The Voices of Men in Praise of Jane Austen
Messages on the
Bulletin Board - c. Jan. 17, 2000
Dear Julie, Bruce, John, and Ashton,
Julie: I agree that Fanny was a sickly child, I just don't agree that she's a sickly 18 year old. I personally would say that the question as to whether Fanny is so much improved objectively, or so much improved in Sir Thomas' opinion to create a new impression, is still up in the air.
Bruce: thank you for making my point so clear. I would add that only in societies rich enough to support a greater or lesser amount of uselessness can the idea of "chivalry" toward women exist. What's fascinating is how many different societies co-existed in Jane Austen's England. Of course there are many who argue that chivalry is a biological response: because women have a much shorter optimum child-bearing "shelf life" and because being pregnant is so much more physically taxing than getting a woman pregnant, it's vital to the human race to conserve young women and in as healthy a state as possible. I'm sure it's only a coincidence that this view is usually held those who are commonly called "dirty old men."
John: don't worry, I understand your meaning. I only said "if" you thought only Christians could enjoy Jane Austen, then I disagreed. I agree that a knowledge of Christianity is a help. As for the free will question, I can only say that if such an interpretation is an effort to "justify God's way to man" I'll have to side with A. E. Houseman.
Ashton: I would hate to think so ill of Mrs. Elliot's father as to believe that he didn't tie up some or all of her money in such a way as to prevent her husband from getting his hands on it before her death I've always had the impression that it was SOP among fathers who had anything to give. This view is supported by the fact that he didn't divorce her, despite the fact that they had no children. (I realize that no children could have been a choice, but that wouldn't have stopped Mr. Elliot from using it as grounds if it suited him.) I doubt that Mr. Elliot beat his wife it's more likely that he refused to be seen in public with her, and/or treated her publicly as Mr. Bennet treated his wife in private.
I myself doubt that there's more cruelty today than there was, just that we're living in such a golden age that nearly anything unpleasant counts as "abuse." Americans (in particular) have a notion that they are constitutionally guaranteed a happy and safe life, and anything less must be the evil workings of someone or something.
I have purchased Vindication of ... , (Dover Thrift Edition), but was so annoyed with the introduction, that I had to put it away for a while so as not to make me unduly critical of the book itself. Sadly, the difference in divorce laws regarding adultery was probably some well-meaning attempt to protect women. Allowing men to screw around at will may have appeared as a way to combat forcible rape within the marriage, by making it unnecessary, as it were. The church (among others) would not have stood for a law denying men their procreative rights by giving women the choice to refuse their husbands' advances, so this would be a workable compromise. It would also protect those husbands who were trying to avoid infecting their wives with whatever venereal disease(s) they had.
From the Meister: You read those
silly
introductions to classic books? I never
do that. Why do you do
that?
Last, but not least, I'd like to comment on the 1940 version of
P&P. As a film of the novel, it's execrable. But, when you watch
to see how the writer took the novel and made a play reflecting the concerns of
war-time England, it's fascinating. The changing roles of women, the
war-time relaxation of social rules, particularly Miss Bingley's reference to
the waltz having gained acceptance in country society (though somewhat
anachronistic, I think.) and Lydia and Kitty's getting tipsy at the party come
immediately to mind. If nothing else, as a document of society in 1940 it's
certainly worth a look.
Cheryl
For some time now, Julie Grassi has been trying to get me to read Elizabeth Jenkins's biography of Jane Austen. I resisted because it was written the year I was born, so what good could come of it? I finally relented because our friend kept saying that I would find a kindred spirit.
I have this old, tattered copy - it looks like someone sucked on it - and what I actually found was a kindred spirit - I mean WA-AY kindred. I couldn't believe it. I can't believe it. I feel one of my obsessions coming on: brace yourselves. This won't be the last posting on this subject: you have been warned. (The first thing that I noticed that the book is titled simply Jane Austen, and so, I was sympathetic from the beginning.)
On the face of it, it would seem that this is Heather Swallow's kindred spirit, but I defy logic. I mean that Elizabeth Jenkins is a novelist herself and very literate. This biographer goes into great detail on the novels and on the novels that Jane Austen herself read. For example, there is a great deal on Richardson. I don't think that Heather or Anielka would feel themselves contradicted by Jenkins, but I bet they both would confess to the biographers insightful and - yes - positive treatment of that Jane-Austen influence. I mean that Heather and Anielka would be delighted.
Since Elizabeth Jenkins was not an academic or a scholar, her biography has the sounder pedogogical design. She simply writes better than the scholarly biographers. The only biography nearly as well written is the very first, written by our Lady's beloved nephew, James Edward Austen-Leigh. The subject matter of the book is written in chronological order, almost like a novel itself, and draws upon the letters and the biographer's own excellent, literate reviews of the novels. (The reviews are very long, but one is always disappointed when reaching the end of one of them - one wants more.)
Elizabeth Jenkins loves Jane Austen; Julie told me of that; and, I do not trust anyone on the subject who does not love Jane Austen. Objectivity? - Spare me!
Here is just a little tidbit. You may know that I passionately detest the 1940 filmed production of Pride and Prejudice. Elizabeth Jenkins wrote before that fiasco; however, the film was not based upon the novel directly, it was based upon a play by Helen Jerome and Ms. Jenkins did see that. Here is her report.
"A dramatization of Pride and Prejudice compiled by Miss Helen Jerome has had a very successful run in London, and it is an interesting comment on the age that a work which purported to bring Jane Austen's novel on the English stage should be tolerated in the language of Miss Jerome. Had Jane Austen been able to attend one of the performances herself and to hear some of the remarks put into the mouth of her Elizabeth, she would have echoed the words of Mr. Woodhouse: 'I live out of the world, and am often astonished at what I hear.' "
Dear John and Julie,
I still have no idea what this "free will" that leads one only on the path of righteousness is. "Freedom" seems to imply that one can choose, not that one has no choice. Also, the general assumption of John, Julie, and possibly others that Mr. Eliot beat his wife, that Mr. Price beat his daughters, and that a man who hits a woman should be put to death (Julie’s implication) is unjustified by the text. Doubtless men sometimes beat their wives and daughters, but Jane Austen wrote in plain English and "unkind" does not necessarily imply "violent".
From the Meister: Well said - I throw in with Bruce.
Also, Julie, although chivalry demands that we think that violence against women is more heinous than violence against men, such chivalry also demands that we think of women as helpless and passive, like children. That’s why "women and children" got in the life boats first. By equating women with children, we may protect women against some forms of violence and oppression, but we may also teach them to be passive, accepting, and childlike. In the U.S., at least, men are by far more likely to be victims of violent crimes than women are (according to statistics, anyway). But we continue to deplore "violence against women" because such violence runs counter to notions of chivalry --despite the patronizing nature of these very notions. I confess that perhaps I misunderstood Julie, and her comments to "those who hit women." Perhaps she meant, "those who hit people smaller and weaker than they are." But the danger of seeing one’s own set as "victims" is that the prophecy may be self-fulfilling.
I’m not sure whether Fanny Price was really sickly or learned to use her sickliness for attention. I tend to agree with Cheryl. It seems Fanny always gets a headache when Mary Crawford rides Fanny’s horse. Let’s face it, women used to faint all the time, too. They didn’t (I maintain) faint more frequently 200 years ago because they were more sickly they fainted because it was expected of them and gained them attention. Of course the idea that sickly, delicate women, who couldn’t walk a quarter of a mile without assistance, and who fainted at the drop of an indelicate verb, needed the protection of big, strong, virile men was a common one. I hope we’ve moved away from this notion, and now find healthy, athletic women attractive. Indeed, I believe we do.
Dear Bruce and Sir,
Bruce: your comments on my comments on somebody else's comments (this is getting a little tangled): I wasn't meaning to extrapolate out to other domestic situations with the 'unkind' reference: I was referring only to the relationship between Mr Elliot and his first wife. As far as my general views on hitting, then and now: I don't agree with it any time, anywhere (unless it's me whacking a goat with a stick to protect myself from a stampede in the dairy). Oh, and, naturally, if anybody upsets my children, they must die, but that's different.
I have found a quote by Hugh Trevor-Roper that expresses better than I did the idea of applying values out of social context (it's in the introduction to The Slave Trade, by Hugh Thomas): 'every age has its own social context, its own climate, and takes it for granted ... To neglect it - to use terms like 'rational', 'superstitious', 'progressive', 'reactionary', as if only that was rational which obeyed our rules of reason, only that progressive which pointed to us - is worse than wrong: it is vulgar.'I think I'm in love!
Sir: You should be wary of old, tatty objects: you don't know
where they might have been.
Julie
Dear Julie, Hugh, and All,
Only an Oxford twit like H. Trevor-Roper would think being "vulgar" is worse than being wrong. Or am I judging him too harshly, being unaware of the cultural and psychological contexts on which his nauseating snobbery is based? Ignorance of social context DOES affect our judgement. The belief that only modern Western European types are capable of rationality IS foolish. But cultural relativism can be taken to extremes as well. We judge the Nazis more harshly than the Ruandan Hutus because we think that as Western 20th century Europeans they should have known better. But that doesn’t mean that (even ignorant as I am of Ruandan culture) I can’t make moral judgements about the Hutu massacres, or the slave trade, or the treatment of women in 18th century England, or the massacre of the innocents in Bethlehem. Of course I make judgements based on my standards they ARE my standards because I think they are right.
Although Trevor-Roper may be right about the misuse of the words "superstitious", "progressive", and "reactionary" (which seem judgmental words for historians to use, anyway), I’m not so sure that the "rules of reason" are so mutable that they change with the fashions, like the hem lines of dresses. People from other cultures and other times believed differently from us not because their "rules of reason" were different, but because the axioms from which they reasoned were different.
No doubt the wind is tempered to the shorn lamb, and we must be careful not to think all slave holders despicably evil, as we would if they held slaves in modern Tasmania. But there’s nothing wrong with judging Jane Fairfax harshly for thinking that governesses are as miserable as slaves, even if our judgement is slanted by our own culture’s distaste for slavery.
Dear Bruce,
Well, I don't care: I'm smitten anyway.
Julie
Dear Folks,
" 'There is I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil, a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome.' "Pride and Prejudice, Chapter XI
I might agree with Darcy while hoping that his last phrase is overstated. I should say I do agree with Darcy - I mean with Jane Austen.
This notion of the relativeness of social values, in time and space, is unconvincing, and, I think, the fault of taking the wrong perspective. Values and morality are expressed in so many different ways that the twentieth-century social scientist has become bewildered. I believe you see the truth when you take the mirror image of this view. Think about evil. There you will see the universality of humanity in its tendency to murder, theft, false witness, etc. It is that which is dictated in the genetic code; that is why we understand immediately and do not wonder at the ten commandments; that is the context in which we decide that we can understand even without the elite lecturing to us on the cultural context of the ancient Hebrews - although they will try, those elite.
To the extent that social values are set against evil tendencies and to the extent that culture provides the explanations of how temptation, confusion, and complexity can lead us into evil, are the extents to which values and culture must be considered universal. I believe those to be very extensive indeed.
As to the last two postings, Julie's title is the superior, but our Tasmanian friend must acknowledge that Bruce's opening sentence is the winner.
Dear Sir,
I enjoyed Brideshead Revisited (and Evelyn Waugh's biography) far too
much to admit any such thing. By the way, just who the hell is Mr
Trevor-Roper? This the first time I have ever heard the name mentioned -
even though I was the one doing the mentioning. I suppose my worship will
be shattered by finding out that he was a friend of Sir Oswald Moseley, or some
such. (Currently waiting on delivery of a biography of the latter's wife, by the
way).
Julie
Dear Julie,
Actually, I've read several articles by Trevor-Roper, and they've all been very good. I remember his study on the European Witch Hunting Craze.
I have particularly enjoyed the most recent missives from Cheryl and Julie.
Cheryl's response requires careful answering because we seem to be like two ships passing in the night, without lights, and in the dark about who or what the other is. For example, I did not say that one had to be a Christian to understand English literature, but only that if one had no, scanty, or erroneous understanding of Christianity then in reading a work in which there are religious allusions--most literature in English from Chaucer to, say, the advent of writers from non Christian cultures--then that reader and that work are like two ships passing in the night without real identification. A Jewish friend had been reading some poetry and was puzzled by the reference to someone's having been taken to Abraham's bosom. He knew perfectly well who Abraham was, but he could not understand the meaning in a Christian context. I simply said our Father Abraham of the Old Testament was dead and in Heaven and someone taken to Abraham's bosom has died and seemed likely to also to be in Heaven where Abraham could welcome him. It took a bit for the understanding to sink in that Christians and Jews shared at least one religious belief. He did not ask about other possible shared beliefs. But any Jewish reader familiar with the Old Testament and having read the New Testament (and European history) would be like one of two ships stopping in daylight to have a good gam. Fanny, precious ideal that she is, will take more space and time.
Julie said, I think, that some people pray to Providence and not to God. Providence and God are the same word to those who use Providence: it means that God provides what is necessary. The source of everything is God.
Good to hear Cheryl's news that Mansfield Park will hit the streets April 18. Although I have seen the film, and liked it, I want my own copy. But I'd also like the BBC to do a mini-series soon.
Best wishes
John
John: The bulletin board was intended as a place for airing disagreements; so, you are in style. It may be, however, that you are in disagreement with Janet Todd rather than with myself. Let me remind you that Ms. Todd is (1) a professor, (2) an English-person, and (3) a woman. That means that both you and I lose on all three of the most important tie-breakers. I suspect Professor Todd is a feminist because she thinks that Mary Wollstonecraft is wonderful. If you study the professor's footnote, you will find that she is not contradicting Wollstonecraft; rather, she is amplifying on W's phrase "Whether the duties of the state are reciprocal, I mean not to discuss; ...".
Julie: Beatings in the army and at school? - How quaint! I live in the society that invented the drive-by shooting and the schoolyard massacre. We enjoy a large number of popular film types including the assassin-with-a-heart-of-gold and the women-killing-men-because-they-deserve-it genres. Perhaps you will join me in the speculation that, surely, there must be more domestic cruelty nowadays than in Jane Austen's time.
If you intend to say that one of the factors that prolong a physical abuse of a wife is the lack of resources, then I think you must be right - then as now. If you say that it always was (and is) the most important factor, then I will guess that you were under your desk and reading during that lecture. If you are saying that a wife never had money of her own, then you are easily proven wrong, the novels and the family biography of Jane Austen document your error.
I? In disagreement with Professor Todd, Englishwoman? You jest, surely! It could never be. It was deemed that a stick no thicker than one's thumb could be used to discipline a disobedient wife--but nowhere did the judge say that a man was legally able to do life-threatening damage to his wife's person. That was grounds for divorce as surely as if he had never been able or willing to consummate the marriage. As master, he could administer a good hiding but not break arms or legs. Do you think that it was a barbarian society? Dear me, no!
Mr Dennis, I am ashamed of you. And if Mr Darcy is to found on my journey, then I shall certainly tell him.
Where is Heather?
Best regards, in keeping with the situation
John
... that they always see things in absolutes! But then, you may have been using the absolutes of conversation as did Mary Crawford, i.e. 'sometimes'. Of course I didn't mean any of those comments were absolutes. My meaning has to be seen in the context of the people concerned, of course. All I meant to illustrate was that IF a woman found herself in an abusive domestic situation, she would have found getting out of it more difficult then than now (this is discounting emotional difficulties, which are the same throughout space and time) because she had fewer legal and social options open to her, unless their were male relatives willing to help. I don't know how one qualifies cruelty: to some extent, I imagine, it is a social construct: what would have been quite acceptable (and indeed was) as recently as during my own childhood, say, in public schools, is illegal now - I vividly remember a sobbing eight-year-old boy being chased around the classroom by the teacher,who was weilding a cane. The child had wet his pants with sheer terror, so he was hit some more for that when he was caught. Normal, sadly, in the late 1950s, but I wish I knew that teacher's address today. In Pride and Prejudice it is mentioned as an intersting piece of chat that, in the nearby militiary encampment, 'a private had been flogged.' Well, we don't do that today either (though they'd probably like to in Queensland).
The treatment meted out to Hetty Sorrel in Adam Bede would be
accounted very cruel indeed today; the treatment accorded Bertha Rochester
would be accounted similarly outrageous - at the time, the fact that she was
kept at home and accorded a nurse would have been thought generous. It's all a
matter of context, and in any case, there is not really much point in being
comparative - what difference does that make? To each age belongs its own
cruelties, both casual and institutionalised in law, but, thankfully, to each
age also belongs its own kindnesses, ditto.
Julie
Dear Cheryl,
I grant you that, had Fanny stayed at home, she would have been much worse off. Heaven knows how she would have contributed financially (Susan doesn't appear to have done so), but she would have no doubt become a kind of drudge/governess/housekeeper for her mother and younger siblings.
Her physical state, however, cannot in all fairness be laid at the door of
manipulation: she is established in the novel, even before her physical
appearance, as being 'somewhat sickly and puny' (her own mother's words).
The physical difference between herself and her female cousins was so great that
'nobody would have supposed them so near an age as they were'. Sir Thomas
has her taught to ride as a means of improving her health ('how I used to
tremble when my uncle opened his lips if horses were spoken of!'), and Sir
Thomas is notably struck with the obvious improvement in health that seems to
take place during his absence. There doesn't seem to be much doubt that
Jane Austen meant to establish the fact that Fanny was not a healthy child in
her youth (indeed, I'm surprised Mrs Price only buried one child!). I
suppose where Fanny sticks in my throat is in the two scenes when she is
preparing for, and later experiencing, her first invitation to dinner. On
the one hand she thought Mrs Norris' abuse and advice 'perfectly
reasonable: she rated her own claims to comfort quite as low as Mrs Norris
could (Please!)'. A couple of pages further on, we have her submitting 'as her
own propriety of mind directed'.....'to all the little distinctions attendant
upon being the first lady in company.' I feel she would have been more
consistent had she eaten in the kitchen with the housemaids.
Julie
Dear Ashton,
I've always had trouble with those Irish names. If you can spell Dun Lowry in the Irish manner I'll give you a dollar and a hearty handshake.
But more to the point, I read the posting concerning life in HM Navy with some interest. As far as I know, there aren't very many contemporary accounts of the average swabjockey serving under Nelson. I do know that a good percentage of the seamen were pressed into service and that there were several mutinies. So I would imagine that a tar's loyalty to his officers was pretty slight. It was more a matter of self preservation than any admiration for leadership. And I'm sure that the favor was returned by the brass.
There was an American naval captain who served in the War of 1812 and who wrote two or three sea novels. At the moment I can neither remember his name nor the titles of the novels. I do know that Herman Melville was an admirer of the books and the books are re-issued every once in a while. These books would probably give us as good an idea as anything about what the sailor brothers experienced at sea even though the novels are probably juiced up a bit (or a lot).
I've been giving some thought to a question that was posed some time ago as to way JA never mentioned the war that was going on at the time. This may have already been stated, but AI think that the war was a background event. It was there, but it wasn't overriding like WWII was. The only comparison I can make is the fiction that was published during the Vietnam War. Most of the best sellers never mentioned the war even though it seemed that everyone knew someone who was in the service. It wasn't really until after the Vietnam War was over that novelists started addressing it. It may be a matter of (for want of a better word) fermentation. Things like this have to age a bit in order to be palatable.
And finally, I remember someone asked the question concerning tobacco use during JA's time. My research shows that the primary form of ingestion was through snuffing. It was more popular than smoking until the beginning of Victoria's reign. Queen Charlotte was know to some as "Snuffy Charlotte" and the Prince Regent had a storeroom in the palace set aside for his snuff supply. It was not unusual for a cleric (especially some of the Scots divines) to take a pinch during their sermons. The standard icon for a tobacco shop in those days was of a Highlander taking a pinch of snuff instead of the cigar store Indian that the Americans used. There are several companies still in producing snuff that were in existence during JA's time: Wilson's (who still produce Charlotte's snuff called Crumbs of Comfort) and S. Gawith of Kendal. During Napoleon's reign in France snuffboxes made of horn and in the shape of Nap's bicorn hat were very popular. The English, of course, didn't follow that trend, but preferred pewter, silver wood or painted papier maché boxes. I've seen pictures of several with William Cowpers portrait painted on them.
Why didn't JA mention tobacco? I thin it was because she was too good a writer. There was no point in mentioning someone taking a pinch or lighting a pipe. She was writing at the time when these things were common and she didn't have to try to set a time tone. Also, I've noticed that when writers do mention someone lighting a cigarette or taking a puff, it's usually a way of stalling for time. It's like a written "uh, well." JA may have gotten stuck, but she had the sense and style to make sure the sticking point was removed and covered over during the revision.
But what the heck do I know anyway?
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