I beleive the close vicinity of the road was really no more an evil to her than it was to her grandchildren. Collyer’s daily coach with six horses was a sight to see! and most delightful was it to a child to have the awful stillness of night so frequently broken by the noise of passing carriages, which seemed sometimes, even to shake the bed—
The village of Chawton has, of course, long since been tranquilised—it is no more a great thoroughfare, and other and many changes have past over it—and if any of its visitants should fail to recognise from my description, the house by the pond—I must beg them not hastily to accuse me of having exaggerated its former pleasantness.
Twenty years ago, on being then left vacant by Aunt Cassandra’s death, it was divided into habitations for the poor, and made to accomodate several families—so I was told—for I have never seen it since and I beleive trees have been cut down, and all that could be termed pleasure ground has reverted again to more ordinary purposes—
My visits to Chawton were frequent—I cannot tell when they began—they were very pleasant to me—and Aunt Jane was the great charm—As a very little girl, I was always creeping up to her, and following her whenever I could, in the house and out of it—I might not have remembered this, but for the recollection of my Mother’s telling me privately, I must not be troublesome to my Aunt—
Her charm to children was great sweetness of manner—she seemed to love you, and you loved her naturally in return—This as well as I can now recollect and analyse, was what I felt in my earliest days, before I was old enough to be amused by her cleverness—But soon came the delight of her playful talk—Everything she could make amusing to a child—Then, as I got older, and when cousins came to share the entertainment, she would tell us the most delightful stories chiefly of Fairyland, and her Fairies had all characters of their own—The tale was invented, I am sure, at the moment, and was sometimes continued for 2 or 3 days, if occasion served—
As to my Aunt’s personal appearance, her’s was the first face that I can remember thinking pretty, not that I used that word to myself, but I know I looked at her with admiration—Her face was rather round than long—she had a bright, but not a pink colour—a clear brown complexion and very good hazle eyes—She was not, I beleive, an absolute beauty, but before she left Steventon she was established as a very pretty girl, in the opinion of most of her neighbours—as I learnt afterwards from some of those who still remained—Her hair, a darkish brown, curled naturally—it was in short curls round her face (for then ringlets were not.) She always wore a cap—Such was the custom with ladies who were not quite young—at least of a morning but I never saw her without one, to the best of my remembrance, either morning or evening.
I beleive my two Aunts were not accounted very good dressers, and were thought to have taken to the garb of middle age unnecessarily soon—but they were particularly neat, and they held all untidy ways in great disesteem. Of the two, Aunt Jane was by far my favourite—I did not dislike Aunt Cassandra—but if my visit had at any time chanced to fall out during her absence, I don’t think I should have missed her—whereas, not to have found Aunt Jane at Chawton, would have been a blank indeed!
As I grew older, I met with young companions at my Grandmother’s—Of Capt. Charles Austen’s motherless girls, one the eldest, Cassy—lived there chiefly, for a time—under the especial tutorage of Aunt Cassandra; and then Chawton House was for a while inhabited by Capt. Frank Austen; and he had many children°—I beleive we were all of us, according to our different ages and natures, very fond of our Aunt Jane—and that we ever retained a strong impression of the pleasantness of Chawton life—One of my cousins,° now long since dead, after he was grown up, used occasionally to go and see Aunt Cassa.—then left sole inmate of the old house—and he told me once, that his visits were always a disappointment to him—for that he could not help expecting to feel particularly happy at Chawton and never till he got there, could he fully realise to himself how all its peculiar pleasures were gone—
In the time of my childhood, it was a cheerful house—my Uncles, one or another, frequently coming for a few days; and they were all pleasant in their own family—I have thought since, after having seen more of other households, wonderfully, as the family talk had much of spirit and vivacity, and it was never troubled by disagreements as it was not their habit to argue with each other—There always was perfect harmony amongst the brothers and sisters, and over my Grandmother’s door might have been inscribed the text, ‘Behold how good—and joyful a thing it is, brethren, to dwell together in unity.’° There was firm family union, never broken but by death—tho’ the time came when that union could not have been preserved if natural affection had not been by a spirit of forbearance and generosity°—
Aunt Jane began her day with music—for which I conclude she had a natural taste; as she thus kept it up—tho’ she had no one to teach; was never induced (as I have heard) to play in company; and none of her family cared much for it. I suppose, that she might not trouble them, she chose her practising time before breakfast—when she could have the room to herself—She practised regularly every morning—She played very pretty tunes, I thought—and I liked to stand by her and listen to them; but the music, (for I knew the books well in after years) would now be thought disgracefully easy—Much that she played from was manuscript, copied out by herself—and so neatly and correctly, that it was as easy to read as print—
At 9 o’clock she made breakfast—that was her part of the household work—The tea and sugar stores were under her charge —and the wine—Aunt Cassandra did all the rest—for my Grandmother had suffered herself to be superseded by her daughters before I can remember; and soon after, she ceased even to sit at the head of the table—
I don’t beleive Aunt Jane observed any particular method in parcelling out her day but I think she generally sat in the drawing room till luncheon: when visitors were there, chiefly at work°—She was fond of work—and she was a great adept at overcast and satin stitch—the peculiar delight of that day—General handiness and neatness were amongst her characteristics—She could throw the spilikens for us, better than anyone else, and she was wonderfully successful at cup and ball—She found a resource sometimes in that simple game, when she suffered from weak eyes and could not work or read for long together—
Her handwriting remains to bear testimony to its own excellence; and every note and letter of hers, was finished off handsomely—There was an art then in folding and sealing—no adhesive envelopes made all easy—some people’s letters looked always loose and untidy—but her paper was sure to take the right folds, and her sealing wax to drop in the proper place—
After luncheon, my Aunts generally walked out—sometimes they went to Alton for shopping—Often, one or the other of them, to the Great House—as it was then called—when a brother was inhabiting it, to make a visit—or if the house were standing empty they liked to stroll about the grounds—sometimes to Chawton Park—a noble beech wood, just within a walk—but sometimes, but that was rarely, to call on a neighbour—They had no carriage, and their visitings did not extend far—there were a few familities [sic] living in the village—but no great intimacy was kept up with any of them—they were upon friendly but rather distant terms, with all—Yet I am sure my Aunt Jane had a regard for her neighbours and felt a kindly interest in their proceedings. She liked immensely to hear all about them. They sometimes served for her amusement, but it was her own nonsense that gave zest to the gossip—She never turned them into ridicule—She was as far as possible from being either censorious or satirical—she never abused them or quizzed° them—That was the word of the day—an ugly word, now obsolete—and the ugly practise which it bespoke, is far less prevalent now, under any name, than it was then. The laugh she occasionally raised was by imagining for her neighbours impossible contingencies—by relating in prose or verse some trifling incident coloured to her own fancy, or in writing a history of what they had said or done, that could deceive
nobody—As an instance I would give her description of the pursuits of Miss Mills and Miss Yates—two young ladies of whom she knew next to nothing—they were only on a visit to a near neighbour but their names tempted her into rhyme—and so on she went—This was before my time. Mrs. Lefroy knows the lines better than I do—I beleive she has a copy and I shall not attempt to quote them imperfectly here. To about the same date perhaps may be referred (at least it was equally before my time) a few chapters which I overheard of a mock heroic story, written between herself and one of her nieces,° and I doubt not, at her instigation—If I remember rightly, it had no other foundation than their having seen a neighbour passing on the coach, without having previously known that he was going to leave home—(This I have since been told was written entirely by the Niece only under her encouragement).
I did not often see my Aunt with a book in her hand, but I beleive she was fond of reading and that she had read and did read a good deal. I doubt whether she cared very much for poetry in general; but she was a great admirer of Crabbe, and consequently she took a keen interest in finding out who he was—Other contemporary writers were well-known, but his origen having been obscure, his name did not announce itself—however by diligent enquiry she was ere long able to inform the rest of the family that he held the Living of Trowbridge, and had recently married a second time—
A very warm admirer of my Aunt’s writing but a stranger in England, lately made the observation that it would be most interesting to know what had been Miss Austen’s opinions on the great public events of her time—a period as she rightly observed, of the greatest interest—for my Aunt must have been a young woman, able to think, at the time of the French Revolution & the long disastrous chapter then begun, was closed by the battle of Waterloo, two years before her death—anyone might naturally desire to know what part such a mind as her’s had taken in the great strifes of war and policy which so disquieted Europe for more than 20 years—and yet, it was a question that had never before presented itself to me—and tho’ I have now retraced my steps on this track, I have found absolutely nothing!—
The general politics of the family were Tory—rather taken for granted I suppose, than discussed, as even my Uncles seldom talked about it—and in vain do I try to recall any word or expression of Aunt Jane’s that had reference to public events—Some bias of course she must have had—but I can only guess to which quarter it inclined—Of her historical opinions I am able to record thus much—that she was a most loyal adherent of Charles the 1st, and that she always encouraged my youthful beleif in Mary Stuart’s perfect innocence of all the crimes with which History has charged her memory—°
My Aunt must have spent much time in writing—her desk lived in the drawing room. I often saw her writing letters on it, and I beleive she wrote much of her Novels in the same way—sitting with her family, when they were quite alone; but I never saw any manuscript of that sort, in progress—She wrote very fully to her Brothers when they were at sea, and she corresponded with many others of her family—
There is nothing in those letters which I have seen that would be acceptable to the public—They were very well expressed, and they must have been very interesting to those who received them—but they detailed chiefly home and family events: and she seldom committed herself even to an opinion—so that to strangers they could be no transcript of her mind—they would not feel that they knew her any the better for having read them—
They were rather over-cautious, for excellence—Her letters to Aunt Cassandra (for they were sometimes separated) were, I dare say,° open and confidential—My Aunt looked them over and burnt the greater part, (as she told me), 2 or 3 years before her own death—She left, or gave some as legacies to the Nieces—but of those that I have seen, several had portions cut out—Aunt Jane was so good as frequently to write to me; and in addressing a child, she was perfect—
When staying at Chawton, if my two cousins, Mary Jane and Cassy were there, we often had amusements in which my Aunt was very helpful—She was the one to whom we always looked for help—She would furnish us with what we wanted from her wardrobe, and she would often be the entertaining visitor in our make beleive house—She amused us in various ways—once I remember in giving a conversation as between myself and my two cousins, supposed to be grown up, the day after a Ball.
As I grew older, she would talk to me more seriously of my reading, and of my amusements—I had taken early to writing verses and stories, and I am sorry to think how I troubled her with reading them. She was very kind about it, and always had some praise to bestow but at last she warned me against spending too much time upon them—She said—how well I recollect it! that she knew writing stories was a great amusement, and she thought a harmless one—tho’ many people, she was aware, thought otherwise—but that at my age it would be bad for me to be much taken up with my own compositions—Later still—it was after she got to Winchester, she sent me a message to this effect—That if I would take her advice, I should cease writing° till I was 16, and that she had herself often wished she had read more, and written less, in the corresponding years of her own life.
She was considered to read aloud remarkably well. I did not often hear her but once I knew her take up a volume of Evelina° and read a few pages of Mr. Smith and the Brangtons and I thought it was like a play. She had a very good speaking voice—This was the opinion of her contemporaries—and though I did not then think of it as a perfection, or ever hear it observed upon, yet its tones have never been forgotten—I can recall them even now—and I know they were very pleasant.
I have spoken of the family union that prevailed amongst my Grandmother’s children—Aunt Jane was a very affectionate sister to all her Brothers—One of them in particular was her especial pride and delight:° but of all her family, the nearest and dearest throughout her whole life was, undoubtedly her sister—her only sister. Aunt Cassandra was the older by 3 or 4 years, and the habit of looking up to her begun in childhood, seemed always to continue—When I was a little girl, she would frequently say to me, if opportunity offered, that Aunt Cassandra could teach everything much better than she could—Aunt Cassa. knew more—Aunt Cassa. could tell me better whatever I wanted to know—all which, I ever received in respectful silence—Perhaps she thought my mind wanted a turn in that direction, but I truly beleive she did always really think of her sister, as the superior to herself. The most perfect affection and confidence ever subsisted between them—and great and lasting was the sorrow of the survivor when the final separation was made—
My Aunt’s life at Chawton, as far as I ever knew, was an easy and pleasant one—it had little variety in it, and I am not aware of any particular trials, till her own health began to fail—She stayed from home occasionally—almost entirely with the families of her different Brothers—In the Autumn of 1815 she was in London, with my Uncle, Mr. Henry Austen, then living in Hans Place—and a widower—
During her visit, he was seized with low fever and became so ill that his life was despaired of, and Aunt Cassandra and my Father were summoned to the house—there, for a day or two, they hourly expected his death—but a favourable turn came, and he began to recover—My Father then went home. Aunt Cassa. stayed on nearly a month, and Aunt Jane remained some weeks longer, to nurse the Convalescent—
It was during this stay in London, that a little gleam of Court favor shone upon her. She had at first published her Novels with a great desire of remaining herself unknown—but it was found impossible to preserve a secret that so many of the family knew and by this time, she had given up the attempt—and her name had been made public enough—tho’ it was never inserted in the title page—
Two of the great Physicians° of the day had attended my Uncle during his illness—I am not, at this distance of time, sufficiently sure which they were, as to give their names, but one of them had very intimate access to the Prince Regent, and continuing his visits during my Uncle’s recovery, he told my Aunt one day, that the Prince was a gr
eat admirer of her Novels: that he often read them, and had a set in each of his residences—That he, the physician had told his Royal Highness that Miss Austen was now in London, and that by the Prince’s desire, Mr. Clarke, the Librarian of Carlton House, would speedily wait upon her—
Mr. Clarke came, and endorsed all previous compliments, and invited my Aunt to see Carlton House, saying the Prince had charged him to show her the Library there, adding many civilities as to the pleasure his R.H. had received from her Novels—Three had then been published—The invitation could not be declined—and my Aunt went, at an appointed time, to Carlton House—
She saw the Library, and I beleive some other apartments, but the particulars of her visit, if I ever heard them, I have now forgotten—only this, I do well recollect—that in the course of it, Mr. Clarke, speaking again of the Regent’s admiration of her writing, declared himself charged to say, that if Miss Austen had any other Novel forthcoming, she was quite at liberty to dedicate it to the Prince.
My Aunt made all proper acknowledgments at the moment, but had no intention of accepting the honor offered—until she was avised [sic] by some of her friends that she must consider the permission as a command—
Emma was then in the Publisher’s hands—so a few lines of dedication were affixed to the 1st volume, and following still the instructions of the well informed she sent a Copy, handsomely bound, to Carlton House—and I suppose it was duly acknowledged by Mr. Clarke—
My Aunt soon after her visit to him, returned home, where the little adventure was talked of for a while with some interest, and afforded some amusement°—In the following Spring, Mr. Henry Austen ceased to reside in London, and my Aunt was never brought so near the precints of the Court again—nor did she ever try to recall herself to the recollection of Physician, Librarian or Prince, and so ended this little burst of Royal Patronage.
Memoir of Jane Austen Page 22
