The Real Jane Austen

by Paula Byrne

  One of the strongest expressions of dislike in all her surviving letters is directed against the Regent. The whole of England had become caught up in the war of the Waleses, which had reached epic proportions in 1813 when the Princess of Wales leaked a private letter to the press, which aimed to present her husband in the worst possible light for refusing access to their daughter, Princess Charlotte. Jane Austen knew which side she was on: ‘I suppose all the World is sitting in Judgement upon the Princess of Wales’s Letter. Poor Woman, I shall support her as long as I can, because she is a Woman, and because I hate her Husband.’ The blame, she felt, could be firmly laid upon the Regent: ‘I am resolved at least always to think that she would have been respectable, if the Prince had behaved only tolerably by her at first.’33

  Now, the man she ‘hated’ was showing the greatest respect for her novels and expecting an obsequious dedication. Caroline Austen remembered, ‘My Aunt made all proper acknowledgments at the moment, but had no intention of accepting the honor offered – until she was avised by some of her friends that she must consider the permission as a command.’34 Jane Austen wrote to Stanier Clarke to clarify the matter:

  Sir

  I must take the liberty of asking You a question – Among the many flattering attentions which I recd from you at Carlton House, on Monday last, was the Information of my being at liberty to dedicate any future Work to HRH the P. R. without the necessity of any Solicitation on my part. Such at least, I beleived to be your words; but as I am very anxious to be quite certain of what was intended, I intreat you to have the goodness to inform me how such a Permission is to be understood, and whether it is incumbent on me to shew my sense of the Honour, by inscribing the Work now in the Press, to H.R.H. – I shd be equally concerned to appear either presumptuous or Ungrateful.35

  Clarke took the hint: ‘it is certainly not incumbent on you to dedicate your work … The Regent has read and admired all your publications.’36 He continued with some praise of his own, especially of Mansfield Park, and suggested that they might meet again when he returned from an upcoming trip to Sevenoaks.

  Jane Austen swallowed her moral principles and went for the promotional opportunity, realizing that she could use the patronage of the Regent to her advantage to hurry along John Murray. She confessed to Cassandra: ‘I did mention the P.R. in my note to Mr Murray, it brought me a fine compliment in return; whether it has done any other good I do not know, but Henry thought it worth trying.’ She worried about what the principled Martha Lloyd would think of her: ‘I hope you have told Martha of my first resolution of letting nobody know that I might dedicate etc – for fear of being obliged to do it – and that she is thoroughly convinced of my being influenced now by nothing but the most mercenary motives.’37

  So she made her dedication for marketing reasons and suggested a brief perfunctory acknowledgement: ‘Dedicated by Permission to H.R.H. The Prince Regent’.38 Murray, however, was quick to suggest an expanded dedication, moved to a separate page: ‘To His Royal Highness The Prince Regent, This Work Is, BY His Royal Highness’s Permission, Most Respectfully Dedicated, by his Royal Highness’s Dutiful and Obedient Humble Servant, The Author.’ She allowed this and expressed her gratitude to Murray for putting her right, but she was clearly irritated by having to spend her own hard-earned money on a presentation copy: ‘It strikes me that I have no business to give the P.R a Binding, but we will take Counsel upon the question.’39 She ended up arranging to have the three volumes bound in handsome crimson leather with gold tooling, including the three-feather heraldic badge of the Prince of Wales at the top of the spine. This cost her almost two pounds. The copy is still in the Royal Collection.

  Emma, specially bound for the Prince, at Jane Austen’s expense

  The dedication was not acknowledged in person by the Prince, and it did nothing for sales or publicity. But Murray had other tools of the trade of which Jane Austen was a beneficiary. His Quarterly Review, the leading literary periodical of the day (the equivalent of the Times Literary Supplement or New York Review of Books), provided a lengthy review of her novels by no less an authority than Sir Walter Scott. ‘Have you any fancy to dash off an article on Emma?’ Murray asked Scott.40 He granted that the book ‘wants incident and romance’, but suggested that a review-essay reflecting on Austen’s career to date would be of great value, especially given the brilliance of Pride and Prejudice.

  Scott perceived that Jane Austen’s novels were exemplars of a notable departure from Gothic and sentimental fiction, ‘neither alarming our credulity nor amusing our imagination by wild variety of incident’, but perfecting instead ‘the art of copying from nature as she really exists in the common walks of life, and presenting to the reader, instead of the splendid scenes of an imaginary world, a correct and striking representation of that which is daily taking place around him’.41

  Murray sent the review to Jane Austen, who was pleased, though unhappy that Scott had failed to register that she was the author of Mansfield Park. This was important to her as the second edition of Mansfield Park was about to be published, and was in need of publicity, particularly as it was the only one of her novels which had not been reviewed elsewhere. ‘I cannot but be sorry that so clever a Man as the reveiwer of Emma, should consider [Mansfield Park] so unworthy of being noticed,’ she complained to Murray.42

  Scott’s review drew attention to the new kind of ‘middling class’ characters that Jane Austen depicted:

  By keeping close to common incidents, and to such characters as occupy the ordinary walks of life, she has produced sketches of such spirit and originality, that we never miss the excitation which depends upon a narrative of uncommon events, arising from the consideration of minds, manners and sentiments, greatly above our own … The author of Emma confines herself chiefly to the middling classes of society; her most distinguished characters do not rise greatly above well-bred country gentlemen and ladies; and those which are sketched with most originality and precision, belong to a class rather below that standard.

  Scott perceived that Austen’s characters are instantly recognizable as ‘real’ people: ‘A friend of ours, whom the author never saw or heard of, was at once recognized by his own family as the original of Mr. Bennet, and we do not know if he has yet got rid of the nickname.’ He was thus the first to pinpoint in print one of the greatest qualities of Austen’s characters: the fact that we can all identify people like them among our own acquaintance.

  Scott was clever enough to see what was pioneering and ground-breaking in the novels, unlike the Reverend James Stanier Clarke, librarian to the Prince, who advised her to write a novel about ‘an English Clergyman … Fond of and entirely engaged in Literature – carry your Clergyman to sea as the Friend of some distinguished Naval Character about a Court’. Clarke, whose letters to Austen make him sound like a real-life incarnation of the pompous and self-serving Mr Collins, seems to have been more than a little in love with Jane Austen. But when he offered her a bed at 37 Golden Square – ‘if you can make the Cell render you any service as a sort of Half-way House, when you come to Town’ – he was stepping a little too far.43

  Clarke also sought to offer her the patronage of his new boss, Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg, who was to be married to Princess Charlotte: ‘Perhaps when you again appear in print you may chuse to dedicate your Volumes to Prince Leopold: any Historical Romance illustrative of the History of the august house of Cobourg, would just now be very interesting.’44 In firmly rejecting this idea, Jane Austen gives a perfect illustration of her own literary concerns:

  You are very, very kind in your hints as to the sort of Composition which might recommend me at present, and I am fully sensible that an Historical Romance, founded on the House of Saxe Cobourg might be much more to the purpose of Profit or Popularity … but I could no more write a Romance than an Epic Poem. – I could not sit seriously down to write a serious Romance under any other motive than to save my Life, and if it were indispensable for me to keep it
up and never relax into laughing at myself or other people, I am sure I should be hung before I had finished the first Chapter. – No – I must keep to my own style and go on in my own Way.45

  What comes across so vividly here is her confidence. She goes on in her own way. Far from being intimidated by the clergyman with royal connections, she gently teases and firmly rebuffs him. She also – as Scott saw – rebuffs ‘Romance’ as opposed to realism. She makes absolutely clear that she is a comic, not an historical novelist: she will never give up on books that ‘relax into laughing at myself or other people’. This is perhaps her most wonderfully self-revelatory phrase.

  The correspondence with the absurd Stanier Clarke, which she gleefully passed on to friends and family, encouraged her to write a short and mischievous satire at Clarke’s expense, ‘Plan of a Novel, according to some hints from various quarters’. In a style reminiscent of the vellum notebooks, it was a return to parody of all that was absurd in the fiction of her day. The heroine is a ‘faultless character’, the hero ‘all perfection’. The ‘Plan’ also shows her commitment to her own style of novel. It slyly digs at the wellmeaning but irritating views of friends and family and acquaintances, even her publisher’s reader Mr Gifford. But the joke is really on Stanier Clarke who had the temerity to suggest the topic of her next novel – ‘his going to sea as Chaplain to a distinguished naval character about the Court, his going afterwards to Court himself, which introduced him to a great variety of Characters and involved him in many interesting situations, concluding with his opinions on the Benefits to result from Tithes being done away, and his having buried his own Mother (Heroine’s lamented Grandmother) in consequence of the High Priest of the Parish in which she died refusing to pay her Remains the respect due to them’.46

  By now she was writing Persuasion and this was probably the time when she bought back the rights to ‘Susan’. Henry Austen, who recovered fully from his potentially fatal illness, emphasized that she envisaged a long and successful career for herself: ‘The natural constitution [the Austens were all in rude health with a good track record of longevity], the regular habits, the quiet and happy occupations of our authoress, seemed to promise a long succession of amusement to the public, and a gradual increase of reputation to herself.’47

  The Reverend George Austen, Henry Austen, Frank Austen, ‘Miss Jane Austin’, Charles Austen

  What did Jane Austen look like at this time? In the brief biographical memoir prefixed to the posthumously published Northanger Abbey and Persuasion, Henry Austen said that his sister ‘possessed a considerable share’ of personal attractions:

  Her stature was that of true elegance. It could not have been increased without exceeding the middle height. Her carriage and deportment were quiet, yet graceful. Her features were separately good. Their assemblage produced an unrivalled expression of that cheerfulness, sensibility, and benevolence, which were her real characteristics.48

  These words are designed to create a flattering image. They do not tell us much about Jane Austen’s actual appearance, other than to hint that she was tall. Her niece Anna Lefroy fleshes out the picture: ‘figure tall and slender not drooping … The complexion of that rather rare sort which seems limited to the light Brunette – a mottled skin, not fair, but perfectly clear and healthy in its hue: the fine naturally curling hair; neither light nor dark – the bright hazel eyes to match – the rather small but well shaped nose.’ Another niece, Caroline Austen, recalled that ‘her face was rather round than long – she had a bright, but not pink colour – a clear brown complexion and very good hazle eyes … Her hair, a darkish brown, curled naturally – it was in short curls around the face (for then ringlets were not.) She always wore a cap – Such was the custom with ladies who were not quite young.’49

  Actually, Austen was still quite young – twenty-two – when she revealed her penchant for caps. In 1798 she wrote to Cassandra, ‘I have made myself two or three caps to wear of evenings since I came home, and they save me a world of torment as to hair-dressing, which at present gives me no trouble beyond washing and brushing, for my long hair is always plaited up out of sight, and my short hair curls well enough to want no papering.’50

  Another recollection came from Charlotte-Maria Beckford, a cousin of William Beckford, who was frequently in Austen’s company as a girl, and recalled her vividly. She lived to see the image published in the 1870 family memoir and said that it certainly wasn’t a good likeness. ‘I remember her as a tall thin spare person, with very high cheek bones, great colour, sparkling Eyes not large but joyous and intelligent. The face by no means so broad and plump as represented.’51 And perhaps the best account of her at the time when she made her mark as a professional author is that of a fellow-writer, Mary Russell Mitford, noted down in April 1815:

  À propos to novels, I have discovered that our great favourite, Miss Austen, is my countrywoman; that mamma knew all her family very intimately; and that she herself is an old maid (I beg her pardon – I mean a young lady) … a friend of mine, who visits her now, says that she has stiffened into the most perpendicular, precise, taciturn piece of ‘single blessedness’ that ever existed, and that, till Pride and Prejudice showed what a precious gem was hidden in that unbending case, she was no more regarded in society than a poker or a firescreen, or any other thin upright piece of wood or iron that fills its corner in peace and quietness. The case is very different now; she is still a poker – but a poker of whom every one is afraid.52

  Thin, upright and just a little intimidating, Jane Austen was poised in her skin and firm in her gaze.

  She was a dedicated follower of fashion. In London in the mid-Regency period, having made some money from her books, she started splashing out on her wardrobe. In September 1813, she wrote to Cassandra from London as follows: ‘Miss Hare had some pretty caps, and is to make me one like one of them, only white satin instead of blue. It will be white satin and lace, and a little white flower perking out of the left ear, like Harriot Byron’s feather [in Richardson’s Sir Charles Grandison]. I have allowed her to go as far as £1 16s.’ That was a lot of money to spend on a single cap. The letter continues with delight in the nicer points of couture: ‘My Gown is to be trimmed everywhere with white ribbon plaited on somehow or other. She says it will look well. I am not sanguine. They trim with white very much.’53

  She kept up with fashion with all the avidity of a modern woman reading Vogue or Elle. In 1814, she hesitated about wearing long sleeves, but the following year she went out in London and noted, ‘Long sleeves appear universal, even as Dress.’54 We should imagine the London Austen, preparing for her meetings with John Murray, as a woman in a finely finished cap fastened with ribbons beneath the chin and a long-sleeved dress with a high waistline, perhaps trimmed with white lace.

  Her whereabouts during much of 1815 are unknown. She intended to go to London in March, but nobody knows whether or not she did. She was certainly there, staying with Henry, for two months between October and December. This was the period when she was potentially beginning to cut a figure in society. She would certainly have needed a fashionable dress for the visit to Carlton House – she wasn’t to know whether the Prince or some other person of note might have been there in person. If ever there was a moment in her career when she would have sat for her portrait, pen in hand (whether in the studio of a professional or the drawing room of a friend or relation with artistic pretensions), this would have been it.

  The woman in this small Regency portrait sketch appears to be on the point of erasing or revising the line of prose she has just written. There is a spare pen at the ready and a sheaf of paper on the table – rather than a single letter sheet. The intense thoughtfulness in the gaze bespeaks an encounter with the Muse. This does not seem to be any genteel lady writing a letter. It looks like a portrait of a writer at work. On the verso is written, in what seems to be an early nineteenth-century hand, the name ‘Miss Jane Austin’.

  There is a great deal of uncertainty abou
t the portrait.55 Forensic, architectural and art historical evidence reveals that it is unquestionably authentic to the mid-Regency. The inscription on the back might have been an erroneous later addition, either wishful or deceitful, but until we find another potential sitter who was middle-aged in about 1815, who had a taste for long sleeves and a cap, who was tall and spare, straight-backed, with dark curly hair and facial features bearing an uncanny resemblance to Jane Austen’s brothers, we must keep open the possibility that this truly is a lifetime portrait of the woman who signed her name on the back of John Murray’s royalty cheque for Emma as ‘Miss Jane Austin’.

  It is an intriguing image, one that was lost to view for over a hundred years. It purports to show Jane Austen as a mature woman, a self-assured professional writer, at work on a manuscript, in a London setting, within a stone’s throw of Westminster Abbey and Poets’ Corner, the shrine to the literary genius of the British Isles. Its provenance prior to the twentieth century remains shrouded in mystery and it is by no means certain that the face is really Austen’s, but there is firm evidence that by the end of the nineteenth century someone had identified it as the novelist, framed it and hung it with a label reading ‘JANE AUSTEN B. 1775 – D. 1817’.

  Who was that someone? Certainly not a member of the family. But certainly someone who knew and loved the novels. Perhaps they should be identified as ‘the unknown reader’. Readers sometimes know the true spirit of a great writer more profoundly than the writer’s own family and descendants do. The unknown reader who cherished this as their image of Jane Austen intuited what this biography has sought to prove: that she was the consummate professional, the woman prepared to devote her life, and to sacrifice her prospects of marriage, to her art as a novelist. She coped with rejection from successive publishers not by giving up, but by carrying on: rewriting old material and starting afresh with new. She was prepared to take the risk of publishing at her own expense in the unlikely stable of Egerton’s Military Library. Having succeeded in her gamble, she went on to negotiate her own terms with the prestigious house of John Murray. She won the acclaim of readers ranging from the Prince Regent to Sir Walter Scott, the giant of European literature. It is fitting, therefore, that there should be an image of her not as the shrinking violet of family lore but as a Regency writer of genius, confident in her gaze and steady in her grasp of the novelist’s pen.