Prompt Caching¶

    _Walt Whitman has somewhere a fine and just distinction between “loving
by allowance” and “loving with personal love.” This distinction applies
to books as well as to men and women; and in the case of the not very
numerous authors who are the objects of the personal affection, it
brings a curious consequence with it. There is much more difference as
to their best work than in the case of those others who are loved “by
allowance” by convention, and because it is felt to be the right and
proper thing to love them. And in the sect--fairly large and yet
unusually choice--of Austenians or Janites, there would probably be
found partisans of the claim to primacy of almost every one of the
novels. To some the delightful freshness and humour of_ Northanger
Abbey, _its completeness, finish, and_ entrain, _obscure the undoubted
critical facts that its scale is small, and its scheme, after all, that
of burlesque or parody, a kind in which the first rank is reached with
difficulty._ Persuasion, _relatively faint in tone, and not enthralling
in interest, has devotees who exalt above all the others its exquisite
delicacy and keeping. The catastrophe of_ Mansfield Park _is admittedly
theatrical, the hero and heroine are insipid, and the author has almost
wickedly destroyed all romantic interest by expressly admitting that
Edmund only took Fanny because Mary shocked him, and that Fanny might
very likely have taken Crawford if he had been a little more assiduous;
yet the matchless rehearsal-scenes and the characters of Mrs. Norris and
others have secured, I believe, a considerable party for it._ Sense and
Sensibility _has perhaps the fewest out-and-out admirers; but it does
not want them._
_I suppose, however, that the majority of at least competent votes
would, all things considered, be divided between_ Emma _and the present
book; and perhaps the vulgar verdict (if indeed a fondness for Miss
Austen be not of itself a patent of exemption from any possible charge
of vulgarity) would go for_ Emma. _It is the larger, the more varied, the
more popular; the author had by the time of its composition seen rather
more of the world, and had improved her general, though not her most
peculiar and characteristic dialogue; such figures as Miss Bates, as the
Eltons, cannot but unite the suffrages of everybody. On the other hand,
I, for my part, declare for_ Pride and Prejudice _unhesitatingly. It
seems to me the most perfect, the most characteristic, the most
eminently quintessential of its author’s works; and for this contention
in such narrow space as is permitted to me, I propose here to show
cause._
_In the first place, the book (it may be barely necessary to remind the
reader) was in its first shape written very early, somewhere about 1796,
when Miss Austen was barely twenty-one; though it was revised and
finished at Chawton some fifteen years later, and was not published till
1813, only four years before her death. I do not know whether, in this
combination of the fresh and vigorous projection of youth, and the
critical revision of middle life, there may be traced the distinct
superiority in point of construction, which, as it seems to me, it
possesses over all the others. The plot, though not elaborate, is almost
regular enough for Fielding; hardly a character, hardly an incident
could be retrenched without loss to the story. The elopement of Lydia
and Wickham is not, like that of Crawford and Mrs. Rushworth, a_ coup de
théâtre; _it connects itself in the strictest way with the course of the
story earlier, and brings about the denouement with complete propriety.
All the minor passages--the loves of Jane and Bingley, the advent of Mr.
Collins, the visit to Hunsford, the Derbyshire tour--fit in after the
same unostentatious, but masterly fashion. There is no attempt at the
hide-and-seek, in-and-out business, which in the transactions between
Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax contributes no doubt a good deal to the
intrigue of_ Emma, _but contributes it in a fashion which I do not think
the best feature of that otherwise admirable book. Although Miss Austen
always liked something of the misunderstanding kind, which afforded her
opportunities for the display of the peculiar and incomparable talent to
be noticed presently, she has been satisfied here with the perfectly
natural occasions provided by the false account of Darcy’s conduct given
by Wickham, and by the awkwardness (arising with equal naturalness) from
the gradual transformation of Elizabeth’s own feelings from positive
aversion to actual love. I do not know whether the all-grasping hand of
the playwright has ever been laid upon_ Pride and Prejudice; _and I dare
say that, if it were, the situations would prove not startling or
garish enough for the footlights, the character-scheme too subtle and
delicate for pit and gallery. But if the attempt were made, it would
certainly not be hampered by any of those loosenesses of construction,
which, sometimes disguised by the conveniences of which the novelist can
avail himself, appear at once on the stage._
_I think, however, though the thought will doubtless seem heretical to
more than one school of critics, that construction is not the highest
merit, the choicest gift, of the novelist. It sets off his other gifts
and graces most advantageously to the critical eye; and the want of it
will sometimes mar those graces--appreciably, though not quite
consciously--to eyes by no means ultra-critical. But a very badly-built
novel which excelled in pathetic or humorous character, or which
displayed consummate command of dialogue--perhaps the rarest of all
faculties--would be an infinitely better thing than a faultless plot
acted and told by puppets with pebbles in their mouths. And despite the
ability which Miss Austen has shown in working out the story, I for one
should put_ Pride and Prejudice _far lower if it did not contain what
seem to me the very masterpieces of Miss Austen’s humour and of her
faculty of character-creation--masterpieces who may indeed admit John
Thorpe, the Eltons, Mrs. Norris, and one or two others to their company,
but who, in one instance certainly, and perhaps in others, are still
superior to them._
_The characteristics of Miss Austen’s humour are so subtle and delicate
that they are, perhaps, at all times easier to apprehend than to
express, and at any particular time likely to be differently
apprehended by different persons. To me this humour seems to possess a
greater affinity, on the whole, to that of Addison than to any other of
the numerous species of this great British genus. The differences of
scheme, of time, of subject, of literary convention, are, of course,
obvious enough; the difference of sex does not, perhaps, count for much,
for there was a distinctly feminine element in “Mr. Spectator,” and in
Jane Austen’s genius there was, though nothing mannish, much that was
masculine. But the likeness of quality consists in a great number of
common subdivisions of quality--demureness, extreme minuteness of touch,
avoidance of loud tones and glaring effects. Also there is in both a
certain not inhuman or unamiable cruelty. It is the custom with those
who judge grossly to contrast the good nature of Addison with the
savagery of Swift, the mildness of Miss Austen with the boisterousness
of Fielding and Smollett, even with the ferocious practical jokes that
her immediate predecessor, Miss Burney, allowed without very much
protest. Yet, both in Mr. Addison and in Miss Austen there is, though a
restrained and well-mannered, an insatiable and ruthless delight in
roasting and cutting up a fool. A man in the early eighteenth century,
of course, could push this taste further than a lady in the early
nineteenth; and no doubt Miss Austen’s principles, as well as her heart,
would have shrunk from such things as the letter from the unfortunate
husband in the_ Spectator, _who describes, with all the gusto and all the
innocence in the world, how his wife and his friend induce him to play
at blind-man’s-buff. But another_ Spectator _letter--that of the damsel
of fourteen who wishes to marry Mr. Shapely, and assures her selected
Mentor that “he admires your_ Spectators _mightily”--might have been
written by a rather more ladylike and intelligent Lydia Bennet in the
days of Lydia’s great-grandmother; while, on the other hand, some (I
think unreasonably) have found “cynicism” in touches of Miss Austen’s
own, such as her satire of Mrs. Musgrove’s self-deceiving regrets over
her son. But this word “cynical” is one of the most misused in the
English language, especially when, by a glaring and gratuitous
falsification of its original sense, it is applied, not to rough and
snarling invective, but to gentle and oblique satire. If cynicism means
the perception of “the other side,” the sense of “the accepted hells
beneath,” the consciousness that motives are nearly always mixed, and
that to seem is not identical with to be--if this be cynicism, then
every man and woman who is not a fool, who does not care to live in a
fool’s paradise, who has knowledge of nature and the world and life, is
a cynic. And in that sense Miss Austen certainly was one. She may even
have been one in the further sense that, like her own Mr. Bennet, she
took an epicurean delight in dissecting, in displaying, in setting at
work her fools and her mean persons. I think she did take this delight,
and I do not think at all the worse of her for it as a woman, while she
was immensely the better for it as an artist.