regards social position vs income.  Mr William Walter Elliot married a grazier's granddaughter, who might probably have been able to buy and sell Sir Walter Elliot's estate, but that was irrelevant.  The English class system was (and is, to a degree) as intricate as that of India.  I believe that one would have had to be reared to the system from birth to understand its nuances, but when Elizabeth Bennet pointed out to Mr Collins that any notice between hmself and Mr Darcy should proceed from the latter, as the superior in consequence, she was giving one example of a class system that occurs again and again throughout the novels.  Jane Austen's society is impaled on the point of a pin.  Consider Miss Fairfax:  'And let me give you a hint, Frank   you met her at Weymouth, where she was the equal of everyone she mixed with, but here she lives with a poor old grandmother and aunt who have barely enough to live on - any lack of attention here would be a slight.'  The Coles are a very good sort of people - quite probably richer than the Westons, in fact, but, pianoforte notwithstanding, they are not the equals of the 'old established families.'  Trollope, writing, of course, of a later period, is a classic on this point, when discussing the Proudies - she was the niece of a Scotch earl, and he the nephew of an Irish peer - and Dr Grantley could have bought them all, lock, stock and barrel, and returned the purchase as a present, without being much the loser.

Oh dear, oh dear, how I do run on.  But these forms and positions occupied so much of English life, and the construction of English society, that they are worth some consideration.  Lydia Bennet, taking her sister's place as the family walks in to dinner, for instance.  And Mary Musgrove, offended that Mrs Harville did not give her her correct precedence, as a baronet's daughter - this really mattered in Jane Austen's society - and I  believe, privately, it may have rankled her somewhat.  Consider George Eliot, calm, intelligent, prone to self-doubt, but nevertheless choosing to live her life outside of this corset of society, and ending up having her likeness taken (unbeknownst to herself) by one of Queen Victoria's daughters, at the opera!

What AM I running on about!
Julie

Fom the Meister: I believe you are talking about
the English class system. There may be something
about cricket in there as well, I can't say.

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