Bad Austen (9 page)
Authors: Peter Archer
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Although drafts of the novels that would become
Pride and Prejudice
and
Sense and Sensibility
were written earlier, Austen does not seem to have revised
Northanger Abbey
much after 1803—whereas she did revise the others after moving to Chawton—and so
Northanger Abbey
is generally considered her earliest novel. A first draft was written between 1798 and 1799, and some have argued that it was in fact begun four or five years earlier. But we do not have to look to extrinsic evidence to suspect that this high-spirited tale was a youthful work: The style seems to link it both to an earlier period of English history and an earlier period in Austen’s development. It is closer in some ways to the juvenilia than it is to the mature novels. Finally, Austen herself asserts that it was the work of an earlier time.
Like so much of her juvenilia,
Northanger Abbey
satirizes contemporary taste in literature, in particular the rage for Gothic novels. It is, in a way, a novel about books. Its self-conscious “literariness” is reinforced by the frequent authorial intrusions in which the narrator discusses her “heroine” in the context of what heroines usually are and usually do. It is actually the false Isabella who imitates with precision the heroines of the novels Austen found so preposterously unreal. She proclaims to Catherine (whose brother’s fortune will be very modest), “Had I the command of millions, were I mistress of the whole world, your brother would be my only choice” and, we are told, “This charming sentiment, recommended as much by sense as novelty, gave Catherine a most pleasing remembrance of all the heroines of her acquaintance.” But there is not an ounce of sincerity in Isabella’s pronouncement of this “grand idea,” and the heroine ideal perpetuated by Gothic novels is equally—and laughably—false in Austen’s view.
Elizabeth blushed at her indecent remark. “Mr. Darcy does not … does not feel that way about me. He wouldn’t even dance with me a single time. Why, Mr. Darcy is not an honorable man,” Elizabeth finished with a sigh.
Celeste pointed to the final card. The Wheel of Fortune. “Give it time, my sweet child, give it time. This love will bloom.”
“I’m afraid you are incorrect. Mr. Darcy shows no interest in me. There will be no love blooming between the two of us,” Elizabeth retorted.
The final card was turned over. The Ten of Pentacles. “My dear, a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife,” Celeste replied gently. “This man is good, true and kind, and also possesses great fortune. But you hesitate as you lack this same good fortune.”
Elizabeth met her gaze. “Mr. Darcy is none of these things that you tell me, except for possessing great fortune. However, should this fortune matter greatly, then I would prefer not to be acquainted with him, thank you very much!” Elizabeth rose to leave.
Her mother was waiting outside, tapping her foot impatiently. “Well, did she promise a betrothal?” Her mother demanded. The refusal of Mr. Collins was simply too much for her to bear.
“These occultists are foolish nonsense,” Elizabeth replied. “They will say anything for a few coins.”
O
f
T
urbans,
P
artridges, and
A
pple
P
ie
T
HE
J
ANITE
FITZWILLIAM DARCY to CHARLES BINGLEY
—St., London. Sunday (September 1, 1811)
My dear Charles,
I had the good fortune of reacquainting myself with your Sister two weeks ago & was very pleased to find little alteration had taken place in her disposition: She is still excessively proud of her Modesty and Humility. It is, however, my sad Fate having to inform you of an unhappy accident that took place mere minutes after I had asked Caroline for her hand. Her newly acquired red Turban, adorned with a vast array of peacock feathers & about as big as the neck of Miss ___ is fat, unfortunately toppled from her head as consequence of a burst of laughter & happily made the acquaintance of several partridges and an apple tart.
The ensuing mortification seemed to silence her (& I daresay she shall not ever be prevailed upon to relate both the preceding & following Tale), but she was at length forced to speak by Miss Mary Crawford—whose wit & easy manners you must surely remember from our last stay in Town—who assured her that being exposed is “all the rage in some districts of London”; she entreated us not to suspect her of a pun, but alas! the damage had been done & I fear we shall have to drop the acquaintance; pray tell me whether you can bear never to see those “fine eyes,” as you once called them, again.
I remain, &c. &c.,
FITZWILLIAM DARCY.
CHARLES BINGLEY to CAROLINE BINGLEY
—shire. tuesday (September 3, 1811)
My dear Caroline,
How sly you and Mr. Darcy are! Engaged indeed! I fear a lack of trust must have been the cause of this duplicitous secrecy, tho’ it cd. not be kept from me for long; in what I fancy must have been a moment of carelessness he dropp’d a hint, for he told me he “asked Caroline for her hand,” and cd. not anything be more obvious? Sister, imagine my surprise that he, [scratched out: who never seem’d to pay you any compliments of the sort] who never seemed interested in Matrimony, shd. [scratched out: prefer you over any other lady of our acquaintance!] finally have engaged himself! Yet I look forward to welcoming him as my brother, tho’ I must confess it is a great disappointment that your engagement shall prevent you from keeping house for me when I take possession of Netherfield Park. I shall, however, bear this deprivation with Fortitude & wish you the utmost Joy & Felicity. Might one enquire when the Engagement is to be made Public & when the Ceremony is to take place?
I remain your affectionate brother, &c. &c.,
CHARLES BINGLEY.
CAROLINE BINGLEY to CHARLES BINGLEY
—St., London. Friday (September 6, 1811)
My dear Charles,
How I wish you would not write in the most careless way imaginable. You leave out half the words and blot all the rest; I daresay Mr. D., whose Brilliancy prevents him from writing unintelligibly, could teach you a lesson or two. Charles, you distress me by presuming I am engaged & I must assure you that nobody could be less inclined than myself to find herself in love with such a respectable, noble, amiable man with manners so fine, breeding so good & fortune so great! Nay, Charles, I positively declare it to be impossible & am all astonishment, tho’ I am quite aware where the misunderstanding must have arisen from. A fortnight ago we received an invitation to a private ball and dinner held by the odious Miss Crawford (tho’ you like her a great deal), which we gracefully & condescendingly accepted as there were no other amusements to be had; you know how dreadful it is for a single woman in possession of a good fortune to be locked up in one’s house all day long without any prospect of forming new attachments. Mr. D. & I set off for the ball & found everyone dancing the quadrille. It would have been a punishment for Mr. D. to stand up with people he is not acquainted with; therefore he secured my hand for the first few dances. Pray believe me to be sincere, as I would never lie to you. I must now leave off writing this letter & give directions to the servants to wash my new turban, which a servant—through no fault of my own—accidentally splattered with Victuals. By the bye, you must forgive me for the sorry state this letter will arrive in: Tho’ a less refined person than yourself, such as a certain Miss C., would undoubtedly concoct a witticism of sorts & say that it must have lain under a weeping willow for quite some time, I can assure you that these stains originate in nothing more serious than an accidental spillage of tea.
I remain your affectionate sister, &c. &c.,
CAROLINE BINGLEY.
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Jane Austen began writing a novel she called
First Impressions
in October 1796, when she was “not one and twenty,” as Elizabeth Bennet puts it. It was completed in August of the following year. By this time it was customary for Jane to entertain her family with her writing, and we can only imagine how she must have delighted them with this effort!
Mr. Austen, good, supportive father—and excellent reader—that he was, thought enough of Jane’s story to seek to have it published. On November 1, 1797—losing no time—he sent it to the publisher Thomas Cadell in London with a highly respectful letter asking if Cadell would consider publishing it. Mr. Austen didn’t reveal the author’s name, but simply compared the length of the manuscript with that of Fanny Burney’s 1778 novel in letters,
Evelina
. He even offered to risk his own money to see his daughter’s work published.
Well, Mr. Austen could not have received a faster, curter, or—as history has shown—dumber reply: “Declined by return of post.”
Luckily for the world, that wasn’t the end of
First Impressions
—but it would still be many years before anyone outside Austen’s inner circle would read the novel. It was not published until 1813, after it had been “lop’t and crop’t” by its author. In the meantime, in 1800, a novel also called
First Impressions
, written by Margaret Holford, had been published, which probably prompted Austen to change the title of her book.
It is interesting to ask, along with Juliet, “What’s in a name?” Would
Pride and Prejudice
—a book with that most famous of titles—be any different if we knew it instead as
First Impressions
?
F
oolishness and
F
olly
P
ATTI
W
IGINGTON
Though in general he was a terrible gambler and had lost nearly everything he owned, and many things that he didn’t, George Wickham had found himself on a lucky streak lately, and his brand new barouche, formerly the property of a Mr. Willoughby of Devonshire, had become Wickham’s with the play of just a few discreetly hidden cards. Willoughby was quite low about the loss, but had tempered his poor luck with the knowledge that he would soon marry an as-yet-virginal young lady with £60,000.
