Memoir of Jane Austen

by Austen-Leigh, James Edward; Sutherland, Kathryn;

  October 5. 1832.

  The Editor of ‘The Standard Novels’ feels happy in being able to state, that arrangements have been made for including several other of the works of Miss Austen in this collection. Miss Austen is the founder of a school of novelists; and her followers are not confined to her own sex, but comprise in their number some male writers of considerable merit. The authoress of ‘Sense and Sensibility’ had for her contemporaries several female novelists, whose works attained instant popularity—Madame D’Arblay, Miss Edgeworth, Mrs. Opie, Miss Porter,° and others, most of whose novels preceded hers in order of time: but, notwithstanding the temptation which nearly all writers are under (especially at the commencement of their vocation) to imitate that which has commanded distinguished success, Miss Austen at once freed herself from such influence, and, with combined boldness and modesty, struck into a path of her own, of which she remains, to this day, the undisputed mistress. The truth, spirit, ease, and refined humour of her conversations have rarely been equalled. She is, emphatically, the novelist of home. One of the most remarkable traits of her genius may be found in the power by which, without in the slightest degree violating the truth of portraiture, she is able to make the veriest every-day person a character of great interest. This is, indeed, turning lead into gold; but it would be difficult to detect the secret of the process. [An editorial paragraph issued from Bentley’s office and not strictly part of Henry Austen’s ‘Memoir’.]

  ANNA LEFROY

  ‘RECOLLECTIONS OF AUNT JANE’ (1864)

  Anna Lefroy as a young woman

  Southern Hill Reading

  Decr 1864

  My dear Edward

  You have asked me to put on paper my recollections of Aunt Jane, & to do so would be, both on your account & her’s a labour of love if I had but a sufficiency of material.

  I am sorry to say that my reminiscences are few; surprisingly so, considering how much I saw of her in childhood, & how much intercourse we had in later years. I look back to the first period but find little that I can grasp of any substance, or certainty: it seems now all so shadowy! I recollect the frequent visits of my two Aunts, & how they walked in wintry weather through the sloppy lane between Steventon & Dean in pattens, usually worn at that time even by Gentlewomen. I remember too their bonnets: because though precisely alike in colour, shape & material, I made it a pleasure to guess, & I believe always guessed right, which bonnet & which Aunt belonged to each other—Children do not think of Aunts, or perhaps of any grown up people as young; yet at the time to which I now refer my Aunts must have been very young women—even a little later, when I might be 9 or 10 yrs. old I thought it so very odd, to hear Grandpapa speak of them as ‘the Girls’. ‘Where are the Girls?’ ‘Are the Girls gone out?’

  At the time of my birth Aunt Jane was not much over 17—She was thus entered in the family Bible in her Father’s hand writing. A very good clear hand he wrote, by the by. ‘Jane Austen born 16 Decr. 1775. Privately baptised 17 Decr. 1775. Recd. into the Church 5 Ap1 . 1776 Sponsors Revd. Mr. Cooke, Rector of Bookham Surry, Mrs. Jane Austen of Sevenoaks Kent, Father’s Uncle’s Wife, Mrs. Musgrave of Chinnor, Oxon.’

  Aunt Jane was the general favorite with children; her ways with them being so playful, & her long circumstantial stories so delightful! These were continued from time to time, & begged for of course at all possible or impossible occasions; woven, as she proceeded out of nothing, but her own happy talent for invention. Ah! if but one of them could be now recovered!

  Other things have been even more completely obliterated—

  I have been told that one of her earliest Novels (Pride & Prejudice) was read aloud (in M.S. of course) in the Parsonage at Dean, whilst I was in the room, & not expected to listen—Listen however I did, with so much interest, & with so much talk afterwards about ‘Jane & Elizabeth’ that it was resolved, for prudence sake, to read no more of the story aloud in my hearing. This was related to me years afterwards, when the Novel had been published; & it was supposed that the names might recall to my recollection that early impression. Such however did not prove to be the case. Something you may expect me to say of our Aunt’s personal appearance, though in the latter years of her life it must be as well remembered by you as by me. The Figure tall & slight, but not drooping; well balanced, as was proved by her quick firm step. Her complexion of that rather rare sort which seems the peculiar property of light brunettes A mottled skin, not fair, but perfectly clear & healthy in hue; the fine naturally curling hair, neither light nor dark; the bright hazel eyes to match, & the rather small but well shaped nose. One hardly understands how with all these advantages she could yet fail of being a decidedly handsome woman.

  I have intimated that of the two Sisters Aunt Jane was generally the favorite with children, but with the young people of Godmersham it was not so. They liked her indeed as a playfellow, & as a teller of stories, but they were not really fond of her. I believe that their Mother was not; at least that she very much preferred the elder Sister. A little talent went a long way with the Goodneston Bridgeses° of that period; & much must have gone a long way too far. This preference lasted for a good while, nor do I think that there ever was any abatement in the love of that family for Aunt Cassandra. Time however brought, as it always does bring, new impressions or modifications of the old ones. Owing to particular circumstances there grew up during the latter years of Aunt Jane’s life a great & affectionate intimacy between herself & the eldest of her nieces; & I suppose there a [sic] few now living who can more fully appreciate the talent or revere the memory of Aunt Jane than Lady Knatchbull. This has brought me to the period of my own greatest share of intimacy; the two years before my marriage, & the two or three years after, when we lived, as you know almost close to Chawton when the original 17 years between us seemed to shrink to 7—or to nothing. It comes back to me now how strangely I missed her; it had become so much a habit with me to put by things in my mind with a reference to her and to say to myself, ‘I shall keep this for Aunt Jane.’ It was my great amusement during one summer visit at Chawton to procure Novels from a circulating Library at Alton, & after running them over to relate the stories to Aunt Jane. I may say it was her amusement also, as she sat busily stitching away at a work of charity, in which I fear that I took myself no more useful part. Greatly we both enjoyed it, one piece of absurdity leading to another, till Aunt Cassan[dr]a fatigued with her own share of laughter wd. exclaim ‘How can you both be so foolish?’ & beg us to leave off—One of these Novels, written by a Mrs. Hunter of Norwich,° was an exceedingly lengthy affair; there was no harm in the book, except that in a most unaccountable manner the same story about the same people, most of whom I think had died before the real story began was repeated 3 or 4 times over. A copy of the note written a few weeks afterwards,° in reply to one from ‘Mrs. Hunter’ will give you some idea of the state of the case.

  ‘Miss Jane Austen begs her best thanks may be conveyed to Mrs. Hunter of Norwich for the Threadpapers which she has been so kind as to send her by Mr. Austen, & which will be always very valuable on account of the spirited sketches (made it is supposed by Nicholson or Glover°) of the most interesting spots, Tarefield Hall, the Mill, & above all the Tomb of Howard’s wife, of the faithful representation of which Miss Jane Austen is undoubtedly a good judge having spent so many summers at Tarefield Abbey the delighted guest of the worthy Mrs. Wilson. Miss Jane Austen’s tears have flowed over each sweet sketch in such a way as would do Mrs. Hunter’s heart good to see; if Mrs. Hunter could understand all Miss Austen’s interest in the subject she would certainly have the kindness to publish at least 4 vols more about the Flint family, & especially would give many fresh particulars on that part of it which Mrs. H. has hitherto handled too briefly; viz, the history of Mary Flint’s marriage with Howard.

  Miss Austen cannot close this small epitome of the miniature abridgement of her thanks & admiration without expressing her sincere hope that Mrs. Hunter is provided at Norwich with a more
safe conveyance to London than Alton can now boast, as the Car of Falkenstein° which was the pride of that Town was overturned within the last 10 days.’

  The Car of Falkenstein, Collier’s, but at that time called Falkner’s Coach, relates to some earlier nonsense.

  Her unusually quick sense of the ridiculous inclined her to play with the trifling commonplaces of every day life, whether as regarded people or things; but she never played with it’s serious duties or responsibilities—when grave she was very grave; I am not sure but that Aunt Cassandra’s disposition was the most equally cheerful of the two. Their affection for each other was extreme; it passed the common love of sisters; and it had been so from childhood. My Grandmother talking to me once [of] by gone times, & of that particular time when my Aunts were placed at the Reading Abbey School, said that Jane was too young to make her going to school at all necessary, but it was her own doing; she would go with Cassandra; ‘if Cassandra’s head had been going to be cut off Jane would have her’s cut off too’—

  They must however have been separated some times as Cassandra in her childhood was a good deal with Dr.&Mrs. Cooper at Bath°—She once described to me her return to Steventon one fine summer evening. The Coopers had sent or conveyed her a good part of the journey, but my Grandfather had to go, I think as far as Andover to meet her—He might have conveyed himself by Coach, but he brought his Daughter home in a Hack chaise;&almost home they were when they met Jane&Charles, the two little ones of the family, who had got as far as New down to meet the chaise, & have the pleasure of riding home in it; but who first spied the chaise tradition does not say, whether such happiness were the lawful property of Jane or Charles will never be exactly understood.

  Anna Lefroy in later life, 1845

  I have come to the end of my traditional lore, as well as of my personal recollections, & I am sorry that both should be so meagre & unsatisfactory; but if this attempt should incline others to do the same, even if no more, the contributions when put together may furnish a memorial of some value. You must have it in your own power to write something; & Caroline, though her recollections cannot go so far back even as your’s, is, I know acquainted with some particulars of interest in the life of our Aunt; they relate to circumstances of which I never had any knowledge, but were communicated to her by the best of then living Authorities, Aunt Cassandra—There may be other sources of information, if we could get at them—Letters may have been preserved, & this is the more probable as Aunt Jane’s talent for letter writing was so much valued & thought so delightful amongst her own family circle.

  Such gleanings however are not likely to fall to our share, & we must content ourselves, I fear, with our own reminiscences.

  Believe me dr. Edwd

  yr. affect: Sister

  J. A. E. Lefroy

  CAROLINE AUSTEN

  MY AUNT JANE AUSTEN: A MEMOIR (1867)

  Caroline Austen as a child

  A MEMOIR of Miss Jane Austen has often been asked for, and strangers have declared themselves willing and—desirous to undertake the task of writing it—and have wondered that the family should have refused to supply the necessary materials. But tho’ none of her nearest relatives desired that the details of a very private and rather uneventful life should be laid before the world yet I think they would not willingly have had her memory die—and it will die and be lost, if no effort is made to preserve it—The grass grave in the village churchyard sinks down in a few years to the common level, and its place is no more to be found and so, to keep the remembrance of the departed a little longer in the world which they have left, we lay a stone over their graves, and inscribe upon it their name and age, and perhaps some few words of their virtues and of our own sorrow—and tho’ the stone moulders and tho’ the letters fade away, yet do they outlast the interest of what they record—We remember our dead always—but when we shall have joined them their memory may be said to have perished out of the earth, for no distinct idea of them remains behind, and the next generation soon forget that they ever existed—

  For most of us therefore the memorial on the perishing tombstone is enough—and more than enough—it will tell its tale longer than anyone will care to read it—But not so for all—Every country has had its great men, whose lives have been and are still read—with unceasing interest; and so, in some families there has been one distinguished by talent or goodness, and known far beyond the home circle, whose memory ought to be preserved through more than a single generation—Such a one was my Aunt—Jane Austen—

  Since her death, the public voice has placed her in the first rank of the Novellists of her day—given her, I may say, the first place amongst them—and it seems but right that some record should remain with us of her life and character; and that she herself should not be forgotten by her nearest descendants, whilst her writings still live, and are still spreading her fame wherever the English books are read.—Her last long surviving Brother° has recently died at the age of 91 [‘1865’ is in margin]—The generation who knew her is passing away—but those who are succeeding us must feel an interest in the personal character of their Great Aunt, who has made the family name in some small degree, illustrious—For them therefore, and for my own gratification I will try to call back my recollections of what she was, and what manner of life she led—It is not much that I have to tell—for I mean to relate only what I saw and what I thought myself—I was just twelve years old when she died—therefore, I knew her only with a child’s knowledge—

  My first very distinct remembrance of her is in her own home at Chawton—The house belonged to her second Brother, Mr. Knight (of Godmersham & Chawton) and was by him made a comfortable residence for his Mother and sisters—The family party there were, my Grandmother, Mrs. Austen—my two Aunts, her daughters—and a third Aunt of mine—Miss Lloyd, who had made her home with them before I can remember, and who remained their inmate as long as Mrs. Austen lived—

  The dwelling place of a favourite Author always possesses a certain interest for those who love the books that issued from it—Tho’ some of my Aunt’s Novels were imagined and written, in her very early days—some certainly at Steventon yet it was from Chawton that after being rearranged and prepared for publication they were sent out into the world—and it is with Chawton therefore, that her name as an Author, must be identified—The house which she inhabited was in itself, not much more deserving of notice than Cowper’s dwelling place at Olney°—and yet more than 30 years after his death, that was pointed out to us, as a something that strangers passing through the little town, must wish to see—Now, as the remembrance of Chawton Cottage, for so in later years it came to be called, is still pleasant to me—I will assume that those who never knew it, may like to have laid before them, a description of their Aunt’s home—the last that she dwelt in—where, in the maturity of her mind, she completed the works that have given her an English name—where after a few years, whilst still in the prime of life, she began to droop and wither away—the home from whence she removed only in the last stage of her illness, by the persuasion of her friends, hoping against hope—and to which her sister before long had to return alone—

  My Grand Father, Mr. Austen, held for many years, the adjoining Livings of Deane and Steventon—but gave up his duties to his eldest son, and settled at Bath, a very few years before his own death—For a while, his Widow and daughters remained at Bath—then they removed to Southampton—and finally settled in the village of Chawton—

  Mr. Knight had been able to offer his Mother the choice of two houses—one in Kent near to Godmersham—and the other at Chawton—and she and her daughters eventually decided on the Hampshire residence.

  I have been told I know not how truly, that it had been originally a roadside Inn—and it was well placed for such a purpose—just where the road from Winchester comes into the London and Gosport line—The fork between the two being partly occupied by a large shallow pond—which pond I beleive has long since become dry ground—

&nb
sp; The front door opened on the road,° a very narrow enclosure of each side, protected the house from the possible shock of any runaway vehicle—A good sized entrance, and two parlours, called dining and drawing room, made the length of the house; all intended originally to look on the road—but the large drawing room window was blocked-up and turned into a bookcase when Mrs. Austen took possession and another was opened at the side, which gave to view only turf and trees—A high wooden fence shut out the road (the Winchester road it was) all the length of the little domain, and trees were planted inside to form a shrubbery walk—which carried round the enclosure, gave a very sufficient space for exercise—you did not feel cramped for room; and there was a pleasant irregular mixture of hedgerow, and grass, and gravel walk and long grass for mowing, and orchard—which I imagine arose from two or three little enclosures having been thrown together, and arranged as best might be, for ladies’ occupation—There was besides a good kitchen garden, large court and many out-buildings, not much occupied—and all this affluence of space was very delightful to children, and I have no doubt added considerably to the pleasure of a visit—

  Everything indoors and out was well kept—the house was well furnished, and it was altogether a comfortable and ladylike establishment, tho’ I beleive the means which supported it, were but small—

  The house was quite as good as the generality of Parsonage houses then—and much in the same old style—the ceilings low and roughly finished—some bedrooms very small—none very large but in number sufficient to accomodate the inmates, and several guests—

  The dining room could not be made to look anywhere but on the road—and there my Grandmother often sat for an hour or two in the morning, with her work or her writing—cheered by its sunny aspect, and by the stirring scene it afforded her.