JANE AUSTEN'S JTJVENTILL'i.t
Ma. G. K. CHESTERTON, who writes a preface to the various spirited tales and fragments which make up this little volume, leaves very little for the reviewer to add to his appreciation. Perhaps the pious worshipper may consider that he has not quite praised enough, but he has at least found the real kernel of the matter. Miss Austen's work has for long been the phoenix of letters, so inexplicable seemed its origin. There was nothing in her life from which it was possible to infer her works. A handful of modest grey ash seemed as unlikely to produce a great flaming bird as her quiet, elegant contentment to produce the five or six incomparable comedies with which she enriched the language. Till now we had to suppose them sprung up full grown and without origin. But with Love and Freindship (a • Little Plays of St. Francis. By Laurence Housman. London: Sidgwick and Jackson. [10s. 6d. net.]
t Love and Freindship [sk] and other Early Works. By Jane Austen. London Matto and Windup. Oa. not.]
boisterous parody of the novel of sensibility) and with Lesley Castle (a light-hearted joke at the expense of the novel of fashion) we begin to see daylight. Mr. Chesterton is right in the importance which he attaches to them :— " This is something more than the discovery of a document. ; it is the discovery of an inspiration. And that inspiration was the inspiration of Gargantua and of Pickwick ; it was the gigantic inspiration of laughter. If it seemed odd to call her elemental, it may seem equally odd to call her exuberant. These pages betray her secret ; which is that she was naturally exu- berant. And her power came, as all power comes, from the control and direction of exuberance. But there is the presence and pressure of that vitality behind her thousand trivialities ; she could have been extravagant if she liked. She was the very reverse of a starched or a starved spinster ; she could have been a buffoon like the Wife of Bath if she chose. This is what gives an infallible force to her irony. This is what gives a stunning weight to her understatements. At the back of this artist also, counted as passionless, there was passion ; but her original passion was a sort of joyous scorn and a fighting spirit against all that she regarded as morbid and lax and poisonously silly."
But in the present writer's opinion Mr. Chesterton underestimates the intrinsic value of these trifles. To anybody whom curiosity has led to rummage amid the mouldering bones of the romances of Mrs. Radcliffe, they are indeed extraordinarily funny and contain a good deal of excellent if slightly obvious criticism. Here and there, indeed, it is not of a forgotten "horrid mystery" that we are reminded, but of the veritable life of the author of Frankenstein. Really the Shelleys were hardly less absurd than the Laura and Sophia of those pages.
But the reader will be impatient to have a specimen put before him. The hero has just been admitted to the humble cot on the banks of the Usk which shelters the heroine. Laura has, of course, realized within the first moment of her seeing him " that on him the happiness or misery of her future life must depend." He instantly, in the accepted fashion, proceeds to relate the history of his life :-
" My Father, seduced by the false glare of Fortune and the Deluding Pomp of Title, insisted on my giving my hand to Lady Dorothea. No never exclaimed L Lady Dorothea is lovely and Engaging ; I prefer no woman to her ; but know Sir, that I scorn to marry her in compliance with your Wishes. No ! Never shall it be said that I obliged my Father.' We all admired the noble Manliness of his reply. Ho continued. ' Sir Edward was surprised ; ho had perhaps little expected to meet with so spirited an opposition to his will. " Whore, Edward in the name of wonder (said he) did you pick up this unmeaning gibberish I You have been studying Novels I suspect." I scorned to answer : it would have been beneath my dignity. I mounted my Horse and followed by my faithful William set forwards for my Aunt's. My Father's house is situated in Bedfordshire, my Aunt's in Middlesex, and the' I flatter myself with being a tolerable proficient in Geography, I know not how it happened, but I found myself entering this beautifull Vale. . . . After having wandered some time on the Banks of the Uske without knowing which way to go, I began to lament my cruel Destiny in the bitterest and most pathetic Manner. It was now perfectly dark. . . . I at length discerned thro' the solemn Gloom that surrounded me a distant light, which as I approached it, I discovered to be the chearfull Blaze of your fire. Impelled by the combination of Misfortunes under which I laboured, namely Fear, Cold and Hunger I hesitated not to ask admittance which at length I have gained ; and now my Adorable Laura (continued he taking my Hand) when may I hope to receive that reward of all the painfull sufferings I have undergone during the course of my attachment to you, to which I have ever aspired. Oh ! when will you reward me with Yourself ? " This instant, Dear and Amiable Edward' (replied I). We were immediately united by my Father, who tho' he had never taken orders had been bred to the Church."
To help us to an understanding of civilized institutions we. study the taboos of the Patagonian. Miss Charlotte Lutterell, Lady Leslie, Ernest and Augustus will enable us to under- stand Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy and Miss Crawford as we have never understood them before. No disciple of Miss Austen must fail to read this engaging little scrapbook.
Previous page
