The idea that the name Pride and Prejudice was suggested by some sentences at the end of Cecilia has been mooted3, and though arguments against this supposition have been found, it appears extremely probable. For in Cecilia it is declared, “The whole of this unfortunate affair has been the result of PRIDE AND PREJUDICE,” which last words are repeated twice on the same page, each time in large type so that they catch the eye. Cecilia itself might well have borne this title in reference to the pride and prejudice of the Delvile family. The book was published in 1786, and we know that Jane had a great admiration4 for Miss Burney’s work. In re-reading [177] it some time subsequently it may very easily have struck her that “Pride and Prejudice” was an improvement on her own more common-place title, and there was nothing to prevent her adopting it. The repetition of two striking qualities and the alliteration5 may further have given rise to Sense and Sensibility, which also replaced an earlier title of Elinor and Marianne.
Pride and Prejudice was apparently6 written solely7 to gratify the instincts of the writer, without any thought of publication. But after it was completed, a year later, November 1797, Jane’s father wrote for her to the well-known publisher Cadell as follows:—
“Sir,—I have in my possession a manuscript novel comprising 3 vols. about the length of Miss Burney’s Evelina. As I am well aware of what consequence it is that a work of this sort should make its first appearance under a respectable name, I apply to you. I shall be much obliged therefore if you will inform me whether you choose to be concerned in it, what will be the expense of publishing it at the author’s risk, and what you will venture to advance for the property of it, if on perusal8 it is approved of. Should you give any encouragement I will send you the work.”
This proposal, modest as it is, was rejected by return of post. One would have thought that the success of Miss Burney’s books would have made a leading publisher anxious to look at a work on similar lines, but no—Pride and Prejudice was destined9 not to be published until 1813, sixteen years later!
As we have said, it is unanimously accorded the premier10 place amongst Jane Austen’s novels, partly because it is full of that brilliancy and sparkle which are its author’s greatest characteristics, and partly because [178] of the inimitable character of Elizabeth Bennet, whose combined archness and intelligence captivate everyone. Elizabeth is the embodiment of the heroine so many authors have tried to draw. Witty11 without being pert, having a reasonable conceit12 of herself without vanity, and a natural gaiety of heart that makes her altogether lovable. Whether she is repelling13 the patronage14 of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, or chaffing the sombre Darcy, she is equally delightful15. Her first scene with Lady Catherine embodies16 much character—
“‘Are any of your younger sisters out, Miss Bennet?’
“‘Yes, Ma’am, all.’
“‘All! What, all five out at once? Very odd! And you only the second. The younger ones out before the elder are married! Your younger sisters must be very young?’
“‘Yes, the youngest is not sixteen. Perhaps she is full young to be much in company. But really, Ma’am, I think it would be very hard upon younger sisters that they should not have their share of society and amusement, because the elder may not have the means or inclination17 to marry early. The last born has as good a right to the pleasures of youth as the first. And to be kept back on such a motive18! I think it would not be very likely to promote sisterly affection or delicacy19 of mind.’
“‘Upon my word,’ said her Ladyship, ‘you give your opinion very decidedly for so young a person. Pray what is your age?’
“‘With three younger sisters grown up,’ replied Elizabeth, smiling, ‘your Ladyship can hardly expect me to own it.’”
And again, when Lady Catherine comes to ask if the report of her nephew’s engagement to Elizabeth is true.
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“‘If you believed it impossible to be true,’ said Elizabeth, colouring with astonishment20 and disdain21, ‘I wonder you took the trouble of coming so far. What could your Ladyship propose by it?’
“‘At once to insist on having such a report universally contradicted.’
“‘Your coming to Langbourn to see me and my family,’ said Elizabeth coolly, ‘will be rather a confirmation22 of it; if, indeed, such a report is in existence.’
“‘If! Do you then pretend to be ignorant of it? Has it not been industriously23 circulated by yourselves? Do you not know that such a report is spread abroad?’
“‘I never heard that it was.’
“‘And can you likewise declare there is no foundation for it?’
“‘I do not pretend to possess equal frankness with your Ladyship. You may ask questions which I shall not choose to answer.’
“‘This is not to be borne, Miss Bennet, I insist on being satisfied. Has he, has my nephew, made you an offer of marriage?’
“‘Your Ladyship has declared it to be impossible.’”
Her verbal encounters with Darcy are equally characteristic.
“Elizabeth turned away to hide a smile.
“‘Your examination of Mr. Darcy is over, I presume?’ said Miss Bingley, ‘and pray what is the result?’
“‘I am perfectly24 convinced by it that Mr. Darcy has no defect. He owns it himself without disguise.’
“‘No,’ said Darcy, ‘I have made no such pretension25. I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch26 for. It is, I believe, too little yielding; certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies27 and vices28 of others so soon as I ought, nor their offences [180] against myself. My feelings are not puffed29 about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost is lost for ever.’
“‘That is a failing indeed,’ cried Elizabeth. ‘Implacable resentment31 is a shade in a character. But you have chosen your fault well. I really cannot laugh at it. You are safe from me.’
“‘There is, I believe, in every disposition32 a tendency to some particular evil, a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome.’
“‘And your defect is a propensity33 to hate everybody.’
“‘And yours,’ he replied with a smile, ‘is wilfully34 to misunderstand them.’”
Darcy, by the way, is one of the least attractive of the principal men characters. It is inconceivable that any man with the remotest pretension to gentlemanly feeling should say, even to himself, much less aloud in a ball-room, on having his attention called to a young girl sitting out: “‘Which do you mean?’ and, turning round, he looked for a moment at Elizabeth, till, catching36 her eye, he withdrew his own, and coldly said,—’She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt30 me; and I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men.’”
Indeed, Darcy’s whole character is so averse37 from anything usually associated with the word gentleman, that one wonders where Miss Austen found her prototype. Possibly he was one of the few characters for which she drew entirely38 on her imagination. In saying this there is no innuendo39 that in other cases she drew straight from the life; it is, I believe, very few novelists who ever wish to do such a thing, but it is certainly true, and [181] everyone who has attempted fiction knows it, that nearly every character in a life-like book has some prototype in real life, some man or woman who gave the first indication of a certain character; the personality may be altered entirely, it may be only one small quality which is derived40 from the prototype, but it is nevertheless that person who brought that particular character into existence. So far as we know there was no haughty41, self-satisfied man of the world in Jane Austen’s list of acquaintances.
It is true that Darcy is represented as behaving much better when his pride has been bitterly stung by Elizabeth’s rejection42 of him, but it is hard to believe that a man, such as he is at first represented, could have had sufficient good in him to change his character completely as the effect of love.
To show how entirely opinions differ it is amusing to quote some of the remarks of Miss Mitford, who wrote in 1814, the year after the publication of Pride and Prejudice: “The want of elegance43 is almost the only want in Miss Austen. I have not read her Mansfield Park but it is impossible not to feel in every line of Pride and Prejudice, in every word of Elizabeth, the entire want of taste which could produce so pert, so worldly a heroine as the beloved of such a man as Darcy. Wickham is equally bad. Oh, they were just fit for each other, and I cannot forgive that delightful Darcy for parting them. Darcy should have married Jane. He is of all the admirable characters the best designed and the best sustained. I quite agree with you in preferring Miss Austen to Miss Edgeworth. If the former had a little more taste, a little more perception of the graceful44, as well as of the humorous, I know not indeed anyone to whom I should not prefer her. There is none of the hardness, the cold selfishness, of Miss [182] Edgeworth about her writings; she is in a much better humour with the world; she preaches no sermons; she wants nothing but the beau ideal of the female character to be a perfect novel writer!”
Miss Mitford would no doubt have preferred as a heroine the elegant languishing45 female, without any of the savour of originality46 about her, who was the stereotyped47 heroine of most works of fiction at that time.
Sir Walter Scott in the Quarterly Review of 1815 makes the base insinuation that Elizabeth having refused Darcy “does not perceive that she has done a foolish thing, until she accidentally visits a very handsome seat and grounds belonging to her admirer.”
We are sure from what we know of Lizzie, that this is quite unfounded. Had she been liable to any undue48 influence of that sort, she would have accepted Darcy at the first, for she knew very well all about his position and estates from the beginning. That she had the courage and good sense to snub him speaks much more forcibly for her character than a like action on the part of any girl similarly circumstanced would do now. For then a position gained by marriage was the only one a woman could hope for, and such chances were few and far between when, as we have seen, men were desperately49 prudent50 in their matrimonial affairs, and looked on marriage more as a well considered and suitable monetary51 alliance than as a love match, though perhaps the actual person of the woman was not always such a matter of perfect indifference52 to them as it seems to have been to the writer of the following contemporary letter:—
“I thank you with ye utmost Gratitude53 for ye good offices you was to have done me; and though I cannot now for Reasons above specifyd accept of them, yet I hope they will still continue in Reversion: not that I have any schemes for ever resuming my Designs upon [183] Miss A.: (on ye contrary I should be very loth she should wait so long) but because whenever my Time is come You are ye first person I should apply to, as having a good Number of Friends and Correspondents; and none who are priviledged with ye Intimacy54 of Mrs. Jennings can fail of Accomplishments55 to render them highly agreable to your most obedient servant.” (A Kentish Country House.)
The character of the solemn, pompous56, thick-skinned Mr. Collins is the best of the kind Jane ever drew; he is a creation whose name might signify a quality of “collinesqueness.”
Perhaps within the limits possible for quotation57 there is nothing which in so short a space sums up so well his inimitable character as the letter of condolence he sends to Mr. Bennet on the occasion of Lydia’s having eloped with the weak and untrustworthy Wickham.
“I feel myself called upon by our relationship and my situation in life, to condole58 with you on the grievous affliction you are now suffering under, of which we were yesterday informed by a letter from Hertfordshire. Be assured, my dear sir, that Mrs. Collins and myself sincerely sympathise with you, and all your respectable family, in your present distress59, which must be of the bitterest kind, because proceeding60 from a cause which no time can remove. No arguments shall be wanting on my part, that can alleviate61 so severe a misfortune; or that can comfort you under a circumstance that must be of all others, most afflicting62 to a parent’s mind. The death of your daughter would have been a blessing63 in comparison of this. And it is the more to be lamented64, because there is reason to suppose, as my dear Charlotte informs me, that this licentiousness65 of behaviour in your daughter has proceeded from a faulty degree of indulgence; though, at the same time, for the consolation66 of [184] yourself and Mrs. Bennet, I am inclined to think that her own disposition must be naturally bad, or she could not be guilty of such an enormity, at so early an age. This false step in one daughter will be injurious to the fortunes of all the others; for who, as Lady Catherine herself condescendingly says, will connect themselves with such a family? And this consideration leads me to reflect, with augmented67 satisfaction on a certain event of last November, for had it been otherwise I must have been involved in all your sorrow and disgrace. Let me advise you then, my dear sir, to console yourself as much as possible, to throw off your unworthy child from your affection for ever, and leave her to reap the fruits of her own heinous68 offence.”
Jane’s own impressions of Pride and Prejudice are given in a letter to her sister, written many years later, on the publication of the book—
“Miss B. dined with us on the very day of the book’s coming, and in the evening we fairly set at it and read half the first vol. to her.... She was amused, poor soul! That she could not help you know, with two such people to lead the way, but she really does seem to admire Elizabeth. I must confess that I think her as delightful a creature as ever appeared in print, and how I shall be able to tolerate those who do not like her at least, I do not know. There are a few typical errors; and a ‘said he’ or a ‘said she’ would sometimes make the dialogue more immediately clear; but ‘I do not write for such dull elves’ as have not a great deal of ingenuity69 themselves.... Our second evening’s reading to Miss B. had not pleased me so well, but I believe something must be attributed to my mother’s too rapid way of getting on: though she perfectly understands the characters herself, she cannot speak as they ought. Upon the whole, however, I am quite vain enough and [185] well satisfied enough. The work is rather too light and bright and sparkling; it wants shade, it wants to be stretched out here and there with a long chapter of sense if it could be had; if not, of solemn specious70 nonsense, about something unconnected with the story; an essay on writing, a critique on Walter Scott or the history of Buonaparte or something that would form a contrast, and bring the reader with increased delight to the playfulness and epigrammatism of the general style.” And later, in reference to the same subject, she writes—
“I am exceedingly pleased that you can say what you do, after having gone through the whole work, and Fanny’s praise is very gratifying. My hopes were tolerably strong of her, but nothing like a certainty. Her liking71 Darcy and Elizabeth is enough. She might hate all the others if she would.” (Mr. Austen-Leigh’s Memoir72.)
The fact that Jane felt the extreme brilliancy and lightness of her own work shows that the critical faculty73 was active in her, but as for wishing to do away with it in order to bring the book more into conformity74 with the heavily padded novels of the time, that of course is pure nonsense.
After only the lapse75 of a month or two from the completion of First Impressions, Jane began on Sense and Sensibility, which she at first called Elinor and Marianne, and which, in the form of letters, had been written long before; probably, if the truth were known, this might be called her first long story, and it was in any case the first published. The story in letters has been wittily76 described as the “most natural but the most improbable” form; and certainly, though this style of novel had a brief renewal77 of popularity a year or two ago, it is one that is aggravating78 to most readers, and requires many clumsy expedients79 to fill in gaps in order [186] to make the story hang together connectedly. Miss Burney had employed it with good effect in Evelina, but even here the story would have run much better told straightforwardly80. In any case Jane was well advised to abandon this form. The novel was finished in 1798 but not published until 1811.
Sense and Sensibility, though it has never been placed first in position among Jane Austen’s novels, has been accounted second by many people. The two sisters, Elinor and Marianne, who represent Sense and excessive Sensibility, are finely sketched81. In this book the fact that Jane Austen’s leading men are not equal to her leading women is clearly exemplified. Mr. Austin Dobson speaks of the “colourless Edward Ferrars and stiff-jointed Colonel Brandon,” and the epithets82 are well deserved. We might add the selfish and unchivalrous Willoughby, for here may be noted83 a defect not uncommon84 in women-writers, an inability to grasp the code belonging to gentlemanly conduct. This is noticeable in the behaviour ascribed to Darcy in Pride and Prejudice already mentioned, but it is worse in the case of Willoughby, who is supposed to be brilliant, charming, and a gentleman, even though he acts badly by Marianne. His long explanation with Elinor, when Marianne lies on a sick-bed, and he himself is married, is supposed to atone85 for his bad behaviour; at all events it is made to exonerate86 him in Elinor’s eyes, whereas, far from exonerating87 him in the eyes of any ordinary person, it shows him in a worse light than anything that has preceded.
It is only a scoundrel or cad of the weakest sort who speaks slightingly of his wife, though unfortunately the code for women is different, and many a woman “gives away” her husband on small enough grounds. Yet in spite of one of the most stringent88 and least frequently infringed89 rules of manly35 conduct, we find Willoughby [187] saying, apparently without any debasement in his creator’s eyes—
“‘With my hand and heart full of your sister, I was forced to play the happy lover to another woman, ... Marianne, beautiful as an angel, on one side ... and Sophia, jealous as the devil, on the other hand.’” He then goes on to say that the letter sent in his name, which had cut poor Marianne to the heart, was dictated90 by his wife. “‘What do you think of my wife’s style of letter writing?—delicate—tender—truly feminine—was it not?’” and in excuse for his marriage, “‘In honest words her money was necessary to me.’”
After this even Elinor feels bound to rebuke91 him, saying: “‘You have made your own choice. It was not forced on you. Your wife has a claim to your politeness, to your respect, at least.’”
“‘Do not talk to me of my wife,’” he replies. “‘She does not deserve your compassion92. She knew I had no regard for her when we married.’”
In this book also there is a serious blot93 of another sort, a violation94 of probabilities, which suffices to score a heavy mark against it. In Pride and Prejudice there is certainly improbability in the fact that two portionless girls like Jane and Elizabeth Bennet should find such husbands as Bingley and Darcy, but the improbability is lessened95 by the fact that the pair of men were friends, and so one match contributes to the other; but in Sense and Sensibility the weak subterfuge96 for getting rid of Lucy Price, to whom Edward holds himself in honour bound, is hardly credible97. There is no rational explanation of the obliging conduct of Robert Ferrars, Edward’s brother; to make a man so vain and selfish marry a woman who could bring him nothing, and whose charms were not great, is a poor means of escaping from an undesirable98 deadlock99.
[188]
There remain a few other points for comment. We have in Mrs. Dashwood one of the silly though fond mothers that Jane Austen delights to describe. In Mrs. Jennings we have the comic relief, not so clever as that supplied by Mr. Collins in Pride and Prejudice or by Miss Bates in Emma. A little too coarse for many people, but still true enough to the times, when the fact of a man’s paying any attention to a girl at all was sufficient to make the gossips discuss their marriage and settlement in life with all openness.
The second chapter, often quoted, is one of the finest scenes in the whole book; here John Dashwood, mindful of his promise to his dying father, suggests giving each of his sisters a portion of one thousand pounds out of the magnificent estate which has come to him under the entail100, but by the insidious101 arguments of his wife he at last settles it with his conscience to afford them such assistance “as looking out for a comfortable small house for them, helping102 them to move their things, and sending them presents of fish and game and so forth103, whenever they are in season.”
The cottage in which the Dashwoods were installed at Barton seems greatly to have resembled the cottage at Chawton. “As a house, Barton Cottage, though small, was comfortable and compact; but as a cottage it was defective104, for the building was regular, the roof was tiled, the window-shutters were not painted green, nor were the walls covered with honeysuckles. A narrow passage led directly through the house into the garden behind. On each side of the entrance was a sitting-room105 about sixteen feet square and beyond them were the offices and the stairs. Four bedrooms and two garrets formed the rest of the house. It had not been built many years and was in good repair.” But as Sense and Sensibility was written long before Jane went [189] to live at Chawton, it is possible this account of the cottage was interpolated later, perhaps when she revised the book for publication in 1811.
On the whole, though interesting enough, Sense and Sensibility does not take very high rank among the novels. Northanger Abbey was begun in 1798, soon after the completion of Sense and Sensibility, and, unlike its predecessors106, it does not seem to have been based on existing MSS., but to have been written as we now have it, though the writing was spread over a long period. It is the one of all Miss Austen’s novels about which opinions differ most. It was written avowedly107 as a skit108 on the romantic school, whose high priestess was Mrs. Radcliffe; but, as Mr. Austin Dobson says: “The ironical109 treatment is not always apparent, and there are indications that, as often happens, the author’s growing interest in the characters diverts her from her purpose.” This is true enough, and the book certainly improves in consequence as it goes on, for at first it is sententious, and the author talks aside to her readers and explains her characters in a way that she does nowhere else. Archbishop Whateley remarks that it is “decidedly inferior to her other works—yet the same kind of excellences110 that characterise the other novels may be perceived in this to a degree which would have been highly creditable to most other writers of the same school, and which would have entitled the author to considerable praise had she written nothing better.”
The scene of Northanger Abbey is laid in Bath, and it is easy to see how very well acquainted not only with the topography, but with the manners of Bath, Jane was. The chattering111 and running to and fro from Pump rooms to Upper or Lower Assembly rooms, the continual meetings, and the saunterings in the streets, with all the affected112 or real gaiety, and the magnifying of [190] trifles, are cleverly sketched in the earlier part of the book. The sincere but foolish little heroine, with her contrast to and intense admiration for her silly and selfish friend, Isabella Thorpe, is a life-like figure. Her mother is one of the very few elderly ladies who are allowed to be sensible in Jane’s books, and she comes in so little as to be a very minor113 figure.
The account of Bath society is one of the principal features of the book, another is that it abounds114, perhaps more than any of the rest, in those three or four line summaries which express so admirably reflections, situations, and characters. Mrs. Thorpe’s “eldest115 daughter has great personal beauty; and the younger ones by pretending to be as handsome as their sister, imitating her air, and dressing116 in the same style, did very well.” “Mrs. Allen was now quite happy, quite satisfied with Bath. She had found some acquaintance—and as the completion of good fortune, had found these friends by no means so expensively dressed as herself.” “Her [Catherine’s] whole family were plain matter of fact people, who seldom aimed at wit of any kind; her father at the utmost being contented117 with a pun, and her mother with a proverb.”
“The advantages of natural folly118 in a beautiful girl have been already set forth by the capital pen of a sister author, and to her treatment of the subject I will only add, in justice to men, that though, to the larger and more trifling119 part of the sex, imbecility in females is a great enhancement of their personal charms, there is a portion of them too reasonable, and too well informed themselves to desire anything more in woman than ignorance.”
The rattle-pate Miss Thorpe is sketched with particular care, and if we may judge from other contemporary novels, including Cecilia, this was by no means [191] an uncommon type at that day. Her conversation with Catherine on the novels she had read is worth giving at length. She asks: “‘Have you gone on with Udolpho?’
“‘Yes, I have been reading it ever since I woke; and I am got to the black veil.’
“‘Are you indeed? How delightful! Oh, I would not tell you what is behind the black veil for the world! Are not you wild to know?’
“‘Oh yes, quite! what can it be? But do not tell me, I would not be told on any account. I know it must be a skeleton, I am sure it is Laurentina’s skeleton! Oh! I am delighted with the book! I should like to spend my whole life in reading it, I assure you; if it had not been to meet you I would not have come away from it for all the world.’
“‘Dear creature! How much I am obliged to you; and when you have finished Udolpho we will read the Italian together; and I have made out a list of ten or twelve more of the same kind for you.’
“‘Have you indeed? How glad I am! Where are they all?’
“‘I will read you their names directly, here they are in my pocket-book. Castle of Wolfenbach, Clermont, Mysterious Warnings, Necromancer120 of the Black Forest, Midnight Bell, Orphan121 of the Rhine, and Horrid122 Mysteries. Those will last us some time.’
“‘Yes, pretty well; but are they all horrid, are you sure they are all horrid?’
“‘Yes, quite sure; for a particular friend of mine—a Miss Andrews—a sweet girl, one of the sweetest creatures in the world, has read every one of them. I wish you knew Miss Andrews, you would be delighted with her. She is netting herself the sweetest cloak you can conceive. I think her as beautiful as an angel, and [192] I am so vexed123 with the men for not admiring her! I scold them all amazingly for it.’
“‘Scold them! Do you scold them for not admiring her?’
“‘Yes, that I do. There is nothing I would not do for those who really are my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature. My attachments124 are always excessively strong. I told Captain Hunt at one of our assemblies this winter, that if he was to tease me all night, I would not dance with him unless he would allow Miss Andrews to be as beautiful as an angel. The men think us incapable125 of real friendship you know, and I am determined126 to show them the difference.’”
And shortly after she exclaims, “‘For Heaven’s sake! let us move away from this end of the room. Do you know there are two odious127 young men who have been staring at me this half hour. They really put me quite out of countenance128! Let us go and look at the arrivals, they will hardly follow us there.’
“In a few moments Catherine with unaffected pleasure assured her that she need not be any longer uneasy, as the gentlemen had just left the Pump room.
“‘And which way are they gone?’ said Isabella, turning hastily round. ‘One was a very good-looking young man.’
“‘They went towards the churchyard.’
“‘Well, I am amazingly glad I have got rid of them! And now, what say you to going to Edgar’s Buildings with me and looking at my new hat? You said you should like to see it.’
COWPER
“Catherine readily agreed. ‘Only,’ she added, ‘perhaps we may overtake the two young men.’
“‘Oh! never mind that! If we make haste we shall [193] pass by them presently, and I am dying to show you my hat.’
“‘But if we only wait a few minutes there will be no danger of our seeing them at all.’
“‘I shall not pay them any such compliment, I assure you. I have no notion of treating men with such respect. That is the way to spoil them.’
“Catherine had nothing to oppose against such reasoning, and therefore to show the independence of Miss Thorpe and her resolution of humbling129 the sex, they set off immediately as fast as they could walk in pursuit of the two young men.”
Perhaps Northanger Abbey may be described as the book which real Austenites appreciate most, but which the casual reader does not admire. The story is not interesting, the simplicity130 of Catherine rather irritating than attractive, and it is the form and the flashes of insight in the book that make it so enjoyable.
The writing, though begun in 1798, spread over a long period, for the book was not finished until 1803, by which time Jane herself was settled in Bath. It was then offered to a Bath bookseller, the equivalent of a publisher in our day. He gave ten pounds for it, probably because of the local colour, but evidently after reading it he found it lacked that melodramatic flavour to which he was accustomed; and it is also highly probable that he did not at all comprehend the delightful flavour of irony131. The book remained with him, luckily in safety, until thirteen years had passed, when it was bought back by Henry Austen on his sister’s account for the same sum that had been given for it. When the transaction had been completed he told the bookseller that it was by the author of Sense and Sensibility, which had attracted much attention, whereat the man must have experienced the regret he deserved to feel, as he [194] had missed the honour of introducing Jane to the public, an honour that would have linked his name with genius.
The book did not appear until 1818, when the author was in her grave, and it was the first to bear her name on the title-page. It was published in one volume with the last of her writings, Persuasion132. In a preface written before her death, she says of Northanger Abbey—Thirteen years have made it “comparatively obsolete133, places, manners, books, and opinions have undergone considerable changes.” It is evident, therefore, she did not attempt to bring it up to date. This preface is prefixed to the first edition, as is also the biographical Memoir by her brother which has already been referred to.
The few closing years of the eighteenth century, the last spent at Steventon, while these three works were in hand, must have been bright ones to Jane; she had found an outlet134 for all the vivacious135 humour that was in her, and must have lived in the world of fancy with her characters, which were all very real to her, quite as much as in the material world.
At this time her eldest brother James was living not far off, and on November 8, 1796, his wife had become the mother of a boy, named Edward. It was he who afterwards took the additional name of Leigh, affixed136 to that of Austen, and who published the Memoir of Jane Austen from which we have already drawn137 so much interesting detail. How little could Jane have dreamt that night when her brother sent over a note to tell her of the child’s safe arrival in the world, that more than a hundred years later the work of that boy, describing her as one of the world’s famous authoresses, would be read eagerly. It was only the preceding month that she had begun to work on the first of her delightful books. When she went to see the new baby she was allowed a [195] glimpse of him while he was asleep, and was told that his eyes were “large, dark, and handsome.” What a subject for a picture! She in her girlishness, quaintly138 dressed, bending over the cot of the infant, quite as unconscious of all that was to come as even the baby itself!
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intercourse
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standing
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mooted
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admiration
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alliteration
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apparently
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solely
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perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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9
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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10
premier
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| adj.首要的；n.总理，首相 | |
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11
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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12
conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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13
repelling
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| v.击退( repel的现在分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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14
patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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15
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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16
embodies
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| v.表现( embody的第三人称单数 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
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17
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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19
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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20
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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21
disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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22
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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23
industriously
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24
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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25
pretension
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| n.要求；自命，自称；自负 | |
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26
vouch
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| v.担保；断定；n.被担保者 | |
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27
follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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28
vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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29
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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30
tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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31
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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32
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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33
propensity
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| n.倾向；习性 | |
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34
wilfully
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| adv.任性固执地；蓄意地 | |
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35
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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36
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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37
averse
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| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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38
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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39
innuendo
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| n.暗指，讽刺 | |
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40
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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41
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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42
rejection
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| n.拒绝，被拒，抛弃，被弃 | |
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43
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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44
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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45
languishing
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| a. 衰弱下去的 | |
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46
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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47
stereotyped
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| adj.(指形象、思想、人物等)模式化的 | |
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48
undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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49
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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50
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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51
monetary
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| adj.货币的，钱的；通货的；金融的；财政的 | |
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52
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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53
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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54
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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55
accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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56
pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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57
quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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58
condole
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| v.同情；慰问 | |
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59
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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60
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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61
alleviate
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| v.减轻，缓和，缓解(痛苦等) | |
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62
afflicting
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| 痛苦的 | |
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63
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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64
lamented
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|
| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65
licentiousness
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| n.放肆，无法无天 | |
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66
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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67
Augmented
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| adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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68
heinous
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| adj.可憎的，十恶不赦的 | |
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69
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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70
specious
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| adj.似是而非的；adv.似是而非地 | |
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71
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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72
memoir
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| n.[pl.]回忆录，自传；记事录 | |
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73
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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74
conformity
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| n.一致，遵从，顺从 | |
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75
lapse
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|
| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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76
wittily
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| 机智地，机敏地 | |
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77
renewal
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| adj.(契约)延期，续订，更新，复活，重来 | |
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78
aggravating
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| adj.恼人的，讨厌的 | |
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79
expedients
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|
| n.应急有效的，权宜之计的( expedient的名词复数 ) | |
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80
straightforwardly
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| adv.正直地 | |
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81
sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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82
epithets
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| n.（表示性质、特征等的）词语( epithet的名词复数 ) | |
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83
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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84
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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85
atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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86
exonerate
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| v.免除责任，确定无罪 | |
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87
exonerating
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| v.使免罪，免除( exonerate的现在分词 ) | |
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88
stringent
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|
| adj.严厉的；令人信服的；银根紧的 | |
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89
infringed
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|
| v.违反（规章等）( infringe的过去式和过去分词 )；侵犯（某人的权利）；侵害（某人的自由、权益等） | |
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90
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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91
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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92
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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93
blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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94
violation
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| n.违反(行为)，违背(行为)，侵犯 | |
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95
lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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96
subterfuge
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| n.诡计；藉口 | |
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97
credible
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| adj.可信任的，可靠的 | |
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98
undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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99
deadlock
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| n.僵局，僵持 | |
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100
entail
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| vt.使承担，使成为必要，需要 | |
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101
insidious
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| adj.阴险的，隐匿的，暗中为害的，（疾病）不知不觉之间加剧 | |
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102
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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103
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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104
defective
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| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
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105
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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106
predecessors
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| n.前任( predecessor的名词复数 )；前辈；（被取代的）原有事物；前身 | |
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107
avowedly
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| adv.公然地 | |
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108
skit
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| n.滑稽短剧；一群 | |
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109
ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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110
excellences
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| n.卓越( excellence的名词复数 )；（只用于所修饰的名词后）杰出的；卓越的；出类拔萃的 | |
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111
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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112
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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113
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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114
abounds
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| v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的第三人称单数 ) | |
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115
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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116
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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117
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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118
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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119
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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120
necromancer
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| n. 巫师 | |
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121
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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122
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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123
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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124
attachments
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| n.（用电子邮件发送的）附件( attachment的名词复数 )；附着；连接；附属物 | |
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125
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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126
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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127
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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128
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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129
humbling
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| adj.令人羞辱的v.使谦恭( humble的现在分词 )；轻松打败（尤指强大的对手）；低声下气 | |
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130
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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131
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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132
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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133
obsolete
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| adj.已废弃的，过时的 | |
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134
outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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135
vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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136
affixed
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|
| adj.[医]附着的，附着的v.附加( affix的过去式和过去分词 )；粘贴；加以；盖（印章） | |
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137
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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138
quaintly
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| adv.古怪离奇地 | |
参考例句： |
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