I beleive Aunt Jane’s health began to fail some time before we knew she was really ill—but she became avowedly less equal to exercise. In a letter to me she says:°
‘I have taken one ride on the donkey and I like it very much, and you must try to get me quiet mild days that I may be able to go out pretty constantly—a great deal of wind does not suit me, as I have still a tendency to rhumatism. In short, I am but a poor Honey at present—I will be better when you can come and see us.’—
A donkey carriage had been set up for my Grandmother’s accomodation—but I think she seldom used it, and Aunt Jane found it a help to herself in getting to Alton—where, for a time, Capt. Austen had a house, after removing from his Brother’s place at Chawton.—
In my later visits to Chawton Cottage, I remember Aunt Jane used often to lie down after dinner—My Grandmother herself was frequently on the sofa—sometimes in the afternoon, sometimes in the evening, at no fixed period of the day,—She had not bad health for her age, and she worked often for hours in the garden, and naturally wanted rest afterwards—There was only one sofa in the room—and Aunt Jane laid upon 3 chairs which she arranged for herself—I think she had a pillow, but it never looked comfortable—She called it her sofa, and even when the other was unoccupied, she never took it—It seemed understood that she preferred the chairs—
I wondered and wondered—for the real sofa was frequently vacant, and still she laid in this comfortless manner—I often asked her how she could like the chairs best—and I suppose I worried her into telling me the reason of her choice—which was, that if she ever used the sofa, Grandmama would be leaving it for her, and would not lie down, as she did now, whenever she felt inclined—
In May, 1816 my two Aunts went for a few weeks to Cheltenham—I am able to ascertain the date of this, and some similar occurrences, by a reference to old pocket books in my possession°—It was a journey in those days, to go from Hampshire into Gloucestershire and their first stage was to Steventon—They stayed° one whole day, and left my Cousin Cassy to remain with us during their absence—
They made also a short stay at Mr. Fowle’s at Kintbury°—I beleive that was, as they returned—Mrs. Dexter, then Mary Jane Fowle, told me afterwards, that Aunt Jane went over the old places, and recalled old recollections associated with them, in a very particular manner—looked at them, my cousin thought, as if she never expected to see them again—The Kintbury family, during that visit, received an impression that her health was failing—altho’ they did not know of any particular malady.
The year 1817, the last of my Aunt’s life, began it seems under good auspices.
I copy from a letter of her’s to myself dated Jany. 23rd–1817°—the only letter I have which does bear the date of the year—
‘I feel myself getting stronger than I was—and can so perfectly well walk to Alton, or back again, without the slightest fatigue that I hope to be able to do both, when summer comes—’
I do not know when the alarming symptoms of her malady came on—It was in the following March that I had the first idea of her being seriously ill—It had been settled that about the end of that month, or the beginning of April, I should spend a few days at Chawton, in the absence of my Father and Mother, who were just then engaged with Mrs. Leigh Perrot in arranging her late husband’s affairs—it was shortly after Mr. Leigh Perrot’s death°—but Aunt Jane became too ill to have me in the house, and so I went instead to my sister, Mrs. Lefroy, at Wyards—The next day we walked over to Chawton to make enquiries after our Aunt—She was keeping her room but said she would see us, and we went up to her—She was in her dressing gown and was sitting quite like an invalide in an arm chair—but she got up, and kindly greeted us—and then pointing to seats which had been arranged for us by the fire, she said, ‘There’s a chair for the married lady, and a little stool for you, Caroline.’—It is strange, but those trifling words are the last of her’s that I can remember—for I retain no recollection at all of what was said by any one in the conversation that of course ensued—
I was struck by the alteration in herself—She was very pale—her voice was weak and low and there was about her, a general appearance of debility and suffering; but I have been told that she never had much actual pain—
She was not equal to the exertion of talking to us, and our visit to the sick room was a very short one—Aunt Cassandra soon taking us away—I do not suppose we stayed a quarter of an hour; and I never saw Aunt Jane again—
I think she must have been particularly ill that day, and that in some degree she afterwards rallied—I soon went home again—but I beleive Mrs. Lefroy saw her more than once afterwards before she went to Winchester—
It was sometime in the following May, that she removed thither—Better medical advice was needed, than Alton could supply—Not I beleive with much hope that any skill could effect a cure but from the natural desire of her family to place her in the best hands—Mr. Lyford was thought to be very clever so much so, as to be generally summoned far beyond his own practise—to give his opinion in cases of serious illness—
In the earlier stages of her malady, my Aunt had had the advice, in London, of one of the eminent physicians of the day°—
Aunt Cassandra, of course, accompanied her sister and they had lodgings in College Street—Their great friends Mrs. Heath–cote and Miss Bigg, then living in The Close, had made all the arrangements for them, and did all they could to promote their comfort during that melancholy sojourn in Winchester.
Mr. Lyford could give no hope of recovery—He told my Mother that the duration of the illness must be very uncertain—it might be lingering or it might, with equal probability come to a sudden close—and that he feared the last period, whenever it arrived, would be one of severe suffering—but this was mercifully ordered otherwise—My mother, after a little time, had joined her sisters-in-law—to make it more cheerful for them, and also to take a share in the necessary attendance—From her, therefore, I learned, that my Aunt’s resignation and composure of spirit were such, as those who knew her well, would have hoped for and expected—She was a humble and beleiving Christian; her life had passed in the cheerful performance of all home duties, and with no aiming at applause, she had sought, as if by instinct to promote the happiness of all those who came within her influence—doubtless she had her reward, in the peace of mind which was granted to her in her last days—
Caroline Austen as an old lady
She was quite aware of her own danger—it was no delusive hope that kept up her spirits—and there was everything to attach her to life—Tho’ she had passed by the hopes and enjoyments of youth, yet its sorrows also were left behind—and Autumn is sometimes so calm and fair that it consoles us for the departure of Spring and Summer—and thus it might have been with her—She was happy in her family and in her home; and no doubt the exercise of her great talent, was a happiness also in itself—and she was just learning to feel confidence in her own success—In no human mind was there less of vanity than in her’s—yet she could not but be pleased and gratified as her works, by slow degrees made their way in the world, with constantly increasing favour—
She had no cause to be weary of life, and there was much to make it very pleasant to her—We may be sure she would fain have lived on—yet she was enabled, without complaint, and without dismay, to prepare for death—She had for some time known that it might be approaching her; and now she saw it with certainty, to be very near at hand.
The religious services most suitable to her state were ministered to her, during this, the last stage of her illness—sometimes by a Brother—Two of them were Clergymen and at Winchester she was within easy distance of both—
Her sweetness of temper never failed her; she was considerate and grateful to those who attended on her, and at times, when feeling rather better, her playfulness of spirit prevailed, and she amused them even in their sadness—A Brother frequently went over for a few hours, or a day or two—
Sud
denly she became much worse—Mr. Lyford thought the end was near at hand, and she beleived herself to be dying—and under this conviction she said all that she wished to say to those around her—
In taking then, as she thought, a last leave of my Mother, she thanked her for being there, and said, ‘You have always been a kind sister to me, Mary.’—Contrary to every expectation, the immediate danger passed away; she became comfortable again, and seemed really better—
My Mother then came home—but not for long as she was shortly summoned back—This was from no increase of my Aunt’s illness, but because the Nurse could not be trusted for her share of the night attendance, having been more than once found asleep—so to relieve her from that part of her charge, Aunt Cassandra and my Mother and my Aunt’s maid took the nights between them.
Aunt Jane continued very cheerful and comfortable, and there began to be a hope of, at least, a respite from death—
But soon, and suddenly, as it were, a great change came on—not apparently, attended with much suffering—she sank rapidly—Mr. Lyford—when he saw her, could give no further hope, and she must have felt her own state—for when he asked her if there was anything she wanted, she replied, ‘Nothing but death.’ Those were her last words—
They watched by her through the night, and in quietness and peace she breathed her last on the morning of the 18th of July, 1817—
I need scarcely say she was dearly loved by her family—Her Brothers were very proud of her—Her literary fame, at the close of her life, was only just spreading—but they were proud of her talents, which they even then estimated highly—proud of her home virtues, of her cheerful spirit—of her pleasant looks—and each loved afterwards to fancy a resemblance, in some daughter of his own, to the dear ‘Aunt Jane’, whose perfect equal they yet never expected to see—
March 1867—Written out,
At Frog Firle—Sussex.
APPENDIX
I have not recorded erasures or page breaks, but I have retained irregularities of orthography and punctuation. Later or superscript insertions into the manuscripts are signalled by the following convention:∧ ∧
1. Copy of part of a letter from Anna Lefroy to JEAL (NPG, RWC/HH,° fo. 1).
Southern Hill,
Reading.
April 16th [1869?]
… I believe that a music Master attended at Steventon, who also gave lessons at Ashe: but am not certain. Any way, nobody could think more humbly of Aunt Jane’s music than she did herself; so much so as at one time to resolve on giving it up. The Pianoforte was parted with on the removal from Steventon, and during the whole time of her residence at Bath she had none. In course of time she felt the loss of the amusement, or for some other reason repented of her own decision; for, when settled at Chawton she bought a Pianoforte, and practised upon it diligently—This, as I understood at the time, she found necessary in order to recover that facility of fingering, which no doubt she had once possessed.
… Both our Aunts read French easily, and understood it well grammatically, and both had some knowledge of Italian. I can answer for a double set of Veneroni Grammars° & c. How much they taught themselves I cannot say, but in these matters I think it probable they had very valuable assistance from their cousin, Uncle Henry’s first wife, who was an extremely accomplished woman, not only for that day, but for any day.
2. Copy of a letter from Anna Lefroy to JEAL (NPG, RWC/HH, fos. 2–3).
Southern Hill,
Reading.
May 20th [1869?]
My dear Edward
Lady Le Marchant° remembered your message & I will lose no time in sending the copy you wish for. The lines on Mrs. Lefroy’s death you shall have ∧also∧ if, when you have read, you desire to have them—but perhaps you may think them too long. The original of Poll’s letters is in the possession of Mrs. George Austen°—it was given to her at Portsdown. Cassandra Austen in a second letter to Fanny° says, ‘At Aunt Cassandra’s death there were several scraps marked by her (of her Sister’s compositions) to be given to different relations, & amongst others some to Lady Knatchbull—’ (of course Lady Susan is here referred to) ‘& some to my Uncle Frank—one at least I know, or think probably he must have had—but I suppose his Daughter might object to giving it up.’ Perhaps Cassandra has ‘Sanditon’ in her head, because a copy of that taken by stealth during Aunt C’s life was undoubtedly at Portsdown, where it had no business to be.
If it could be managed without much inconvenience I should extremely like to see such papers as you have received [Anna wrote recd] from Cassandra—It was the recollection of one on her lists that encouraged me to think there must be a deposit in that quarter—for that one must be somewhere, & probably more with it—the Herbert Austens° are gone from home, & so I have not been able to give your message ∧of thanks∧ but by a hasty note from Herbert written just before he left it appears that no letters to Uncle Henry have been kept.
The occasional correspondence between the Sisters when apart from each other would as a matter of course be destroyed by the Survivor—I can fancy what the indignation of Aunt Cassa. would have been at the mere idea of its’ [sic] being read and commented upon by any of us, nephews and nieces, little or great—and indeed II [sic] think myself she was right, in that as in most other things…
3. Copy of a letter from Caroline Austen to JEAL (NPG, RWC/HH, fos. 4–7).
April 1st. [1869?]
My dear Edward
I have lost no time in getting ready all the helps I have to offer for our Aunt’s ‘Life’—I wish they were more. Memory is treacherous, but I cannot be mistaken in saying that Sense and Sensibility was first written in letters—& so read to her family. Northanger Abbey, under a different name I beleive, was the first actually prepared for publication & was sold for (I think 20£) to a publisher—who declared that he had lost the copy—refused to have the loss supplied, and was contented to remain minus his 2o£. Afterwards the copyright was purchased back again and it was left, as you know ready for publication at the time of her death—I enclose a copy of Mr. Austen’s letter to Cadell°—I do not know which novel he would have sent—The letter does not do much credit to the tact or courtesy of our good Grandfather for Cadell was a great man in his day, and it is not surprising that he should have refused the favor so offered from an unknown—but the circumstance may be worth noting, especially as we have so few incidents to produce. At a sale of Cadell’s papers & c Tom Lefroy picked up the original letter—and Jemima copied it for me—
My Aunt was very sorry to leave her native home, as I have heard my Mother relate—My Aunts had been away a little while, and were met in the Hall ∧on their return∧ by their Mother who told them it was all settled, and they were going to live at Bath. My Mother who was present. [sic] said my Aunt Jane was greatly distressed—All things were done in a hurry by Mr. Austen & of course this is not a fact to be written and printed—but you have authority for saying she did mind it—if you think it worth while—
As to the ‘stuffing’ of the projected volume, I have already said that I expect little from letters—but some of her light nonsensical verses might take—such as ‘In measured verse I now rehearse, The charms of lovely Anna’, & perhaps some few rimes or charades—& I have thought that the story, I beleive in your possession, all nonsense, might be used. I don’t mean Kitty’s Bower, but the other—of the gentleman who wanders forth and is put in possession of a stranger’s house, and married to his daughter Maria.° I have always thought it remarkable that the early workings of her mind should have been in burlesque, and comic exaggeration, setting at nought all rules of probable or possible—when of all her finished and later writings, the exact contrary is the characteristic. The story I mean is clever nonsense but one knows not how it might be taken by the public, tho’ some thing must ever be risked. What I should deprecate is publishing any of the ‘betweenities’ when the nonsense was passing away, and before her wonderful talent had found it’s proper channel. Lady Knat
chbull has a whole short story they were wishing years ago to make public—but were discouraged by others—& I hope the desire has passed away.
I think I need not warn you against raking up that old story of the still living ‘Chief Justice’°—That there was something in it, is true—but nothing out of the common way—(as I beleive.) Nothing to call ill usage, & no very serious sorrow endured. The York Lefroys got up a very strong version of it all, & spread their own notions in the family—but they were for years very angry with their Kinsman, & rather delighted in a proof as they thought, of his early heartlessness. I have my story from my Mother, who was near at the time—It was a disappointment, but Mrs. Lefroy sent the gentleman off at the end of a very few weeks, that no more mischief might be done. If his love had continued a few more years, he might have sought her out again—as he was then making enough to marry on—but who can wonder that he did not? He was settled in Ireland, and he married an Irish lady—who certainly had the convenience of money—there was no engagement, & never had been.
I am very glad dear Edward that you have applied your-self to the settlement of this vexed question between the Austens and the Public. I am sure you will do justice to what there is—but I feel it must be a difficult task to dig up the materials, so carefully have they been buried out of our sight by the past generat[ion] As this is a letter of business. I will add nothing else.
Ever yr. aff. Sister
Car Austen.
4. Copy of a letter from Caroline Austen to JEAL (NPG, RWC/HH, fos. 8–10).
Wednesday Evg. [1869?]
My dear Edward
I have looked out the pocket book of 1817.° There are these entries—[‘]July 17th Jane Austen was taken for death, about ½ past 5 in the evening.
18th. Jane breathed her last at ½ past 4 in the morning—only Cassandra and I were with her. Henry came’—
The next day I see you and my Father came to Winchester, and he stayed there 2 nights.
Memoir of Jane Austen Page 23
