Thoughts of Persuasion: Touring the USS Constellation

Amanda Root and Ciarán Hinds in Persuasion, 1995

"If you had been a week later at Lisbon, last spring, Frederick, you would have been asked to give a passage to Lady Mary Grierson and her daughters."

"Should I? I am glad I was not a week later then."

The Admiral abused him for his want of gallantry. He defended himself; though professing that he would never willingly admit any ladies on board a ship of his, excepting for a ball, or a visit, which a few hours might comprehend.

"But, if I know myself," said he, "this is from no want of gallantry towards them. It is rather from feeling how impossible it is, with all one's efforts, and all one's sacrifices, to make the accommodations on board such as women ought to have. There can be no want of gallantry, Admiral, in rating the claims of women to every personal comfort high, and this is what I do. I hate to hear of women on board, or to see them on board; and no ship under my command shall ever convey a family of ladies anywhere, if I can help it."

This brought his sister upon him.

"Oh! Frederick! But I cannot believe it of you. --All idle refinement! --Women may be as comfortable on board, as in the best house in England. I believe I have lived as much on board as most women, and I know nothing superior to the accommodations of a man-of-war. I declare I have not a comfort or an indulgence about me, even at Kellynch Hall," (with a kind bow to Anne), "beyond what I always had in most of the ships I have lived in; and they have been five altogether." - Persuasion

USS Constellation, Baltimore Harbor, Maryland

We had an adventure! After three years away, my family spent a month in the United States this summer. It was a whirlwind trip, despite its length, and while we got to see an enormous number of relations (I've counted 95), I am still recovering a week after our return. One of our side jaunts was to Baltimore Harbor, an old stomping ground, where we toured the USS Constellation, a sloop-of-war built in 1854. Yes, this is a US ship, and yes, it is more modern than the ships Captain Wentworth and Admiral Croft would have captained, but it gave me a wonderful notion of what life at sea might have been like in the early 19th century (the Constellation was the last sail-only warship crafted by the US Navy). The conversations about life at sea held at Uppercross weighed on my mind as I drifted between the decks. Could Mrs. Croft be so comfortable as she declares onboard? Is Wentworth simple misogynistic, or might the presence of women and children be legitimately challenging?

Captain's Quarters, facing the stern

Captain's Quarters, facing the bow

Captain's Berth

I always admired Mrs. Croft's spirit, and while similarly non-fussy ladies might indeed make the most of life at sea, I imagine many more would find the circumstances trying. The captain's quarters, which film and story suggest would be ceded to traveling ladies, are reasonably spacious. Located in the aft of the gun deck, a large and inviting dining/conference area has small rooms along each side, which include a bedroom, a washroom, an office, a pantry, and a guest berth. Lady Mary Grierson and daughters, however many they number, would surely have filled the space to capacity. They might have a great deal of privacy and comfort, unless the ship suddenly saw action. Those 18 cannons right outside this oasis surely made a terrifying racket, even without considering the larger ramifications and possible consequences to their being manned. And where would this leave a displaced captain? Down a deck in the berth, where everyone else slept. Here each officer and the doctor had their own small closet for quarters, while everyone else slept in hammocks hung from the ceiling. The Constellation could house up to 265 enlisted men and 21 officers (the modern tour does not attempt to replicate what this must have smelled like). 

Captain's Study

Even with their sleeping quarters on different decks, your typical english lady traveling on a warship would be thrust into very close proximity to exactly the kind of man (i.e. ungentlemanly, with all that term's classist trappings) from which their entire upbringings had been designed to shield them. Discipline in the Navy was strict, and Lady Mary would have had little to fear for her daughters' vaunted "purity," but the experience would have to be educational, to say the least. 

Is this "idle refinement?" I'm not sure. Note that Mrs. Croft is childless and makes no claims regarding the
presence of a larger family onboard (just touring the ship with two kids was a challenge). And what of women who did not have the gentility to be deemed "ladies?" I doubt anything but the most extraordinary of circumstances would land one aboard. Should such a thing occur, perhaps a gallant captain would still provide her with those protections granted to a female of higher class, otherwise she would be in for a harrowing experience, indeed, and perhaps would have even preferred to remain marooned on an island, or wherever she came from, than endure it.

These dark musings aside, I highly recommend a visit to the USS Constellation, if possible. It has definitely given me a hunger for more old ships. I'm not sure the kids feel the same way, but I'd love to go to Portsmouth, walk in Fanny Price's footsteps, and visit Nelson's HMS Victory. It's on my bucket list. If I ever make, I will surely regale readers with an account of the experience here.

And of Baltimore is not one of your upcoming destinations, or if you just want more information about the Constellation, go ahead and check out the virtual tour: https://historicships.org/explore/uss-constellation. There are also interactive images of each deck to explore. Enjoy!

Autumnal Poetry with Anne Elliot

Watercolor by C.E. Brock
mollands.net

"It was a very fine November day," and the Misses Musgrove were determined upon a walk ...

No longer having a car since moving to Switzerland, I do a great deal of walking these days. The weather here, for the most part, is accommodating, though this year it seems to mirror the times in its unpredictability. Rain or shine, it is a season for inspiration in nature, which brings me back to Persuasion:

Her pleasure in the walk must arise from the exercise and the day, from the view of the last smiles of the year upon the tawny leaves, and withered hedges, and from repeating to herself some few of the thousand poetical descriptions extant of autumn, that season of peculiar and inexhaustible influence on the mind of taste and tenderness, that season which had drawn from every poet, worthy of being read, some attempt at description, or some lines of feeling.

It seems to be a compulsion of mine each year to try and find the poetry Anne Elliot might have been conjuring in her mind as she tromped silently along behind the Musgroves and Captain Wentworth. In honor of the season, here are a few possibilities. These, admittedly, are not the most uplifting lines, but as Anne was far from happy during the scene in question, I feel they fit well. Enjoy!

Sonnet 73

William Shakespeare

That time of year thou may’st in me behold

When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang

Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,

Bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou see’st the twilight of such day,

As after sunset fadeth in the west,

Which by-and-by black night doth take away,

Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire

That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,

As the death-bed whereon it must expire

Consum’d with that which it was nourish’d by.

This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,

To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

Sally Hawkins, 2007.

Elegy IX: The Autumnal

John Donne

No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace

         As I have seen in one autumnal face.

Young beauties force our love, and that’s a rape,

         This doth but counsel, yet you cannot scape.

If ’twere a shame to love, here ’twere no shame;

         Affection here takes reverence’s name.

Were her first years the golden age? That’s true,

         But now she’s gold oft tried and ever new.

That was her torrid and inflaming time,

         This is her tolerable tropic clime.

Fair eyes, who asks more heat than comes from hence,

         He in a fever wishes pestilence.

Call not these wrinkles, graves; if graves they were,

         They were Love’s graves, for else he is no where.

Yet lies not Love dead here, but here doth sit

         Vow’d to this trench, like an anachorit;

And here till hers, which must be his death, come,

         He doth not dig a grave, but build a tomb.

Here dwells he; though he sojourn ev’rywhere

         In progress, yet his standing house is here:

Here where still evening is, not noon nor night,

         Where no voluptuousness, yet all delight.

In all her words, unto all hearers fit,

You may at revels, you at council, sit.

This is Love’s timber, youth his underwood;

There he, as wine in June, enrages blood,

Which then comes seasonabliest when our taste

         And appetite to other things is past.

Xerxes’ strange Lydian love, the platan tree,

         Was lov’d for age, none being so large as she,

Or else because, being young, nature did bless

         Her youth with age’s glory, barrenness.

If we love things long sought, age is a thing

         Which we are fifty years in compassing;

If transitory things, which soon decay,

         Age must be loveliest at the latest day.

But name not winter faces, whose skin’s slack,

         Lank as an unthrift’s purse, but a soul’s sack;

Whose eyes seek light within, for all here’s shade;

         Whose mouths are holes, rather worn out than made;

Whose every tooth to a several place is gone,

         To vex their souls at resurrection:

Name not these living death’s-heads unto me,

         For these, not ancient, but antique be.

I hate extremes, yet I had rather stay

         With tombs than cradles, to wear out a day.

Since such love’s natural lation is, may still

         My love descend, and journey down the hill,

Not panting after growing beauties. So,

         I shall ebb on with them who homeward go.

Ann Fairbanks, 1971.

To Autumn

William Blake

O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stainèd

With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit

Beneath my shady roof; there thou may’st rest,

And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,

And all the daughters of the year shall dance!

Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.

`The narrow bud opens her beauties to

The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;

Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and

Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,

Till clust’ring Summer breaks forth into singing,

And feather’d clouds strew flowers round her head.

`The spirits of the air live on the smells

Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round

The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.’

Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat;

Then rose, girded himself, and o’er the bleak

Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.

Amanda Root, Ciaran Hinds, & Sophie Thompson, 1995.

My last offering would not be known to Austen, let alone Anne, but I have little doubt both would approve. A lovely autumn to you all!

Spring and Fall: to a young child

Gerard Manley Hopkins

Márgarét, áre you gríeving

Over Goldengrove unleaving?

Leáves like the things of man, you

With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?

Ah! ás the heart grows older

It will come to such sights colder

By and by, nor spare a sigh

Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;

And yet you wíll weep and know why.

Now no matter, child, the name:

Sórrow’s spríngs áre the same.

Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed

What heart heard of, ghost guessed:

It ís the blight man was born for,

It is Margaret you mourn for.

Dakota Johnson, 2022.

On Patience and Resignation: Persuasion, Chapter Eleven

"When the evening was over, Anne could not but be amused at the idea of her coming to Lyme to preach patience and resignation to a young man whom she had never seen before; nor could she help fearing, on more serious reflection, that, like many other great moralists and preachers, she had been eloquent on a point in which her own conduct would ill bear examination."

Patience and resignation. Sigh. I feel like I'm preaching these notions a lot these days, as we stare into the void of another covid winter, and like Anne, my own conduct doesn't set the best example. The past year and a half has delivered such a brutal series of disappointments and tragedies. Sometimes I feel like I'm getting used to it. At other moments, I feel like I just can't take anymore. I assume these are the same experiences the entire world has had. Regardless of our cultures, political persuasions, and places in the world, I think it's safe to say this much is universal.

Jane Austen has so often been such a steady guide for me in times of trial, but I've struggled with her a bit during the pandemic. One line from her letters particularly haunts me lately: "How horrible it is to have so many people killed! And what a blessing that one cares for none of them!" (May 31, 1811). I used to think this so insightful - and in all truth, it is - but now it just feels so cold and heartless a thing to acknowledge aloud, even if in our hearts we are grateful it wasn't our friend, our neighbour, our family ... this time. But then again, don't we also require a bit of hard callousness to just cope with the incessant string of horrors? I fear the conduct of very few of us bears examination.

Anne Elliot's musings and advice to Captain Benwick are of use to me at the moment. I thought I would share how I apply these fictional examples to my very real life, just in case another might find it useful. This is her first response to Captain Benwick's introduction: 

"And yet," said Anne to herself, as they now moved forward to meet the party, "he has not, perhaps, a more sorrowing heart than I have. I cannot believe his prospects so blighted for ever. He is younger than I am; younger in feeling, if not in fact; younger as a man. He will rally again, and be happy with another." 

This is such an interesting line, and I could write paragraphs about what is reveals of Anne's despondency, insight, and egotism, but my relevant takeaway is we should never assume how much another suffers, nor compare it in degree with our own troubles.

While Captains Wentworth and Harville led the talk on one side of the room, and by recurring to former days, supplied anecdotes in abundance to occupy and entertain the others, it fell to Anne's lot to be placed rather apart with Captain Benwick; and a very good impulse of her nature obliged her to begin an acquaintance with him. He was shy, and disposed to abstraction; but the engaging mildness of her countenance, and gentleness of her manners, soon had their effect; and Anne was well repaid the first trouble of exertion. He was evidently a young man of considerable taste in reading, though principally in poetry; and besides the persuasion of having given him at least an evening's indulgence in the discussion of subjects, which his usual companions had probably no concern in, she had the hope of being of real use to him in some suggestions as to the duty and benefit of struggling against affliction, which had naturally grown out of their conversation.

It's so kind of Anne to take the trouble to engage Captain Benwick. I need to take more time to do this, despite the language barrier, which I often find prohibitive. It's harder to struggle through conversation in a foreign language when the other person's facial expressions are partially obscured by a mask, but I ought to exert myself to do it more often, and send a bit more connection and care into this splintered world. 

For, though shy, he did not seem reserved; it had rather the appearance of feelings glad to burst their usual restraints; and having talked of poetry, the richness of the present age, and gone through a brief comparison of opinion as to the first-rate poets, trying to ascertain whether Marmion or The Lady of the Lake were to be preferred, and how ranked the Giaour and The Bride of Abydos; and moreover, how the Giaour was to be pronounced, he showed himself so intimately acquainted with all the tenderest songs of the one poet, and all the impassioned descriptions of hopeless agony of the other; he repeated, with such tremulous feeling, the various lines which imaged a broken heart, or a mind destroyed by wretchedness, and looked so entirely as if he meant to be understood, that she ventured to hope he did not always read only poetry, and to say, that she thought it was the misfortune of poetry to be seldom safely enjoyed by those who enjoyed it completely; and that the strong feelings which alone could estimate it truly were the very feelings which ought to taste it but sparingly.

I suspect Anne speaks from experience here, and that she can empathize greatly with the type of mind she describes. I relate, too. What we have in Captain Benwick is an ambivert, like me, and probably like Anne. That last line regarding poetry's misfortune sounds like she describes herself: that she is one of those with strong enough feelings to truly appreciate it, and it is exactly that understanding that warrants a cautious approach. This one, for me, is easily applied. During the pandemic I have avoided television, film, and books of too heavy and brooding a nature for my mental state. I cannot allow their influence to lead me down a path of brooding and despondency. I have a family for which to care. I MUST be reigned and patient. The alternative is a mess. But some days go better than others. C'est la vie. What can you do.

I find laughter the best medicine, and thank you, Jane, for always reminding me I always can, even when it is may be somewhat wretched to do so. 

And in that vein, here are two different tutorials in disagreement regarding the pronunciation of Giaour. I favor the first: 

My love to all. Thanks for reading.

“It was a delightful visit;—perfect, in being much too short.” – Emma, Chapter Thirteen

The following was originally posted in August 2019, pre-pandemic, after returning from our last trip to the US. I maintain some hope of getting there this year, but it's fading. Yes, it was a hard trip, but I had no idea it would be the last for two years, and I wish we had taken more time. The meaning of the title quote continues to deepen.

Gabriel Joseph de Froment, Baron de Castille, and his wife,
Princess Hermine Aline Dorothée de Rohan,
with their family. French School, 1825.

I’ve long loved travel. It’s a passion my parents sort of had to force on me, but once it took hold, I was hooked. Journeys, even short ones, have a remarkable ability to change your perceptions, even of those things most familiar and dear. I had a startling reminder of this while traveling with my family in the US for two weeks. Though we took the baby to visit family when he was four months old, I consider this our first proper overseas excursion with two children, and oh my! What a marathon we ran! It was a lot of work, but I was prepared for it, and I think we weathered it pretty well. I returned home ready to process the memories, and as always I looked to Austen for guidance. What a shock to discover that this holiday suddenly allowed me to relate to Lady Middleton! My interpretation of Austen has again undergone a metamorphosis, driven by the new set of experiences and impressions brought on by travel with kids.

Take the title quote as an example. In the oh so recent past, I celebrated it for its snark, usually invoking it after saying goodbye to houseguests. Suddenly, it imparts a coziness before unknown. In Indiana, we had two nights at the house of my in-laws, a four bedroom which slept close to twenty people over the course of our stay. Now that was a party! Then in Texas, on the banks of Lake LBJ, my aunt and uncle’s four bedroom housed over ten for two nights. It was wonderful being with so many cousins and loved ones, but covering five states in fifteen days kept each reunion short and succinct. Normally, I might have lamented this brevity, but with the two kids it was just right. My daughter wasn’t around anyone long enough to become too provocative, and the toddler (he’s a good little monkey, but very curious) didn’t have long enough to figure out how to cause any true chaos. He did attempt to abscond with all my aunt’s remote controls, but I thankfully checked the bag he stashed them in before departing.

When I now read the quote, which references a visit by Isabella and John Knightley to Hartfield, I can barely trace the sarcasm I once found in it. Yes, our travels were perfect in being much too short. We left pleased with everyone and them with us. Just another day or two to linger might have soiled my happy recollections. It was incredibly hard to say goodbye, too soon and for too long, over and over again, but boy, did we feel the love! How fortunate we are to have such a wonderful and diverse family! I’m so grateful my children got to know them all better. Living so far away makes the time together so much more precious.

On every formal visit a child ought to be of the party, by way of provision for discourse. In the present case it took up ten minutes to determine whether the boy were most like his father or mother, and in what particular he resembled either, for of course every body differed, and every body was astonished at the opinion of the others. – Sense and Sensibility, Chapter Six

Another favorite quote that is suddenly imbued with new resonance. I’ve felt its truth for a long time, as my daughter has for eight years provided living proof, but my little guy is much more sociable and engaging than she was, content to sit sit and immerse herself in a project. Jack likes to be in the middle of everything. It is actually rather a strain on conversations, as they are hard to maintain, but he certainly keeps things from ever getting dull.

Unfortunately, a baby can’t be charming all the time, and I was honestly too tired to protest whenever someone volunteered to chase after him for me, a scenario which allows me to empathize with Lady Middleton’s hitherto intolerable laxity.

She saw with maternal complacency all the impertinent encroachments and mischievous tricks to which her cousins submitted. She saw their sashes untied, their hair pulled about their ears, their work-bags searched, and their knives and scissors stolen away, and felt no doubt of its being a reciprocal enjoyment. It suggested no other surprise than that Elinor and Marianne should sit so composedly by, without claiming a share in what was passing.

“John is in such spirits today!” said she, on his taking Miss Steeles’s pocket handkerchief, and throwing it out of window–“He is full of monkey tricks.”

And soon afterwards, on the second boy’s violently pinching one of the same lady’s fingers, she fondly observed, “How playful William is!”

“And here is my sweet little Annamaria,” she added, tenderly caressing a little girl of three years old, who had not made a noise for the last two minutes; “And she is always so gentle and quiet–Never was there such a quiet little thing!”

But unfortunately in bestowing these embraces, a pin in her ladyship’s head dress slightly scratching the child’s neck, produced from this pattern of gentleness such violent screams, as could hardly be outdone by any creature professedly noisy. – Sense and Sensibility, Chapter Twenty-One

Almost without exception, repeatedly over the course of the trip, anytime I asserted something about one fo the kids, their behavior instantly contradicted me. What can you do but laugh? It’s an inescapable part of motherhood. And let’s be honest: sometimes mom is just too tired to get up and stop the tormenting child. It doesn’t make it right, but it’s true. My apologies to anyone who was screamed at, bitten, or hit during the course of our travels. Poor Lady Middleton! What a relief it must be to her to have the Misses Steeles to stay and distract the children. I’m actually feeling a bit salty with Austen here, as she is quite hard on Lady Middleton, who really isn’t a bad sort. Wow! There’s a revolution for my mind.

The journey would have been totally intolerable if not for the help of my husband. I don’t know how my mom managed me on her own, a thought which led me to reevaluate my opinion of Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth’s relationship. Persuasion has long been my favorite Austen novel, but my feelings towards Wentworth are subject to rather massive revision about once a decade (Anne I shall ever hold in the utmost and unwavering esteem). When I first read the novel, my heart was all Wentworth’s. In more recent years, I’ve found him rather petty and immature, though his letter always wins my forgiveness in the end. I still think he’s awfully childish in his behavior towards Anne upon their first reacquaintance, but the years have taught me that some men, like my husband, will always retain a certain immaturity (really wouldn’t have him any other way, though it’s challenging at times), and that the best relationships involve give and take, and a perception of the other’s needs to make that work. This is what the captain so perfectly displays when he and Anne are thrust together one morning at Uppercross Cottage. It is a scenario that I have lived innumerable times over the past few weeks.

Another minute brought another addition. The younger boy, a remarkable stout, forward child, of two years old, having got the door opened for him by some one without, made his determined appearance among them, and went straight to the sofa to see what was going on, and put in his claim to anything good that might be giving away.

There being nothing to eat, he could only have some play; and as his aunt would not let him tease his sick brother, he began to fasten himself upon her, as she knelt, in such a way that, busy as she was about Charles, she could not shake him off. She spoke to him, ordered, entreated, and insisted in vain. Once she did contrive to push him away, but the boy had the greater pleasure in getting upon her back again directly.

“Walter,” said she, “get down this moment. You are extremely troublesome. I am very angry with you.”

“Walter,” cried Charles Hayter, “why do you not do as you are bid? Do not you hear your aunt speak? Come to me, Walter, come to cousin Charles.”

But not a bit did Walter stir.

In another moment, however, she found herself in the state of being released from him; some one was taking him from her, though he had bent down her head so much, that his little sturdy hands were unfastened from around her neck, and he was resolutely borne away, before she knew that Captain Wentworth had done it. – Persuasion, Chapter Nine

He might be angry and hurt, but Wentworth must act, must do what he can to help, when he sees that Anne requires it. My husband has a similar, easy way of stepping in just when I need him to, usually while others sit nearby and admonish the problem child from afar, a la Charles Hayter. I think it is in this moment that the captain first proves his ongoing worthiness of Anne’s affections. I hope I let my husband know how much those moments mean to me.

Tinted line drawing by C.E. Brock,
courtesy of Mollands.net.

On the other side of the coin, there were moments during our travels when my husband stood there and stared at me when I most required assistance, usually after Jack fell and hurt himself (this happened at least three times a day). In one particularly striking incident, the baby fell down a flight of steps, luckily coming to a halt on a landing instead of making the rest of his way down to the bottemmom. I was there in an instant, scooping him up, and turned to see both my mother and husband staring at me in shock. What would I not give to have had an Anne Elliot on the scene? Fortunately, he was largely unscathed, but as the near disaster swarmed around me, my mind managed to drift away to Lime Regis:

“Is there no one to help me?” were the first words which burst from Captain Wentworth, in a tone of despair, and as if all his own strength were gone.

“Go to him, go to him,” cried Anne, “for heaven’s sake go to him. I can support her myself. Leave me, and go to him. Rub her hands, rub her temples; here are salts; take them, take them.” – Persuasion, Chapter Twelve

I always wanted to be more like Anne, but not to the extent of being the only deer that knows how to run from the headlights. That was quite frustrating. However, it was Captain Wentworth’s cry for help that first leapt into my mind, allowing me to relate to his predicament a great deal more than I have in recent years. “Are you all just going to stand there and stare at me?” I cried. “Someone get ice!” I guess I should just count my blessings that there is a pseudo-Anne on hand, and that we’re not both befuddled in an emergency. This goes back to the give and take. We all have our strengths to bring to the team. I bet Anne and Wentowrth made a great one.

So travel, as always, has expanded my mind, and consequently my understanding of my favorite writer. This process will continue throughout my life, and who knows where it will lead me? How has your perception of Austen changed with the years?

Austen in August 2021

My dear readers, 

I invite you to join in one of my favorite annual events, Austen in August, hosted by The Book Rat. I have been so fortunate as to participate in this celebration of all things Jane from its inception in 2009, which just happens to be the same year as I began blogging. This year, I am again participating in the round table interviews (check them out every Monday - I'm in excellent company this year), as well as giveaways. There will be an excerpt from The Ladies of Norland, and a repost of my "Strange Beauty Secrets of the Late 18th/Early 19th Centuries" article, plus loads of contributions from other amazing authors and Austen aficionados. Don't miss out!

Click here to return to the master list of Austen in August posts!

Misty's introduction and invitation to this year's event made me feel very sentimental (also old). I started looking back through my posts for AIA over the years, beginning when it was still Jane in June, and just two weeks instead of four. I stumbled on this forgotten post from 2011, which went live three days before my first child's birth. Wow! What a trip down memory lane! The post includes an excerpt from the original draft of Second Glances which was completely scrapped before publication. I ended up splitting the original story into two books, somewhat ironically, as I am now trying to meld them back together again. This might be really interesting to those who have reads both Second Glances and Holidays at Pemberley and are curious about my writing process.

By the next year, I had managed to complete Second Glances (I really can't remember how I actually pulled it off, as I was totally overwhelmed), and I contributed an excerpt actually in the finished novel. Also in 2012, I dutifully posted along with AIA read along, which was Persuasion, my favorite Austen novel. It's great to have my thoughts on it recorded in this fashion. If you are interested, please follow the links to read: Intro, Ch. 1-7, Ch. 8-18, Ch. 19-end.

In 2013, I dug in deep to Austen's juvenilia, which I'm always pushing. Unfortunately, I think that was the last time I contributed new materials. It's a reflection on the huge upheavals experienced in the last eight years: the loss of so many loved ones in 2014, my father's catastrophic car accident in 2015, moving to Switzerland, the birth of my second fabulous but rambunctious child in 2017, and the pandemic. It's been a wild ride, and it's far from over. I want to thank Misty a thousand times over not only for all the memories, but also for simply keeping this thing going. It's no small feat organising an event like this, and it would have been easy to let it go after COVID cancelled last year's AIA. I'm extremely grateful for her grit. Now let's get this party started!

All the best,

Alexa

On the Character of Clergymen

Following a series of hot debates last week about clergymen in Austen, particularly the problematic behavior of both Mr. Collins and Mr. Elton, I decided to repost this piece I wrote in 2016, before the Me Too movement. I think my feelings about both characters have hardened since then (dismissing Collins as a buffoon lets him off the hook for some of his more egregious transgressions), but the piece is still quite valuable in understanding Austen's representations of the clergy within her contemporary context and familial circumstances. Enjoy!

David Bamber as Mr. Collins, 1995.

“My dear Miss Elizabeth, I have the highest opinion in the world of your excellent judgment in all matters within the scope of your understanding, but permit me to say that there must be a wide difference between the established forms of ceremony amongst the laity, and those which regulate the clergy; for give me leave to observe that I consider the clerical office as equal in point of dignity with the highest rank in the kingdom — provided that a proper humility of behaviour is at the same time maintained. You must therefore allow me to follow the dictates of my conscience on this occasion, which leads me to perform what I look on as a point of duty. Pardon me for neglecting to profit by your advice, which on every other subject shall be my constant guide, though in the case before us I consider myself more fitted by education and habitual study to decide on what is right than a young lady like yourself.” - Pride and Prejudice

Ah, Mr. Collins: Austen’s biggest buffoon. Her most famous clergyman does not reflect well on his profession. Based on Pride and Prejudice alone, it would be easy to conclude Austen thought rather poorly of churchmen. After all, the only other character who even considers entering the church is Mr. Wickham. Yet in her other novels she provides several examples of excellence in the calling. Nearly half her heroes are clergymen, and Henry Tilney, Edward Ferrars, and Edmund Bertram are all precisely what one would wish for in a spiritual guide: sincere, compassionate, and capable. In them Austen shows us what a good parish rector ought to be. In contrast, Mr. Collins and Mr. Elton are revealed as thoroughly undeserving of their preferment, a situation that was all too common in her time.

Dan Stevens as Edward Ferrars, 2008.

A man of genteel birth but not enough income to support himself had three options in the Regency world: he could join the military, study law, or take orders. It also happened to be a time in which the duties of the parish rector were being hotly debated. At issue was the custom of pluralism, or the holding of more than one living at a time. A living was the assignment (usually gifted) of a parish to a rector, which included a house and annual salary. There was a shortage of livings, which were typically held for life or until retirement, and the salaries attached to them were often not enough to live upon. About 1/5th of gentlemen in orders would spend their lives as poorly paid curates, while those that held livings often had more than one and still struggled to support their families.* As the daughter of a clergyman and the sister to two more, it is no wonder that Austen voiced her opinion on the subject in her novels.

From left to right: George Austen, his eldest son James,
and his 4th son Henry. All artists unknown.

Jane Austen’s father held two livings, as did her eldest brother upon inheriting them. So do Mr. Morland in Northanger Abbey and Edmund Bertram in Mansfield Park. While offering no criticism of pluralism, she also clearly sympathizes with the plight of the curate, as illustrated in the struggles of Charles Hayter in Persuasion and, potentially, Edward Ferrars in Sense and Sensibility. However, it is only in Mansfield Park that she explicitly develops the subject. Here Edmund acts as defender of the clergy, while Mary Crawford makes her case against it.

At length, after a short pause, Miss Crawford began with, “So you are to be a clergyman, Mr. Bertram. This is rather a surprise to me.”

“Why should it surprise you? You must suppose me designed for some profession, and might perceive that I am neither a lawyer, nor a soldier, nor a sailor.”

“Very true; but, in short, it had not occurred to me. And you know there is generally an uncle or a grandfather to leave a fortune to the second son.”

Blake Ritson as Edmund Bertram, 2007.

“A very praiseworthy practice,” said Edmund, “but not quite universal. I am one of the exceptions, and being one, must do something for myself.”

“But why are you to be a clergyman? I thought that was always the lot of the youngest, where there were many to chuse before him.”

“Do you think the church itself never chosen, then?”

“Never is a black word. But yes, in the never of conversation, which means not very often, I do think it. For what is to be done in the church? Men love to distinguish themselves, and in either of the other lines distinction may be gained, but not in the church. A clergyman is nothing.”

“The nothing of conversation has its gradations, I hope, as well as the never. A clergyman cannot be high in state or fashion. He must not head mobs, or set the ton in dress. But I cannot call that situation nothing which has the charge of all that is of the first importance to mankind, individually or collectively considered, temporally and eternally, which has the guardianship of religion and morals, and consequently of the manners which result from their influence. No one here can call the office nothing. If the man who holds it is so, it is by the neglect of his duty, by foregoing its just importance, and stepping out of his place to appear what he ought not to appear.”

“You assign greater consequence to the clergyman than one has been used to hear given, or than I can quite comprehend. One does not see much of this influence and importance in society, and how can it be acquired where they are so seldom seen themselves? How can two sermons a week, even supposing them worth hearing, supposing the preacher to have the sense to prefer Blair’s to his own, do all that you speak of? govern the conduct and fashion the manners of a large congregation for the rest of the week? One scarcely sees a clergyman out of his pulpit.” - Mansfield Park

J.J. Field as Henry Tilney, 2007.

Interestingly, the worldly Mary is only restating the very criticisms that the bishops of the English church had been leveling at their underlings for years. If a rector held a plurality of livings and did not live in a parish, he might only see its members on Sundays, and then only on those when the curate wasn’t performing the honors. How can a clergyman be a shepherd to his flock if he never sees it? Concerns for clerical non-residence led to the Residency Act of 1803, which required clergymen to obtain a license in order to hold the living of a parish in which they did not live. The act was amended in 1809 and 1810 to assist bishops in keeping track of resident and non-resident clergy and further distinguishing between those who performed Sunday services and those who did not. Acceptable explanations for holding a plurality of livings included the parsonage being unlivable, the salary of a parish being inadequate to live upon, or the ill-health of the clergyman.* Sense and Sensibility provides examples of the first two cases: the parsonage at Delaford is uninhabitable until Colonel Brandon institutes repairs upon it, and the salary, at only 200 pounds a year, is not enough to support a family. Thus the Colonel estimates how the living might be improved, and promises further patronage (like using his influence to procure Edward an additional living). It is only Mrs. Ferrars’ grudging gift of 10,000 pounds that provides Edward the means to marry Elinor Dashwood.

In Persuasion we have an example in Dr. Shirley, Rector of Uppercross, of how ill-health might permit non-residency. Hopes for the marriage of Charles Hayter and Henrietta Musgrove depend upon the former’s attainment of a living, and the young couple rest their best hopes on Dr. Shirley being so infirm that he will hire Charles as his curate and pay him unusually well. Henrietta even hopes he will be accommodating enough to retire to Lyme, leaving the parsonage available for their occupation. In the end, a better solution arises. Hayter is given the holding of a living until the young man for whom it is intended reaches an age to take orders. By that time, Dr. Shirley will presumably be conveniently dead and the living at Uppercross available.

Blake Ritson as Mr. Elton, 2009.

Two of Austen’s heroes, Edmund Bertram and Henry Tilney of Northanger Abbey, enter the clergy because their families hold livings for which they are destined. Despite this lack of a calling, both are well-suited to the profession and can be expected to prove model clergymen. Edward Ferrars’ decision to enter the church without any expectation of patronage, on the other hand, is extremely risky, perhaps even foolish. Edward is the only character in Austen who appears truly called to serve, and it is only Colonel Brandon’s generosity that saves him from being one of many hungry curates in need of a living. Other clergymen in Austen get lucky, too. We are not told through what means Emma’s Mr. Elton ascends to the living at Highbury (his lack of connection to the area suggests he was appointed by a bishop), but along with his additional “independent property” he is situated well enough to both marry and provide him with an inflated sense of his own importance. Certainly his callous behavior towards Harriet Smith proves he is ill-suited for the clerical life: his ego so in command that he wounds a parishioner to assuage it. Mr. Collins is even worse and even luckier, for at least Mr. Elton shows a degree of competence that can account for his preferment. Mr. Collins, on the other hand, receives ordination with no prospects on his horizon, yet just so happens to come almost immediately to Lady Catherine’s attention and rise to all the glories belonging to the rector of Hunsford, all without doing anything to merit such fortune. That patrons like Lady Catherine had the disposal of livings in their power and would choose to bestow them on sycophants like Mr. Collins was a serious problem. It is no coincidence that the same book gives us an example in Mr. Darcy of the conscientious patron: one who will not leave the moral guidance and care of his tenants to wastrel like Wickham. That Wickham even attempts to secure a living – merely a means to an annual income, with no concern whatsoever for the welfare of the parishioners – illustrates the dangers of the system. I think it safe to assert that Austen thought the appointment of undeserving clergymen to parishes a bigger concern than pluralism.

Mr. Collins makes an impromptu speech at the Netherfield Ball, elucidating for both the readers and all the guests of the house the duties and obligations of a rector, as he understands them:

“The rector of a parish has much to do. — In the first place, he must make such an agreement for tithes as may be beneficial to himself and not offensive to his patron. He must write his own sermons; and the time that remains will not be too much for his parish duties, and the care and improvement of his dwelling, which he cannot be excused from making as comfortable as possible.” - Pride and Prejudice

Clearly, he does not belong to that category of clergymen receiving that iota of Mary Crawford’s approval for having the sense to not write their own sermons, instead utilizing those widely published by Hugh Blair. The parishioners of Hunsford have my heartfelt sympathy.

Hugh Blair by David Martin, 1775. The famous sermon writer
is portrayed wearing the same style of clerical collar sported
by Henry Austen and Mr. Elton above.

*For more on this subject please read Celia Easton’s essay “‘The Probability of Some Negligence’: Avoiding the Horror of the Absent Clergyman,” published in 2010 in Persuasions: No. 32. It largely inspired this blog post.

The Particular Charm of Miss Jane Austen by Ada Bright and Cass Grafton

My deeper relationship with Austen began when I was in college. We were reading Persuasion in a Romantic Literature class (the first and only time I encountered Austen on a syllabus), and I began to imagine Anne Elliot walking beside me across campus or sitting in a lecture hall, and what she might have to say about our modern world. This was long before I knew anything of fan fiction, other than that it existed. These memories came back to me with sharp clarity when I read this scene:

They continued in silence for some distance, though both of them cast a meaningful stare at No 4 Sydney Place as they passed, but as they reached the Beckford Road and began the ascent, Rose turned to Jane again. 

"Does the noise bother you? The road? This is a main route to Warminster and beyond and has such heavy traffic." 

Jane smiled. "Much is altered." She looked around and gestured with her arm. "Naught but open fields bordered the Gardens." Her expression sobered. "My disinclination for our removal to Bath was much compensated for by our pleasing situation in Sydney Place. One does not feel - did not - feel so confined be the city on its outer edges." 

"Then shall we walk along the canal?" Rose pointed to the gap through which the towpath could be seen, winding its way towards Bathampton. It was a route she had often trod in the summer months when still living at home. 

"As you wish." 

They fell into step again, continuing to walk side by side at first for the width of the path permitted it. 

"I did not answer your question." Jane glanced at her, and Rose frowned. "Noise emanating from these modern conveyances does not trouble me, for it is merely different. The constant rumble of wheels over cobbles, the clatter of hooves is not so much lower in volume than your modern conveyances. 'Tis why I prefer the country; the disturbance of silence has a more natural source: birdsong, flowing water over stones, the bray of a lamb... these things I miss more than any other." 

Rose glances around. It was peaceful by modern-day standards on the towpath, with a few ducks swimming in the canal and very few people about, but just then a light aircraft came overhead, it's engine chugging away, and she glanced at Jane as they walked. 

"And what do you make of our 'modern conveyances'? You must have seen the trains passing through Sydney Gardens, too, if you've been here a while, and noticed the planes flying overhead?" 

Jane looked up as the small plane sailed out of view. "If I may fly through time, why should man not have discovered how to fly though the air?"

A few months later, I myself was wandering over the streets and paths so meticulously detailed in The Particular Charm of Miss Jane Austen by Ada Bright and Cass Grafton (visit them at TabbyCow.com), at the 2016 Jane Austen Festival in Bath. I sighed just now as I wrote those words. They are a vivid reminder of how much blogging I have neglected. I never got passed the National Portrait Gallery (got a bit bogged down there, I know, but it was so awesome!), and failed to share anything of my fabulous stay in Bath here. Nor did I ever write this book review. I am a big believer in better late than never. Good thing, too.

Anyway, when I was in Bath last fall, this book was like a mental guidebook: its scenes reenacting themselves before my mind's eye. It was my first time in Bath, and when I got lost a few times, this ability was quite useful! If you have long yearned to make the pilgrimage to the Festival, as I did, than this book is honestly the next best thing. It takes place during the festival. The main character, Rose, walks in the promenade. How eerie was it for me, following in her footsteps, and knowing that one of the authors, Cass Grafton, was somewhere in the crowd! I have had the pleasure of getting to know Ms. Grafton over the past two years, as she lives not far from me in Switzerland. Her presence was just another layer adding to my glee in being where I was, when I was. The only thing missing was the fair weather Rose and her friend Morgan enjoyed during their promenade (fortunately, like Captain Wentworth, I had "equipped myself for Bath" and purchased an umbrella).

The story is one of time travel, friendship, and not taking anything for granted. Thematically, it reminds me in many ways of my own Being Mrs. Bennet, the second draft of which I was completing when reading this novel, though on the surface they are wildly different stories. Rose Wallace has always lived in Bath or its environs. Her future is there, even if a few demons from her past still haunt the ancient city. Her encounter with a time traveling Jane Austen, in whose adventure she becomes totally enmeshed, teaches her many of the same lessons hard-learned by an Austen heroine (or two).

The Particular Charm of Miss Jane Austen is such a great title for this particularly charming novel. It has such a mix of things going on: an homage not just to Jane Austen, but also to the fantasy genre. Other reviews I have read of this book compare it to a wild variety of other stories, and that's because there are so many influences informing the action. It's apparently clear that, just like Jane Austen, Ms. Bright and Ms. Grafton share a passionate love for books of all sorts. This novel is not fan fiction, but I think it is no less a book for fans. The enthusiasm of fan culture permeates it. To me it felt like the authoresses had taken Hermione Granger's time turner and transmuted it into an amber cross (there is an awesome moment in the book when Rose gives Jane a copy of The Philosopher's Stone to read). Such fun! I do hope there will be a sequel. The end leaves an opening for one. I feel like the adventure has only just begun, and I definitely want to be on board when it continues. Highly recommended!

Character Profile: Captain Wentworth

He was not Mr. Wentworth, the former curate of Monkford, however suspicious appearances may be, but a Captain Frederick Wentworth, his brother, who being made commander in consequence of the action off St Domingo, and not immediately employed, had come into Somersetshire, in the summer of 1806; and having no parent living, found a home for half a year at Monkford. He was, at that time, a remarkably fine young man, with a great deal of intelligence, spirit, and brilliancy...

Name: Captain Frederick Wentworth

Age: 31

Hobbies: We know he enjoys music and takes pleasure in company, but what he does to pass the long days at sea we have little notion.

Most Charming Qualities: His passion and a natural rhetorical genius

Most Detrimental Tendency: Resentment

Greatest Strengths: Determination and self-confidence

Truest Friend: Captain Harville

Worst Enemy: By his own admission, himself. 

Prospects: He has 20,000 pounds, and if he should be so lucky as to live to see another war (which we know he does), there is the promise of more.

Favorite Quotations:

"The Admiralty," he continued, "entertain themselves now and then, with sending a few hundred men to sea, in a ship not fit to be employed. But they have a great many to provide for; and among the thousands that may just as well go to the bottom as not, it is impossible for them to distinguish the very set who may be least missed."

"A man does not recover from such a devotion of the heart to such a woman. He ought not; he does not."

"Good God!" he cried, "you would! It is not that I did not think of it, or desire it, as what could alone crown all my other success; but I was proud, too proud to ask again. I did not understand you. I shut my eyes, and would not understand you, or do you justice. This is a recollection which ought to make me forgive every one sooner than myself. Six years of separation and suffering might have been spared. It is a sort of pain, too, which is new to me. I have been used to the gratification of believing myself to earn every blessing that I enjoyed. I have valued myself on honourable toils and just rewards. Like other great men under reverses," he added, with a smile. "I must endeavour to subdue my mind to my fortune. I must learn to brook being happier than I deserve."

"If I am a fool, I shall be a fool indeed, for I have thought on the subject more than most men."

"You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you."

Musings: 

Every time I read Persuasion, I struggle more and more with my feelings about Captain Wentworth. I used to think him the most dashing man in Austen; now I kind of want to hit him over the head with a frying pan. He acts like such a child when he first reappears in Anne's life: sulking and resentful for not having had his way. Even worse, he subjects her to countless instances of pain. This is his revenge, and we must blame him for employing such antics against one such as Anne, but just like that wisest of Austen's creations, we understand that he could not remain so angry for so long if he had not been so terribly hurt. Nevertheless, it can't be denied a more self-aware man would have conducted himself better, and my tolerance for his blindness wearies with age.

Yet no matter how much I want to scream at the man, as soon as he writes that letter all is always forgiven. I have no idea how many times I've read this novel, but The Letter never comes before my eyes without blurring my vision. To have a man declare himself so, with such pure and honest passion! I think it the most romantic moment Austen ever wrote, and it instantly makes him worthy of Anne. Under her tutelage, we trust he will become a better man than he has been. Her influence can already be seen in his rather self-condemning sentiments at the end of the novel. He is sincerely sorry for what he has done, is intent on reform, and what marks an Austen hero or heroine more than the struggle for self-improvement?