THE ROLE OF THE COMIC HEROINE: A STUDY OF THE RELATIONSHIP 

BETWEEN SUBJECT MATTER AND THE COMIC FORM 

IN THE NOVELS OF JANE AUSTEN 

by 

Margaret Anne Parker 

B.A., The University of B r i t i s h Columbia, 1964 

A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILMENT OF 
THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF 

Master of Arts 

i n the Department 

of 

English 

We accept t h i s thesis as conforming to the 
required standard. 

THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA 

A p r i l , 1967 



In presenting t h i s thesis i n p a r t i a l f u l f i l m e n t of the requirements 

f o r an advanced degree at the U n i v e r s i t y of B r i t i s h Columbia, I agree 

that r..he L i b r a r y s h a l l make i t f r e e l y a v a i l a b l e f o r reference and 

study. I f u r t h e r agree that permission f o r extensive copying of t h i s 

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Department or by his representatives. I t i s understood that copying 

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without my w r i t t e n permission„ 

Department of 

The U n i v e r s i t y of B r i t i s h Columbia 
Vancouver 89 Canada 



i i 

ABSTRACT 

Throughout her novels, Jane Austen exhibits an acute awareness 

of the problems facing the sensitive, i n t e l l i g e n t women of her day i n 

a society which e f f e c t i v e l y keeps them i n a position of i n f e r i o r i t y . 

She exposes t h e i r f a u l t y moral training, their inadequate education, 

t h e i r lack of opportunity for independence or any gainful employment, 

t h e i r s o c i a l and economic dependence on the male and the r e s u l t i n g , 

inevitable and often defective preparation for marriage around which 

t h e i r youth i s centered. Despite her concern for the i n d i v i d u a l 

woman, from which tragic implications occasionally emerge, her focus 

remains on society as a whole, and e s p e c i a l l y on the problems of male 

egoism and sentimentalism which block, by the subjugation of women, 

the evolution of a freer and possibly more creative society. 

A l l these s o c i a l manifestations seem to be manifestations of 

the comic form as defined by such c r i t i c s as George Meredith, Henri 

Bergson, Susanne Langer and p a r t i c u l a r l y Northrop Frye, who s p e c i f i c -

a l l y outlines the archetypal pattern of comic action. The subjection 

of women can be seen as the "absurd or i r r a t i o n a l law" which Frye con-

tends the action of comedy moves toward breaking; i n Bergson's terms, 

i t i s an example of something mechanical, automatic and r i g i d super-

imposed on l i v i n g society, which only laughter can remove; i n 

Meredith's, the cause of "the basic i n s i n c e r i t y of the r e l a t i o n s 

between the sexes," and a demonstration of the vanity, self-deception 

and lack of consideration for others, which he considers legitimate 

targets for the Comic S p i r i t ; i n Langer's, a grave threat to "the 

continuous balance of sheer v i t a l i t y that belongs to society" and 

which i t i s the function of comedy to maintain. Parents and a l l other 



i i i 

members of the society, whether young or old, male or female, who 

consciously or unconsciously endorse the concept of female i n f e r i o r -

i t y , are i d e n t i f i a b l e as the obstructing, usurping characters who, 

i n Frye's terms, are i n control at the beginning of a comedy. The 

comic heroine's struggle for s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n against the obstacles 

they place i n her p a t h — p a r t i c u l a r l y her defective and misdirected 

education and the t r a d i t i o n a l pattern of courtship to which they try 

to force her to conform—constitutes the comic action. The comic 

r e s o l u t i o n i s , of course, her eventual victory which enables her to 

f i n d s e l f - f u l f i l m e n t i n the marriage of her choice. 

Ever since i t s emergence as a form from the ancient Greek 

death-and-resurrection r i t e s , comedy has been a celebration of l i f e , 

of the absolute value of the group and of the forces through which 

society i s perpetually regenerated. As the comic form has evolved, 

however, i t s s o c i a l and moral implications have widened. Bergson and 

Meredith believe that comedy, because i t works toward removing the 

a n t i - s o c i a l , i s "a premise to c i v i l i z a t i o n . " Jane Austen's novels 

r e f l e c t this view and demonstrate Frye's p a r a l l e l contention that the 

movement of comedy i s toward a more i d e a l society which forms around 

the redemptive marriage of the hero and heroine and which tends to 

include rather than reject the obstructing characters. Based on the 

p o t e n t i a l equality of men and women, the new society envisioned at 

the conclusion of Jane Austen's novels replaces the old, a n t i - s o c i a l 

i s o l a t i o n with a new and v i t a l communication among the members, and 

thus provides a framework within which men and women can work together, 

each contributing his s p e c i a l talents toward the public i n t e r e s t . Since 

t h i s new, i d e a l society i s not only the goal of the comic action but 



iv 

also the only area in which the heroine can find self-realization, i t 

represents the ultimate conjunction of the comic form and the role of 

the comic heroine to be found in Jane Austen's work. 

I 



CONTENTS 

Chapter Page 

I. THE SOCIAL BASIS OF COMEDY 1 

I I . PARENTS AS OBSTRUCTING INFLUENCES: MORAL EDUCATION 

OF WOMEN . . 17 

I I I . FORMAL EDUCATION: A FURTHER COMPLICATION . . . . . . . . kZ 

IV. EMERGENCE OF THE SELF-CONCEPT 65 

V. THE ILLUSION OF INDEPENDENCE 83 

VI. THE CHALLENGE OF COURTSHIP 97 

VII. MARRIAGE: THE COMIC RESOLUTION 124 

WORKS CITED . ihO 



1 

CHAPTER I 

THE SOCIAL. BASIS OF COMEDY 

What justifies the term "Comedy" i s not that the 
ancient r i t u a l procession, the Comus, . . . was 
the source of this great art form . . . but that 
the Comu6 was a f e r t i l i t y r i t e , and the god i t 
celebrated a f e r t i l i t y god, a symbol of 
perpetual rebirth, eternal l i f e . 

—S. K. Langer, Feeling and Forms 
A Theory of Art Developed from 
"Philosophy in a New Key" 

Any attempt to discuss the origin of comedy as a form must take 

into consideration the generally accepted hypothesis that both tragedy 

and comedy are rooted in the ancient Greek death-and-resurrection 

r i t e s . As F. M. Cornford points out: 

A l l the varieties £of the rudimentary drama of the f e r t i l i t y ritual] 
symbolise the same natural fact, which, in their primitive magical 
intention, they were designed to bring about and further by the 
familiar means of sympathetic or mimetic representation—the death of 
the old year and the birth or accession of the new, the decay and sus-
pension of l i f e in the frosts of winter and i t s release and renouveau 
i n the spring. Hence, in their essential core, they involve^the twin 
factors of the expulsion of death and the induction of l i f e . 

"The expulsion of death" involved the sacrifice of the old king, which 

symbolically released both him and his people from old age and 

s t e r i l i t y , and the discharging from the community of a scapegoat on 
2 

whom were symbolically loaded a l l the evils of the past year. "The 

induction of l i f e , " on the other hand, was characterized by a festival 

to celebrate the tribe's redemption, symbolized by the resurrection of 
3 

the slain king. Other elements of the festival—which, significantly, 

involved riotous merry-making and much sexual licence—were an agon 



2 
or contest between the old and new kings, a marriage in commemoration 

of the resurrection of the dead king and, f i n a l l y , the Comus, or 

triumphal procession. The sacrifice and the festival, then, can be 

seen as two distinct but mutually inclusive parts of the same r i t u a l . 

And, depending on where the stress was allowed to f a l l , the major 

incidents of the ceremony could be either sad or happy.^ The placing 

of this stress was the f i r s t indication of the emergence of comedy : 
and tragedy as separate forms, for 

i f the death, instead of dominating the story, had dwindled, as i t 
has i n the Thracian folk-drama and the Mummers* Play, to a piece of 
frivolous pantomime, while the marriage and the triumphal Komos . . . 
had become the prominent feature, we should then have the basis for 
Comedy of the Aristophanic type, with i t s strongly marked sexual 
element and i t s riotous conclusion, drowning any serious note that i s 
s t i l l to be heard in the Agon. 

But, whereas comedy was to r e t a i n — i n the humility and self-awareness 

which precede the happy ending—at least a trace of the s a c r i f i c i a l 

r i t u a l , tragedy came to exclude any element whatever of the f i n a l 

f e s t i v a l : " . . . the dramatic form known as tragedy eventually sup-

pressed the sexual magic dn this canonical plot, leaving only the 
7 

portrayal of the suffering and death of the hero, king or god." 

(At this point, we are concerned with the ending of the drama which 

does, to a great extent, determine i t s form. Comedy and tragedy are 

by no means mutually exclusive—the comic grave-digging scene in 

Hamlet and the tragic implications of Shylock's plight i n The Merchant 

of Venice immediately spring to mind: we must remember that "the 

matrix of the work i s always either tragic or comic, but within i t s 
g 

frame the two often interplay." ) Tragedy, then, "performs the 
s a c r i f i c i a l r i t e without the f e s t i v a l , " whereas comedy retains " i t s 

o 
double action of penance and revel." And so, although both forms 



3 
spring from the same ancient r i t u a l , the movement of tragedy stops 

short of that of comedy: " . . . for the entire ceremonial cycle i s 

birth: struggle: death: resurrection. The tragic arc i s only birth: 

struggle: death."^ Tragedy has, therefore, come to be a closed 

form, a one-way movement toward death, while comedy has remained an 

open form, the cyclical movement of l i f e i t s e l f : 

The pure sense of l i f e i s the underlying feeling of comedy . . . . 
i t expresses the continuous balance of sheer v i t a l i t y that belongs 
to society and i s exemplified briefly in each Individual; tragedy i s 
a fulfillment, and i t s form therefore i s closed, f i n a l and 
passional.H 

And, as each form comes into focus, i t s social implications 

begin to emerge: ' 

. . . while the curve of tragedy i s spun, like the spider's thread, 
from within the tragic protagonist, produced out of his own passions 
and f r a i l t i e s , the curve of comedy i s spun socially and gregariously, 
as the common product of men in society.^ 

In tragedy, the emphasis i s on the isolated individual, the protagon-

i s t whose "entire being i s concentrated in one aim, one passion, one 

conflict and ultimate defeat" in what i s , in effect, "a tremendous 

foreshortening of l i f e . " ^ In comedy, the emphasis i s on the social 

group whose common aim i s successful survival as a unit and in which 

the individual i s important only insofar as he contributes to the 

v i t a l continuity. It i s not surprising, therefore, that "comedy i s 

an art form that arises naturally whenever people are gathered to 

celebrate l i f e , i n spring festivals, triumphs, birthdays, weddings, 
Ik 

or i n i t i a t i o n s . " For whereas "the tragic writer has generally been 

concerned with last things, with death, with the meaning of l i f e as a 

whole.. . . comedy on the other hand has dealt more with the social, 



15 the historical, the temporal." y While tragedy, then, i s a celebra-

tion of death and of the absolute value of the individual who refuses 

to compromise with the group, comedy i s a celebration of l i f e , of the 

absolute value of the group, and of the forces through which i t i s 

perpetually regenerated. 

While we are attempting to establish the social basis of 

comedy, however, we must not overlook i t s implicit social aim. For 

comedy i s concerned not only with the survival of society as a 

biological organism but also with the progress toward a more ideal 

society: 

There i s a comic road to wisdom, as well as a tragic road. There i s 
a comic as well as a tragic control of l i f e . And the comic control 
may be more usable, more relevant to the human condition in a l l i t s 
normalcy and confusion, i t s many unreconciled directions. Comedy as 
well as tragedy can t e l l us that the vanity of the world i s foolish-
ness before the gods. 

By definition, comedy i s not hilariously irresponsible: i t s true test 
17 

i s that " i t shall awaken thoughtful laughter" and i t s subjects may 
be as serious as those of tragedy. Furthermore, although Susanne 

18 

Langer deplores the attaching of moral connotations to comedy, i t 

would seem virtually impossible to separate the social from the 

moral—the moral, that i s , in i t s most comprehensive sense. (Northrop 

Frye suggests the converse when he contends that the moral judgment 

implicit in the happy ending of comedy "is not moral in the restricted 
19 

sense, but social.") For how can morality be defined, i f not in 

terms of the welfare of the group? And, since comedy consistently 

attacks the forces which threaten this welfare, i t cannot be free 

from moral implicationsi- As George Meredith b r i l l i a n t l y affirms: 



5 
I f you b e l i e v e t h a t our c i v i l i z a t i o n i s founded i n common sense . . . 
you w i l l , when contemplating men, d i s c e r n a S p i r i t overhead . . . . 
Men's f u t u r e upon e a r t h does not a t t r a c t i t ; t h e i r honesty and 
s h a p e l i n e s s i n the present does; and whenever they wax out of propor-
t i o n , overblown, a f f e c t e d , p r e t e n t i o u s , b o m b a s t i c a l , h y p o c r i t i c a l , 
p e d a n t i c , f a n t a s t i c a l l y d e l i c a t e ; whenever i t sees them s e l f - d e c e i v e d 
or hoodwinked, g i v e n to run r i o t i n i d o l a t r i e s , d r i f t i n g i n t o 
v a n i t i e s , c o n g r e g a t i n g i n a b s u r d i t i e s , p l a n n i n g s h o r t - s i g h t e d l y , 
p l o t t i n g dementedly; whenever they . . . v i o l a t e the u n w r i t t e n but 
p e r c e p t i b l e laws b i n d i n g them i n c o n s i d e r a t i o n one to another; when-
ever they o f f e n d sound reason, f a i r j u s t i c e ; are f a l s e i n h u m i l i t y or 
mined w i t h c o n c e i t , i n d i v i d u a l l y or i n the bulk; the S p i r i t overhead 
w i l l l o o k humanely malign, and c a s t an o b l i q u e l i g h t on them, f o l l o w e d 
by v o l l e y s o f s i l v e r y l a u g h t e r . That i s the Comic S p i r i t . 0 

The s o c i a l (or moral) aim of comedy i s no l e s s apparent to H e n r i 

Bergson, who b e l i e v e s t h a t any mechanical, r e p e t i t i v e p a t t e r n which 

i s superimposed on s o c i e t y and thus impedes the n a t u r a l rhythm and 

f l e x i b i l i t y of l i f e belongs to the realm of the comic, and that the 

more c l o s e l y a person or a s o c i e t y resembles a machine, the g r e a t e r 
21 

the comic p o t e n t i a l . To him, one of the g r a v e s t dangers c o n f r o n t -

i n g s o c i e t y i s t h a t , i n i t s p r e o c c u p a t i o n with those e s s e n t i a l s which 

enable men not o n l y to l i v e but to l i y e w e l l , i t i s i n c l i n e d to over-

l o o k the other areas o f l i f e , r e l e g a t i n g them to the c o n t r o l o f 
22 

automatic h a b i t s . And y e t , s i n c e t h i s tendency toward c a r e l e s s n e s s 

does not c o n s t i t u t e a crime, . . . s o c i e t y cannot i n t e r v e n e at t h i s stage by m a t e r i a l r e p r e s -
s i o n . . . . A g e s t u r e , t h e r e f o r e , w i l l be i t s r e p l y . Laughter must 
be something of t h i s k i n d , a s o r t of s o c i a l g e s t u r e . . . . Laughter, 
then, does not b e l o n g to the p r o v i n c e of e s t h e t i c s alone, s i n c e 
u n c o n s c i o u s l y . . . i t pursues a u t i l i t a r i a n aim of g e n e r a l 
improvement.3 

While Meredith, then, b e l i e v e s t h a t comedy can prevent our becoming 

v i c t i m s o f p r i d e and complacency, Bergson b e l i e v e s that comedy works 

toward p r e s e r v i n g the a l l - i m p o r t a n t n a t u r a l and human element i n 

s o c i e t i e s which tend to become mechanized: "both, i n sum, b e l i e v e t h a t 



2k comedy i s a premise to c i v i l i z a t i o n . " 

Since the concept of comedy is inextricably intertwined with 

the concept of a better society, i t i s not surprising that most 

comedies tend to follow an archetypal pattern: whenever "the continuous 
25 

balance of sheer v i t a l i t y that belongs to society" i s threatened, 

the comic action i s set in motion and does not cease u n t i l the 

equilibrium has been restored. At the beginning of a comedy, the 
26 

society i s controlled by obstructing, usurping characters who are 

usually members of the older generation with enough power to frustrate 

the desires of the young hero. (As in the ancient r i t u a l drama, the 

clash i s between the old and the young.) During the course of the 

action, the hero i s able to overcome these blocking characters who, 

i n turn, are often forced to undergo a humiliating experience (sug-

gesting the scapegoat ritual) which strips them of their anti-social 

attitudes. Since, however, "the tendency of comedy i s to include as 

many people as possible in i t s f i n a l society," the obstructing 
27 

characters are more l i k e l y to be admitted than excluded. The comic 
resolution culminates in the wedding of the hero and the heroine and 

28 

also, since comedy implies "a social judgment against the absurd," 

i n the movement from one society to anotheri the old, sterile society 

dominated by the obstructing characters i s superseded by the new, 
PQ 

v i t a l society which forms around the newly-married pair, and which 

constitutes the ultimate goal of the comic action. 

It i s highly significant that the emergence of this new 

society i s coincident with a marriage. By providing a socially 

acceptable framework within which the group can be perpetuated through 

sexual love, marriage i s , of course, the cornerstone of any society. 

(Even in the ancient r i t u a l drama, a wedding was the central symbolic 



7 
act of the festival which celebrated the revitalized community.) It 

would seem to follow, then, that the role of women in marriage, or in 

society generally, i s almost of necessity a comic theme. But a 

qualification must be made: we must return to our earlier distinc-

t i o n — i n tragedy, the emphasis i s on the individual; in comedy, on the 

group. When, therefore, the emphasis i s on the individual woman in 

conflict with her society, as in Clarissa and, to a lesser extent, in 

Moll Flanders, the theme i s certainly tragic; when the emphasis i s on 

the group and i t s joyful perpetuation, as in Tom Jones, the theme i s 

essentially comic. And so, depending on the emphasis, a woman's 

struggle for survival and a measure of equality may be seen as either 

tragic or comic. An interesting corollary, however, i s that the 

implications of this very struggle are closely a l l i e d with the 

development of comedy as a form: 

There has been fun in Bagdad. But there never w i l l be c i v i l i z a t i o n 
where comedy is not possible; and that comes of some degree of social 
equality between the sexes. . . . where they [women!] have no social 
freedom, comedy i s absent; where they are household drudges, the form 
of comedy i s primitive; where they are tolerably independent, but 
uncultivated, exciting melodrama takes i t s place, and a sentimental 
version of them. . . . But where women are on the road to an equal 
footing with men, in attainments and in liberty . . . there, and only 
waiting to be transplanted from l i f e to the stage, or the novel, or 
the poem, pure comedy flourishes 

Tragedy, on the other hand, i s neither dependent upon the presence of 

women nor adversely affected by their occupying a subordinate posi-

tion. Indeed, the tendency of the tragic hero to alienate himself 

from women would seem to be, to some extent at least, a factor in the 

precipitation of the tragic sequence, for "where the sexes are 

separated, men and women grow, as the Portuguese c a l l i t , afaimados 

of one another, famine-stricken; and a l l the tragic elements are on 



8 
the stage. " ^ And so the d i s t i n c t i o n between the i n d i v i d u a l basis of 

tragedy and the s o c i a l basis of comedy i s again evident: i n order to 

f u l f i l his tragic destiny, the tragic hero does not need women either 

b i o l o g i c a l l y or s o c i a l l y ; i n order to f u l f i l his comic destiny, how-

ever, the comic hero needs women on both l e v e l s : 

There i t i s i n a n u t s h e l l : the contest of men and women—the most 
universal contest, humanized, i n fact c i v i l i z e d , yet s t i l l the primi-
t i v e j o y f u l challenge, the self-preservation and s e l f - a s s e r t i o n whose 
progress i s the comic rhythm.^2 

But we must not be misled into the assumption that, even i n a 

c i v i l i z e d society, the contest i s waged on equal footing: i t i s 

fought on a man's terms, within a man's value system and i n a man's 

world, i n which women are s t i l l , to a greater extent than i s generally 

r e a l i z e d , "society's h a r d - d r i l l e d soldiery,., Prussians that must both 
33 

march and think i n step." Throughout recorded history t h i s con-

s c r i p t i o n , based on nothing l e s s tenuous than the a p r i o r i assumption 

that superior physical strength presupposes superior mental strength, 

has been enforced. Mary Wollstonecraft indicates the o r i g i n of this 

assumption and, at the same time, points out both i t s f a l l a c y and the 

reason for i t s continued acceptance: 
Probably the p r e v a i l i n g opinion, that woman was created for man, may 
have taken i t s r i s e from Moses's p o e t i c a l story; yet, as very few, i t 
i s presumed, who have bestowed any serious thought on the subject, 
ever supposed that Eve was, l i t e r a l l y speaking, one of Adam's r i b s , 
the deduction must be allowed to f a l l to the ground; or, only be so 
f a r admitted as i t proves that man, from the remotest antiquity, 
found i t convenient to exert his strength to subjugate his 
companion . . . .-̂  

The myth has, of course, been constantly reinforced by the Church, 

which, viewing the subordination of women to men as part of the 

C h r i s t i a n hierarchy as ordained by God, provides a most e f f e c t i v e and 



comfortable guarantee for the preservation of the status quo. Despite 

the Church's sanction, however, there i s no evidence that the i n f e r i o r 

status relegated to women stems from any regard for the common good: 

. . . the adoption of t h i s system of inequality never was the r e s u l t 
of deliberation, or forethought, or any s o c i a l ideas, or any notion 
whatever of what conduced to the benefit of humanity or the good order  
of society. It arose simply from the fact that from the very e a r l i e s t 
t w i l i g h t of human society, every woman . . . was found i n a state of 
bondage to some man.-'-' (My i t a l i c s ) 

Plato, always concerned with the welfare of the group, i n s i s t e d that 

i n a l l but physical strength women were equal to men, and saw no 

reason why they should not q u a l i f y as guardians of his i d e a l republic. 

But few voices agreed and fewer took up the cry. We know of the d i f -

f i c u l t i e s which confronted Mary Wollstonecraft and her p r a c t i c a l 

suggestions for the f u l l integration of women into her society; we 

know of the scorn and derision which surrounded the nineteenth-century 

suffragettes, and we also know of the prejudice which, even i n our own 

society, s t i l l faces the single woman or the woman who t r i e s to l i v e a 

l i f e of her own apart from that of her family. Here, then, l i e s one 

of those serious threats to "the continuous balance of sheer v i t a l i t y 
"56 

that belongs to society" — t h e subjection of women and the r e s u l t i n g 

t a c i t decree which c a t e g o r i c a l l y condemns a l l of them to the same 

r o l e . Here indeed i s the disproportionate society which exists 

whenever men "violate the unwritten but perceptible laws binding them 
i n consideration one to another; whenever they offend sound reason, 

37 

f a i r j u s t i c e . " Here i s an example of the "absurd or i r r a t i o n a l 

law" which the comic action moves toward breaking. And here i s 

the r i g i d i t y r e s u l t i n g from "something mechanical encrusted on the 
39 

l i v i n g , " which it:.,is the function of laughter to remove. 



It i s not coincidence, then, that the great majority of 

comedies deal with the relationship between the sexes; on the contrary, 

i t i s an implicit admission that this relationship, which l i e s at the 

heart of any c i v i l i z e d society, i s more in need of improvement than 

any other. For "the high comic vision of l i f e i s humane, an achieve-

ment of man as a social being," and the vision cannot be realized 

i f one-half of the members of a society are forbidden independent 

status as individuals. A reciprocal relationship, therefore, exists 

between the position of women and the operation of comedy. For not 

only does comedy require, as i t s premise, a good measure of social 

equality for women; once established, i t can counteract those forces 

which s t i l l resist their liberation and thus work toward the achieve-

ment of an even more satisfying role for them. Meredith suggests 

this v i t a l connection and, in fact, goes far beyond Langer's notion 

of the f a i r l y simple, elemental contest between the sexes when he 

maintains: 

Comedy i s an exhibition of their [women's] battle with men, and that 
of men with them; and as the two, however divergent, both look on 
one object, namely, l i f e , the gradual similarity of their impressions 
must bring them to some resemblance. The comic poet dares to show us 
men and women coming to this mutual likeness; he i s for saying that ^ 
when they draw together in social l i f e their minds grow liker . . . . 

As Meredith indicates, the comic poet takes a risk. By 

definition, of course, he i s prepared to attack private interest when-

ever It interfetres with public good. But the private interest vested 

i n the concept of female inferiority is so powerful and so well-

established that any attempt to release the trapped woman must be, in 

effect, an attack on the status quo. It becomes obvious, then, that 

"by temperament, the comedian i s often a f i f t h columnist in social 



l i f e . " 

"A f i f t h columnist i n s o c i a l l i f e . " In spite of, or perhaps 

because of, her apparent preoccupation with s o c i a l events, the 

description p e r f e c t l y f i t s Jane Austen. It i s a commonplace, of 

course, that there i s a direct r e l a t i o n between an author's experience 

and the kind of f i c t i o n he writes. Like a l l other women novelists of 

the nineteenth century, Jane Austen " l i v e d almost s o l e l y i n her home 

and her emotions"; she simply was not exposed to and, indeed, was 

l i t e r a l l y excluded from " a l l experience save that which could be met 

with i n a middle-class drawing room." And yet, i h spite of these 

obvious l i m i t a t i o n s , 

i n her own quiet way £she] devastates our compromises and complacen-
c i e s — e s p e c i a l l y male complacency. . . . Cshe] p l a c i d l y undermines 
the bastions of middle-class propriety. . . . She i s not the less 
dangerous because she operates inconspicuously.^ 

It i s t h i s inconspicuous operation which i s deceptive and 

which leads the u n i n i t i a t e d to c r i t i c i z e Jane Austen's novels as 

t r i v i a l . For, although the incidents of which she writes may be i n 

themselves t r i v i a l , their implications are highly s i g n i f i c a n t . The 

crux of the problem l i e s i n the e s s e n t i a l difference between the 

values of a man and those of a woman: 

Thus, when a woman comes to write a novel, she w i l l f i n d that she 
i s perpetually wishing to a l t e r the established v a l u e s — t o make 
serious what appears i n s i g n i f i c a n t to a man, and t r i v i a l what i s to 
him important. And for that, of course, she w i l l be c r i t i c i z e d ; for 
the c r i t i c of the opposite sex w i l l be genuinely puzzled and sur-
prised by an attempt to a l t e r the current scale of values, and w i l l 
see i n i t not merely a difference of view, but a view that i s weak, 
or t r i v i a l , or sentimental, because i t d i f f e r s from his own. 5 

And so Jane Austen b l i t h e l y ignored such contemporary events as the 

Napoleonic Wars and chose instead to write about " a l l those l i t t l e 



12 
46 matters on which the d a i l y happiness of private l i f e depends," and 

which seem i n s i g n i f i c a n t enough but i n fact provide the framework 

within which the relationships of men and women i n society can be 

microscopically examined and questioned. Like most comic writers, 

she "sets up an a r b i t r a r y law and then organizes the action to break 

or evade i t . " The a r b i t r a r y law i n her case i s , of course, that 

which decrees the subjugation of women i n her society. By subtly re-

vealing i t s operation, she delineates the d i f f i c u l t i e s confronting the 

s e n s i t i v e , i n t e l l i g e n t women of the day. (It should be pointed out 

that, because of the interdependence of these d i f f i c u l t i e s — l a c k of 

education, for instance, cannot be completely separated from any of 

the other problems which must be faced—the chapter divisions i n t h i s 

thesis have been made not on a chronological basis, but on a basis 

convenient for discussion.) And, by tracing the progress of her 

comic heroines' struggle for s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n , which constitutes the 

comic action, she r e l e n t l e s s l y exposes a l l the forces which, con-

sciously or unconsciously, by endorsing the subordination of women, 

obstruct the evolution of a freer and more creative society. "What 

more natural, then, with t h i s insight into their profundity, than 

that [she} should have chosen to write of the t r i v i a l i t i e s of day to 
48 

day existence, of parties, picnics and country dances?" 

In dealing with the role of women i n society, the woman novel-

i s t has a peculiar advantage. She can see the problem from the inside. 

Indeed, " . . . the e s s e n t i a l difference [between men and women writers*) 

l i e s i n the fact not that men describe battles and women the b i r t h of 

children, but that each sex describes i t s e l f . G. K. Chesterton 

goes even further by maintaining that women's experience i s e s s e n t i a l l y 



13 
the f i e l d of the novel, and suggests that this genre, in turn, lends 

i t s e l f particularly well to the comic form; for the hovel, he claims, 

. . . i s a;.hearty and exhaustive overhauling of that part of human 
existence which has always been the woman's province, or rather king-
dom; the play of personalities in private, the real difference between 
Tommy and Joe. . . . What the novel deals with i s what women have to 
deal with; the differentiations, the twists and turns of this eternal 
river £human nature]. The key . . . i s sympathy. And sympathy does 
not mean so much feeling with a l l who feel, but rather suffering with 
a l l who suffer. And i t was inevitable, under such an inspiration, 
that more attention should be given to the awkward corners of l i f e 
than to i t s even flow.5° 

"The awkward corners of life"are the very stuff of comedy. They are 

the corners i n which arbitrary laws obstruct the happiness which 

should be forthcoming from a l l the small events which make up daily 

l i v i n g ; those which, because of the great and painstaking effort neces-

sary to smooth them out, society tends to ignore, but which Jane Susten 

carefully illuminates in the"oblique light"of the comic s p i r i t . 

It i s a l l very well to speak of the sheltered atmosphere i n 

which Jane Austen grew up, lived and wrote, but we must remember that 

she inherited none of the illusions common to such an existence. As 

we examine her treatment, within the comic form, of the problems of 

women in her society, we realize that, although she "may have been 

protected from truth . . . i t was precious l i t t l e of truth that was 
51 

protected from her." And so, although at f i r s t i t may seem that any 

connection between Jane Austen's comedies and the f e r t i l i t y rites of 

Ancient Greece i s extremely tenuous i f not downright absurd, the 

relationship i s by no means remote. For, within both value systems, 
. . . the movement from . . . a society controlled by habit, r i t u a l 
bondage, arbitrary law and the older characters to a society con-
trolled by youth and pragmatic freedom i s , fundamentally . . . a 
movement from i l l u s i o n to reality.^2 



14 

NOTES 

•̂ The Origin of A t t i c Comedy (New York: Doubleday, 1 9 6 l ) , p. 9« 
p 
Wylie Sypher, "Appendix" to Comedy: An Essay on Comedy by 

George Meredith and Laughter by Henry Bergson, Introduction and 
Appendix: "The Meanings of Comedy" by Wylie Sypher (New York: 
Doubleday, 1956), p. 216. 

3 I b i d . , p. 217. 

S b i d . 

^Cornford, A t t i c Comedy, p. 185. 
6 I b i d . 
n 
Sypher, "Appendix" to Comedy, p. 218. 

o 
S. K. Langer, Feeling and Form: A Theory of Art Developed from 

"Philosophy i n a New Key" (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1953), 
p. 334. 

9 

'Sypher, "Appendix" to Comedy, p. 219. 
1 0 I b i d . , p. 220. 

11 
Langer, pp. 327, 333. 

12 
Dorothy Van Ghent, The English Novel: Form and Function (New 

York: Rinehart, 1953), p. 67. 
^Langer, p. 357. 
l i f I b i d . , p. 331-
15 

E r i c Bentley, The Playwright as Thinker: A Study of Drama i n 
Modern Times (Cleveland & New York: World Publishing Co., 1955), 
p. 128. 

"^Sypher, "Appendix" to Comedy, p. 25^. 
17 

George Meredith, "An Essay on Comedy," i n Comedy: An Essay on  
Comedy by George Meredith and Laughter by Henri Bergson, Introduction 
and Appendix: "The Meanings of Comedy" by Wylie Sypher (New York: 
Doubleday, 1956), p. 47. 

18 
Feeling and Form, p. 3^5 • 

19 
Anatomy of C r i t i c i s m (Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 19571, 

p. I 6 7 . 



15 

20 
"An Essay an Comedy," pp. 47-48. 

21 
"Laughter," i n Comedy: An Essay on Comedy by George Meredith 

and Laughter by Henri Bergson, Introduction and Appendix: "The 
Meanings of Comedy" by Wylie Sypher (New York: Doubleday, 1956), 
pp. 8 0 - 8 l . 

2 2 I b i d . , p. 72. 
2 5 I b i d . , p. 73. 
24 

Wylie Sypher, "Introduction" to Comedy: An Essay on Comedy by 
George Meredith and Laughter by Henri Bergson, Introduction and 
Appendix: "The Meanings of Comedy"" by Wylie Sypher (New York: 
Doubleday, 1956), p. x v i . 

25 
Langer, Feeling and Form, p. 333• 

26 

Frye, Anatomy of C r i t i c i s m , p. 163. 
2 7 I b i d . , p. I 6 5 . 
2 8 I b i d . , p. 168. 
2 9 I b i d . , p. I 6 3 . 

^ G Meredith, "An Essay on Comedy," p. 32. 
3 1 I b i d . , p. 30. 
32 

Langer, p. 345• 
^George Meredith, The Egoist: A Comedy i n Narrative (Boston: 

Houghton M i f f l i n , 1958), p. 66. 
^ A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, new ed. (London: T. Fisher 

Unwin, I 8 9 D , p. 59. 

^ J o h n Stuart M i l l , The Sub.jection of Women, new ed. (London: 
Longman^ Green & Co., 1909T, p. 33. 

5 6 Langer, p. 333• 

Meredith, "An Essay on Comedy," p. 48. 

^ 8 Frye, p. I69. 

•^Bergson, "Laughter," pp. 74, 84. 
40 

Sypher, "Appendix" to Comedy, p. 252. 
41 

"An Essay on Comedy," p. 15• 
42 Sypher, "Appendix" to Comedy, p. 24?. 



43 V i r g i n i a Woolf, Granite and Rainbow (London: Hogarth Press, 
1958), p. 79. 

kk 
Sypher, "Appendix" to Comedy,, p. 2kn* 

k5 

'woolf, Granite and Rainbow, p. 8 l . 
46 

Jane Austen, Emma, i n The Complete Novels of Jane Austen, The 
Modern Library Edition (New York: Random House, £n.d. givenlj), 
pp. 833-834. A l l subsequent references i n my text to the novels of 
Jane Austen, with the exception of those to "Love and Freindship," 
are to this e d i t i o n , and have been checked against Works, ed. R. W. 
Chapman, 6 vols. (London: Oxford Univ. Press, 1958). 

47 
'Frye, p. 212. 

48 
V i r g i n i a Woolf, The Common Reader, 2nd ed. (London: L. & V. 

Woolf, 1925), p. 178. 
49 

V i r g i n i a Woolf, Contemporary Writers (London: Hogarth Press, 
1965), p. 26. 

50 
The V i c t o r i a n Age i n Literature (London: Williams & Norgate, 

1913), PP. 9 3 - 9 4 . 

5 1 I b i d . , p. 109. 

^ 2 Frye, p. 169. 



17 

CHAPTER II 

PARENTS AS OBSTRUCTING INFLUENCES: 
MORAL EDUCATION OF WOMEN 

The humor [the blocking character^ in comedy i s 
usually someone with a good deal of social 
prestige and power, who is able to force much 
of the play's society into line with his obses-
sion. Thus the humor i s intimately connected 
with the theme of the absurd or irrational law 
that the action of comedy moves toward breaking. 
—Northrop Frye, Anatomy of Criticism 

Because of their vested interest in the preservation of the 

status quo, members of the older generation are very often the block-

ing characters who obstruct the movement toward the freer and more 

creative society which i s the ultimate goal of comedy. Nevertheless, 

any members of a society, whether young or old, male or female, who 

consciously or unconsciously uphold without question the inflexible, 

arbitrary laws of that society are, by definition, also blocking 

characters. For i t i s in the "absurd or irrational" laws themselves 

that the real danger, the real obstructive power, l i e s . Since the 

members of the older generation, however, usually have enough power 

and prestige virtually to control the society in question, their 

influence as obstructing agents i s inevitably the strongest and most 

far-reaching—particularly i f they happen to be parents. For parents, 

as the f i r s t and probably most decisive single influence on children, 

are to a great extent responsible for the direction which the younger 

generation takes. 

The parental figures whom Jane Austen attacks in her novels 

are those who frustrate the evolution of a more ideal society by 



18 

r e i n f o r c i n g t h e i r society's concept of female i n f e r i o r i t y , p a r t i c u l a r -

l y as i t i s manifested i n the view of women as objects. With the 

possible exception of Colonel Tilney, however, these parents do not 

overtly regard t h e i r daughters with a m a t e r i a l i s t i c eye. They would 

never consider the imposition of the physical r e s t r i c t i o n s deemed f i t , 

for instance, by the tyrannical Squire Western on his unfortunate 

Sophia i n Tom Jones. In f a c t , t h e i r sins--except, perhaps, those of 

Lady R u s s e l l — a r e of omission rather than commission. They are simply 

negligent. And yet t h e i r negligence stems from the same a r b i t r a r y 

convention that l i e s at the root of outright tyranny. Both the tyran-

n i c a l parent, by his a n t i - s o c i a l actions, and the negligent parent, 

by his a n t i - s o c i a l lack of action, are equally g u i l t y i n t h e i r t a c i t 

endorsement of society's subjugation of women. That t h i s attitude i s 

bound to be r e f l e c t e d i n the moral t r a i n i n g of children i s s e l f -

evident. And, although i t might be possible to forgive parents for 

a c e r t a i n remissness i n the formal education of their children, they 

must—insofar as the two may be separated—accept f u l l r e s p o n s i b i l i t y 

for t h e i r moral education. Their f a i l u r e to do so prevents them from 

seeing they are " d r i f t i n g into v a n i t i e s , congregating i n absurdities, 

planning short-sightedly, p l o t t i n g dementedly, ""*" and thus exposes 

them to the "oblique l i g h t " of the comic s p i r i t and the "thoughtful 

laughter" i t awakens. 

Predicting that Edmund as a curate w i l l never merely "'do the 

duty of Thornton'" on Sundays (MP, 619), S i r Thomas Bertram declares: 

"He knows that human nature needs more lessons than a. weekly sermon 
can convey, and that i f he does not l i v e among his parishioners, and 
prove himself, by_ constant attention, t h e i r well-wisher and friend, 
he does very l i t t l e either for t h e i r good or his own." (MP, 619» 
My i t a l i c s ) 



It i s i r o n i c that S i r Thomas, who understands parental obligation so 

well i n theory, should i n practice contribute so l i t t l e toward the 

moral t r a i n i n g of his daughters. No doubt he i s their well-wisher, 

but he gives them only passing attention; and, as a stern and remote 

figure of authority he i s never, i n any r e a l sense, t h e i r f r i e n d . 

Indeed, because of his neglect, the parental influences i n Mansfield  

Park are more obstructive than i n any other of Jane Austen's novels. 

How unfortunate for Maria and J u l i a that S i r Thomas undertakes nothing 

beyond "the duty"' of a parent! 

S i r Thomas leaves his daughters almost e n t i r e l y to the passive 

indulgence of Lady Bertram and the active indulgence of Mrs. Norris. 

Although the two women could not be more d i f f e r e n t i n d i s p o s i t i o n , 

t h e i r values are the same: " . . . beauty and wealth were a l l that 

excited her respect" (MP, 670). The pronoun reference ("her") could 

be to Mrs. Norris just as well as to Lady Bertram. Their sole concern 

f o r M a r i a and J u l i a i s that, l i k e two b e a u t i f u l objects, they be 

trained i n the accomplishments and groomed to the elegance which w i l l 

guarantee a high price i n the marriage market. 

Lady Bertram, the female counterpart of Mr. Woodhouse i n her 

s t u p i d i t y and her all-consuming concern for her own comfort, comes 

under f i r e of Jane Austen's comic irony as the epitome of the i n d i f -

ferent parent: 

To the education of her daughters, Lady Bertram paid not the smallest 
attention. She had not time for such cares. She was a woman who 
spent her days i n s i t t i n g n i c e l y dressed on a sofa, doing some long 
piece of needlework, of l i t t l e use and no b e a u t y t h i n k i n g more of 
her pug than her children, but very indulgent to the l a t t e r , when i t 
did not put herself to inconvenience . . . . Had she possessed 
greater l e i s u r e for the service of her g i r l s , she would probably have 
supposed i t unnecessary, for they were under the care of a governess, 
with proper masters, and could want nothing more. (MP, 479» My i t a l i c s ) 



To her, any moral d i r e c t i o n seems unnecessary, i f not i r r e l e v a n t ; 

the outward gloss i s all-important. Impressed by Henry Crawford's 

proposal of marriage to Fanny, she offers her advice: '" • . . you must 

be aware, Fanny, that i t i s every young woman's duty to accept such a 

very unexceptionable o f f e r as this'" (MP, 6?1). Her words, although 

s t r i c t l y i n accordance with her values, must indeed surprise Fanny, 

f o r " t h i s was almost the only rule of conduct, the only piece of ad-

v i c e , which Fanny had ever received from her aunt i n the course of 

eight years and a h a l f " (MP, 6 7 D . And, since Fanny i s closer to and 

spends much more time with her aunt than either Maria or J u l i a , i t 

seems hardly l i k e l y that they have received more extensive or better 

counsel. 

Mrs. Norris, of course, i s only too w i l l i n g to step into the 

r o l e of mother, advisor and f r i e n d t a c i t l y abdicated by Lady Bertram. 

Unduly impressed by the g i r l s ' beauty and s o c i a l position, she con-

t i n u a l l y reinforces with her excessive f l a t t e r y t h e i r high opinion of 

themselves. And, although "there was no positive i l l - n a t u r e i n Maria 

or J u l i a . . . ." (MP, 4 7 9 ) she teaches them, by p r a i s i n g t h e i r 

achievements and b e l i t t l i n g Fanny's, to be contemptuous of t h e i r less 

fortunate cousin and to treat her with that lack of consideration 

which i s to characterize a l l t h e i r adult r e l a t i o n s h i p s . She deplores 

Fanny's apparent s t u p i d i t y — h e r slowness to learn, her lack of memory, 

her d i s i n t e r e s t i n music and drawing, her o v e r - a l l ignorance—at the 

same time conceding that, because of her i n f e r i o r s o c i a l status, i t i s 

just as well that her cousins' accomplishments are so much superior 

(MP, 4 7 8 - 4 7 9 ) . 

Such were the counsels by which Mrs. Norris assisted to form her 
nieces' minds; and i t i s not very wonderful that, with a l l t h e i r 



21 

promising talents and early information, they should be e n t i r e l y 
d e f i c i e n t i n the less common acquirements of self-knowledge, 
generosity and humility. (MP, 479) 

With a shrewd eye on Mr. Rushworth's twelve thousand a year, Mrs. 

Norris i s , of course, "most zealous i n promoting the match" (MP, 491) 

between him and Maria; and i t i s highly i r o n i c that t h i s a l l i a n c e , of 

which she i s so proud, has such a catastrophic r e s u l t for her favour-

i t e niece. In f a c t , the ultimate happiness of a l l three g i r l s varies 

i n inverse proportion to the extent of Mrs. N o r r i s 1 a f f e c t i o n for them: 

That J u l i a escaped better than Maria was owing, i n some measure, to a 
favourable difference of d i s p o s i t i o n and circumstance, but i n a 
greater to her having been less the darling of that very aunt, less 
f l a t t e r e d and l e s s s p o i l t . Her beauty and acquirements had held but 
a second place . . . . and education had not given her so very 
h u r t f u l a degree of self-consequence. (MP, 755) 

Fanny, of course, whom Mrs. Norris consistently treats with contempt, 

fares by f a r the best of the three. 

Although S i r Thomas may f e e l he i s counteracting his wife's 

and Mrs. Norris' indulgence of his daughters by some measure of 

severity, he does l i t t l e to discourage t h e i r vanity, or to encourage 

i n them any r e a l consideration for others. Even before Fanny arrives, 

he makes clear to Mrs. Norris what her relationship with his 

daughters should be: 

"I should wish to see them very good friends, and would, on no account, 
authorise i n my g i r l s the smallest degree of arrogance toward their 
r e l a t i o n ; but s t i l l they cannot be equals. Their rank, fortune, 
r i g h t s , and expectations w i l l always be d i f f e r e n t . " (MP, 474) 

It would seem that "rank, fortune, r i g h t s , and expectations'" are as 

important to him as to Mrs. Norris and his wife. If so, and his 

emphasis i s also on material assets at the expense of inner q u a l i t i e s , 



his daughters are unlikely to escape the arrogance he claims to deplore 

As long as they treat Fanny reasonably well in his presence, i t does 

not occur to him to question their actual feelings about her. He, too, 

i s concerned with the facade of a l l objects—and the Bertram g i r l s 

clearly give the appearance of politeness, amiability and modesty: 

they are trained to do so, for these are valuable assets in the busi-

ness of attracting a wealthy suitor. The limitations of such training 

are evident, however, in Julia's reaction on being l e f t alone with 

Mrs. Rushworth at Sotherton while Henry Crawford devotes his attention 

to Maria: 

The politeness which she had been brought up to practise as a duty 
made i t impossible for her to escape; while the want of that higher 
species of self-command, that just consideration of others, that know-
ledge of her own heart, that principle of right, which had not formed 
any essential part of her education, made her miserable under i t . 
(MP, 524) 

Although Sir Thomas does not subscribe to the idea that a 

woman should marry for wealth alone, his dominating concern forchis 

daughters i s , like that of his wife and Mrs. Norris, that they make a 

prosperous marriage. Nevertheless, noticing Maria's obvious indiffer-

ence to Rushworth, whom he considers "an inferior young man, as 

ignorant in business as in books, with opinions in general unfixed, 

and without seeming much aware of i t himself" (MP, 589), he makes a 

tentative offer to arrange her release from the engagement i f she so 

desires. Easily deceived by her statement to the contrary, however, 

and considering the obvious advantages of the match—not the least of 

which would be the "addition of respectability and influence" to 

himself (MP, 590)—he rationalizes his doubts and does not press her 

further. 



23 

The importance he attaches to wealth and status i s again under-

l i n e d by the force with which he attacks Fanny on her r e f u s a l to 

accept Henry Crawford as a s u i t o r : 

". . . you have disappointed every expectation I had formed, and proved 
yourself of a character the very reverse of what I had supposed. . . . 
I had thought you p e c u l i a r l y free from the wilfulness of temper, s e l f -
conceit, and every tendency to that independence of s p i r i t which 
p r e v a i l s so much i n modern days . . . . But you have now shown me 
that you can be w i l f u l and perverse . . . . throwing away from you 
such an opportunity of being s e t t l e d i n l i f e , e l i g i b l y , honourably, 
nobly s e t t l e d , as w i l l , probably, never occur to you again." 
(MP, 661-662) 

He disregards Fanny's plea that she has not and never could have any 

a f f e c t i o n for Crawford: he stresses the e l i g i b i l i t y of the a l l i a n c e , 

her duty to him and the advantages to her own family. But Fanny, 

l e s s under the influence of Mrs. Norris and more dependent upon Edmund 

"to d i r e c t her thoughts" and " f i x her p r i n c i p l e s " (MP, 712), has not 

the same values as Maria and J u l i a : she has not been "brought up to 

the trade of coming ont" (MP, 631). She i s only distressed at the 

reaction of the man she has thought "so discerning, so honourable, 

so good" (MP, 661). 

Honourable and good S i r Thomas may be, but c e r t a i n l y not d i s -

cerning. Not discerning enough to see the irony i n his proud state-

ment that "'Maria i s nobly married . . . .'" (MP, 662); to perceive 

that the '"wilfulness of temper1" and '"self-conceit 1 " of which he accuses 

Fanny are operating not i n her but i n his own daughters, p r e c i p i t a t i n g 

them into unhappy marriages; or to see that only Fanny's '"independence 

of s p i r i t ! " i s saving her from a s i m i l a r f a t e . S i r Thomas i s unable 

to make an accurate assessment of Maria's chance for happiness with 

Eushworth or of Fanny's with Crawford; to r e a l i z e that the mutual 

a f f e c t i o n which Fanny considers e s s e n t i a l for marriage i s c e r t a i n l y 



not "'what a young heated fancy imagines to be necessary for happi-

ness"' (MP, 662), and that such "'a young heated fancy'" almost 

undoubtedly produced the i l l u s o r y emotion which motivated his own 

far-from-satisfactory marriage to a handsome but stupid woman. In 

f a c t , i n these interchanges with Fanny, Jane Austen most c l e a r l y 

illuminates with her comic irony S i r Thomas' mistaken attitudes as 

to the moral q u a l i t i e s of the women with whom he comes i n contact. 

. . . a comic character i s generally comic i n proportion to 
his ignorance of himself. The comic person i s unconscious. As 
though wearing the r i n g of Gyges with reverse e f f e c t , he becomes 
i n v i s i b l e to himself while remaining v i s i b l e to a l l the world. 

Unlike Mrs. Norris and Lady Bertram who belong with those e s s e n t i a l l y 

comic characters who remain i n v i s i b l e to themselves, who never lose 

that "perpetual possession of being well-deceived i n which their 

comic essence consists" and "whose s u f f i c i e n t destiny i s simply to 

go on revealing themselves to us,"^ S i r Thomas does come to see him-

s e l f with a c e r t a i n degree of c l a r i t y — a much greater degree, i n 

f a c t , than i s reached by any of the other parents Jane Austen presents. 

And, i n tracing the progress of his self-awareness, she also 

indicates the kind of moral t r a i n i n g she f e e l s i s central to any con-

cept of parental r e s p o n s i b i l i t y i n an i d e a l society. It takes the 

disastrous consequences of Maria's marriage, of course, to trigger 

S i r Thomas' reformation: 

B i t t e r l y did he deplore a deficiency which now he could scarcely 
comprehend to have been possible. . . . with a l l the cost and care 
of an anxious and expensive education, he had brought up his 
daughters, without t h e i r understanding t h e i r f i r s t duties, or his 
being acquainted with their character and temper. (MP, 753) 



25 

As he reproaches himself for acting against his better judgment, 

r e a l i z i n g that "he had s a c r i f i c e d the r i g h t to the expedient, and 

been governed by motives of selfishness and worldly wisdom" (MP, 

752), he i s forced to investigate his own p o s i t i o n . He has to admit 

that, by counteracting Mrs. Norris* indulgence with his own severity, 

he only made himself more unapproachable and thus encouraged his 

daughters "to repress t h e i r s p i r i t s i n his presence, as to make their 

r e a l d i s p o s i t i o n unknown to him" (MP, 753)• Indeed, Maria and J u l i a 
have always been caught between two extremes. But f i n a l l y S i r Thomas 

perceives that the fundamental mistake i n his plan of education l i e s 

f a r deeper: 

Something must have been wanting within . . . . He feared that 
p r i n c i p l e , active p r i n c i p l e , had been wanting, that they had never 
been properly taught to govern t h e i r i n c l i n a t i o n s and tempers, by 
that sense of duty which can alone s u f f i c e . They had been i n s t r u c t -
ed t h e o r e t i c a l l y i n t h e i r r e l i g i o n , but never required to bring i t 
into d a i l y p r a c t i c e . To be distinguished for elegance and accom-
plishments—the authorized object of t h e i r youth—could have had no 
useful influence that way, no moral e f f e c t on the mind. (Iff, 753• 
My i t a l i c s ) 

Something wanting within. Elegance and accomplishments valued more 

than moral v i r t u e . The outward appearance stressed and the inner 

r e a l i t y ignored. A l l t h i s S i r Thomas eventually r e a l i z e s and, to do 

him j u s t i c e , he never does completely recover from "the anguish 

a r i s i n g from the conviction of his own errors i n the education of 

his daughters" (MP, 753). On the other hand, he does not penetrate 

deeply enough to discover the reason for his neglect: i t does not 

occur to him that he has simply upheld society's view of women and 

has, therefore, treated both his daughters and Fanny primarily as 

exploitable possessions and not as unique human beings. 



26 
D i f f i c u l t as i t may be to separate the s o c i a l from the moral 

implications of comedy, we must remember that " . . . whether a char-

acter i s good or bad i s of l i t t l e moment; granted he i s unsociable, 
if 

he i s capable of becoming comic." As a parent whose lack of s o c i a l 

awareness makes him regard his daughters and Fanny as objects of value 

to be put up for auction i n the marriage market, S i r Thomas i s c l e a r l y 

i d e n t i f i a b l e as the blocking character i n an e s s e n t i a l l y comic s i t u -

a t i o n : he i s able temporarily to frustrate the desires of Fanny, the 

comic heroine; i n the end, however, he i s defeated as, "sick of 

ambitious and mercenary connections, p r i z i n g more and more the s t e r -

l i n g good of p r i n c i p l e and temper" (MP, 7 5 8 ) , he j o y f u l l y gives his 

consent to her marriage with Edmund and thus clears the way for her 

s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n . The p a r t i a l self-awareness reached by S i r Thomas 

i s , of course, i n no way inconsistent with a certain species of comic 

character; indeed, i t i s experienced by no less an archetypal comic 

figure than, Tom Jones himself, who shares with S i r Thomas (and 

p a r t i c u l a r l y with Emma Woodhouse) that humiliating exposure of the 

old and inadequate s e l f which precedes reformation and the ultimate 

assertion of a new because more s o c i a l l y aware s e l f . (This discovery 

of s o c i a l self-awareness i s , of course, d i f f e r e n t i n kind from the 

complete self-discovery, of the tragic hero.) While some of Jane 

Austen's obstructing parents eventually achieve a measure of s e l f -

awareness, at the outset they a l l exhibit that lack of concern for 

e f f e c t i v e s o c i a l relationships which i s e s s e n t i a l not only to the 

comic character but to the comic s i t u a t i o n . We laugh at them because 

comedy can only begin at the point where our neighbor's personality 
ceases to a f f e c t us. It begins, i n fact, with what might be c a l l e d 
a growing callousness to s o c i a l l i f e . Any i n d i v i d u a l i s comic who 



27 
automatically goes his own way without troubling himself about getting 
into touch with the rest of his fellow-beings.5 

In Pride and Prejudice, as in Mansfield Park, a great discrep-

ancy exists between the respective treatment of the daughters by their 

mother and by their father. The tension between the parents, however, 

i s more obvious in Pride and Prejudice. "A woman of mean understanding, 

l i t t l e information, and uncertain temper" (PP, 232), Mrs. Bennet i s 

very much like Mrs. Norris, except that her disposition i s slightly 

better and her ideas much more frivolous. One of the most obstructive 

parents Jane Austen presents, she entertains very simple and com-

pletely materialistic values: "the business of her l i f e was to get 

her daughters married . . . ." (PP, 232); she has no regard for the 

circumstances except, of course, that the richer the husband, the 

greater her own gratification. Her utter lack of moral sense i s 

evident in her characteristic reaction to Lydia's elopement—she 

blames "everybody but the person [herself! to whose ill-judging 

indulgence the errors of her daughter must be principally owing" 

(PP, 402)—and in the unmitigated joy with which she receives the 

news of Lydia's rather tardy and most unpropitious marriage: "'This 

i s delightful indeed! . . . She w i l l be married at sixteen! . . . 

How I long to see her! and to see dear Wickham too!"1 (PP, 413) 

That Jane i s to be the mistress of Netherfield and thus share with 

Bingley an income of "four or five thousand a-year, and very likely 

more'" (PP, 440), constitutes her chief satisfaction in her eldest 

daughter's marriage. And on hearing that Elizabeth, never a favour-

i t e with her and for whom she once thought Mr. Collins quite good 

enough (PP, 294), i s to become the mistress of Pemberley, she i s 

ecstatic to the point of speechlessness, but f i n a l l y exclaims: 



28 
"Oh, my sweetest Lizzy! How rich and how great you w i l l bei What 
pin-money, what jewels, what carriages you w i l l have! Jane's i s 
nothing to it—nothing at a l l . . . . A house i n town! . . . Ten 
thousand a year!" (PP, 459) 

Obviously, Mrs. Bennet has no concern whatever for the moral welfare 

and l i t t l e more, except in the most incidental way, for the happiness 

of her daughters. 

Mr. Bennet has nothing but contempt for the cheap values of 

his wife to whom, i t would seem, he i s diametrically opposed in every 

way. With his intelligence and perspicacity, he could provide an 

effective antidote to his wife's deleterious influence on his 

daughters; yet. he chooses to evade his responsibility by an escape 

into cynicism and mockery. Because he i s so much closer to the lives 

of his daughters and, therefore, so much more keenly aware of what 

i s happening to them, he is in one sense more guilty of obstruction 

than Sir Thomas. In another sense, however, because he i s less con-

cerned with their financial prospects than with their happiness-

par ticularly that of Elizabeth and Jane—he i s more to be commended. 

Indeed, he feels great affection for his two elder daughters who, for 

some unaccountable reason, are blessed with good sense—perhaps the 

only women so endowed he has ever come in contact with! For the 

three younger g i r l s he shows nothing but active dislike. Jane and 

Elizabeth show real concern for "the wild giddiness" (PP, 359) of 

Lydia and Catherine, but their attempts at correction are frustrated 

as much by their father's neglect as their mother's indulgence. 

Obviously Mr. Bennet does not consider Lydia and Catherine perfectible 

even to the slightest degree. In reply to Elizabeth's plea that he 

forbid Lydia's trip to Brighton, for instance, he argues, '"Lydia w i l l 

never be easy t i l l she has exposed herself in some public place or 



29 

other . . . ."' (PP, 369)» and he does nothing to prevent her going. 

At this point, Elizabeth tries to point out to her father the far-

reaching effects of her sisters' inadequate moral training: 

"It i s not of peculiar, but of general evils, which I am now complain-
ing. . . . If you, my dear father, w i l l not take the trouble of 
checking her exuberant s p i r i t s , and of teaching her that her present 
pursuits are not to be the business of her l i f e , she w i l l soon be b e -
yond the reach of amendment. Her character w i l l be fixed, and she 
w i l l , at sixteen, be the most determined f l i r t , that ever made herself 
and her family ridiculous . . . . In this danger Kitty i s also com-
prehended. She w i l l follow wherever Lydia l e a d 6 . Vain, ignorant, 
i d l e , and absolutely uncontrolled!" (PP, 369-370) 

Although he f a i l s to comprehend the seriousness of Elizabeth's warn-

ing, Mr. Bennet does accept the blame for Lydia's downfall: "It has 

been my own doing, and I ought to feel i f " (PP, 409). He does not, 

however, experience the same self-searching as Sir Thomas, and is 

quite aware that his contrition w i l l not last: , MI am not afraid of 

being overpowered by the impression. It w i l l pass away soon enough1" 

(PP, 409). To his credit, his delight in the marriages of Jane and 

Elizabeth i s rooted in his concern for and conviction of their happi-

ness: to Jane, he says, "'. . .1 have great pleasure in thinking you 

w i l l be so happily settled. I have not a doubt of your doing very 

well together"' (PP, 440); and to Elizabeth, his favourite, after she 

has convinced him of Darcy's good qualities, "If this be the case, he 

deserves you. I could not have parted with you, my Lizzy, to any one 

less worthy'" (PP, 458). Not one word, to either g i r l , about the 

annual income of her future husband! It i s obvious that his attitude 

to his family i s remarkably ambivalent: Jane and Elizabeth he treats 

like rational human beings; Lydia and Catherine, who closely resemble 

his wife (for he, like Sir Thomas, married a pretty, stupid woman) he 

treats as objects incapable of responding to training and worthy only 



of ridicule. And so, although he i s i n f i n i t e l y superior to his wife 

i n both intelligence and discernment, he is almost as guilty as she 

of upholding the values condoned by society and thus impeding the 

moral development of h i 6 daughters. 

The parental influences in Persuasion are more ambiguous than 

those in either ManBfield Park or Pride and Prejudice. Sir Walter 

E l l i o t t s , attitudes are, of course, entirely materialistic: "he 

considered the blessing of beauty as inferior only to the blessing 

of a baronetcy . . . ." (P, 1212) He is not, however, preoccupied 

with marrying his daughters to the highest bidder; he i s more con-

cerned with the lustre they may add to his own image. Elizabeth, the 

eldest, "being very handsome, and very much like himself" (P, 1212), 

he loves as he would love a mirror. Although he f u l l y expects that 

she w i l l "one day or other, marry suitably" (P, 1213), he i s in no 

hurry to lose her for " . . . they had gone on together most happily" 

(P, 1212). The two younger g i r l s , because they can add nothing to 

his own self-concept, he discounts almost completely. By marrying 

Charles Musgrove, of a wealthy old country family, Mary "had acquired 

a l i t t l e a r t i f i c i a l importance" (P, 1212), but Anne he has never ad-

mired, even in her youthful bloom, "so totally different were her 

delicate features and mild dark eyes from his own" (P, 1213). How, 

her bloom faded, but "with an elegance of mind and sweetness of 

character which must have placed her high with any people of real 

understanding, she was nobody to either father or sister; . . . she 

was only Anne'" (P, 1212-13). Never, Sir Walter i s quite sure, w i l l 

he be able to enter her name, as partner to an unexceptionable 

alliance, in his favourite book, the Baronetage. 



31 
Sir Walter's neglect and indifference are, of course the reason 

for Anne's turning for guidance, on her mother's death, to Lady 

Russell. And i t i s ironic that this woman, to whom Anne i s "a most 

dear and highly valued god-daughter, favourite, and friend" (P, 1213), 

i s the direct cause of her unhappiness. For although Anne at nineteen 

could have withstood her father's disapproval of Frederick Wentworth— 

aware, as she was, of his mercenary values—she could not but follow 

Lady Russell's advice against marrying "a young man who had nothing 

but himself to recommend him, and no hopes of attaining affluence, 

but in the chances of a most uncertain profession" (P, 1225). That 

the counsel was wrong i s clear from i t s immediate effect on Anne: 

"her attachment and regrets had, for a long time, clouded every enjoy-

ment of youth, and an early loss of bloom and spirits had been their 

lasting effect" (P, 1226). Although she does not blame Lady Russell 

for her unhappiness, she knows she would herself never give the same 

counsel, based as i t was on "that over-anxious caution which seems 

to insult exertion and distrust Providence" (P, 1227). And the 

absolute necessity that parental advice should be sound i s emphasized 

i n Anne's admission that, since she was so young and inexperienced 

at the time, i t would have been wrong for her not to heed Lady Russell 

who, after a l l , '"was in the place of a parent"' (P, 1361). Unfortun-

ately, however, in spite of her genuine devotion to Anne, Lady 

Russell's values are highly questionable: material advantages, 

though not so all-important to her as to Sir Walter, do in the last 

analysis outweigh a l l others. She does, for instance, have "a value 

for rank and consequence, which blinded her a l i t t l e to the faults 

of those who possessed them" (E, 1216). With not enough real concern 

for Anne's own feelings, she would have liked to see her marry 



32 

Charles Musgrove because she would have then been "so respectably re-

moved from the p a r t i a l i t i e s and i n j u s t i c e of her father's house, and 

s e t t l e d so permanently near h e r s e l f " (P, 1226). Furthermore, she i s 

no wiser, i n her recommendation of Mr. E l l i o t as a suitor than i n her 

denunciation of Frederick Wentworth; although she feels Anne would be 

happy with Mr. E l l i o t , her emphasis i s c l e a r l y on the "'most suitable 

connection [which] everybody must consider i t , " ' and on Anne's pro-

spects of being "'the future mistress of Kellynch, the future Lady 

E l l i o t " 1 (P, 1306)—the same powerful arguments that some well-meaning 

f r i e n d or r e l a t i v e could once conceivably have put forth to Anne's 

misguided mother. It must not be forgotten, however, that Lady 

Russell "was a very good woman, and i f her second object was to be 

sensible and well-judging, her f i r s t was to see Anne happy" (P, 1362)— 

her error l i e s i n her assumption that Anne's happiness depends on 

wealth and status. And so we begin to be aware of the insidiousness 

with which the m a t e r i a l i s t i c view of women d i s t o r t s the concepts of 

even the most discerning i n d i v i d u a l s . For, i n the l a s t analysis, S i r 

Walter, motivated by vanity and acting through ignorance, and Lady 

Russell, motivated by love and acting through i n t e l l i g e n c e , both re-

f l e c t the view of a society which considers women as marketable 

merchandise. 

Free from the misdirected parental pressures operating i n 

Mansfield Park, Pride and Prejudice and Persuasion, the parent-child 

r e l a t i o n s h i p s i n Emma would seem to be a complete:,' r e v e r s a l . After 

a l l , Emma, economically independent and universally admired, f u l l y en-

joying her status as the acknowledged mistress of H a r t f l e l d , seems to 

possess a l l the prerequisites for a happy l i f e . No one i s trying to 

force her into marriage; Mr. Woodhouse, i n fact, i s very opposed to 



33 
people, especially women, relinquishing their single state because 

"matrimony, as the origin of change, was always disagreeable . . . . 

(E, ?64) The truth i s , of course, that "the kind-hearted, polite old 

man" (E, ,942) sees women, not as individuals in their own right, but 

only in their relationship to him. Because of "his habits of gentle 

selfishness, and of being never able to suppose that other people 

could feel differently from himself" (E, 765), he cannot conceive, 
v for instance, that Miss Taylor might be happier married to the excel-

lent Mr. Weston i n a home of her own than remaining at Hartfield 

where the house i s "'three times as large'" (E, 765) and laments, 

'••Poor Miss Taylor! I wish she were here again. What a pity i t i s 

that Mr. Weston ever thought of her!'" (E, 765) Whenever he thinks 

of his elder daughter, Isabella, who i s happily married in London, 

he i s just as miserable: '"Poor Isabella! she i s sadly taken away 

from us a l l . . . .'" (E, 810) And, of course, when Emma and Mr. 

Knightley approach him in an effort to fix a date for their own wed-

ding, " . . . he was so miserable that they were almost hopeless" 

(E, 1059). Indeed, his unhappiness i s so acute that, u n t i l the p i l -

fering episode indicates the advantages to him of a protective 

son-in-law, Emma feels she cannot proceed with her plans. Mr. Wood-

house i s , of course, reflecting society's view that i f a woman does 

not marry, her duty i s to take care of her parents. Gentle and good-

natured though he may be, he too values women as objects—not for 

their beauty or their wealth, but because they are comfortable and 

useful to have around. It i s no wonder that Emma, in turn, tends to 

regard the people of Highbury not as individuals with lives of their 

own to l i v e , but as puppets whom she can manoeuvre as her fancy 

dictates* 



In contrast to the parents already discussed, i t would seem 

that Mrs. Dashwood in Sense and Sensibility, far from seeing her 

daughters as a kind of material investment, the interest on which 

w i l l inevitably accscue to herself:, does nothing whatever to impede 

the moral development of her daughters. Happily married before the 

untimely death of her hus&and with whom she shared an unqualified 

"goodness of heart" (SS, 1), she entertains a "tender love for a l l 

her three children" (SS, 3). By no means possessive—she permits 

Elinor and Marianne, for instance, to go to London for a holiday of 

unspecified duration—she i s primarily concerned with her daughters * 

welfare and seems to do everything she can to promote their happiness. 

Edward Ferrars' unpredictable financial future does not influence her 

i n the least: " i t was contrary to every doctrine of hers, that d i f -

ference of fortune should keep any couple asunder who were attracted 

by resemblance of disposition . . . ." (SS, 8) Almost immediately, 

however, as she is compared to her eldest daughter, Elinor, her 

weakness becomes apparent: Elinor, we are told, knows how to govern 

her strong feelings, but this i s "a knowledge which her mother had 

yet to learn" (SS, 3)» For Mrs. Dashwood's fault l i e s in the exces-

sive sensibility she shares with Marianne; and, instead of trying to 

curb her daughter's emotionalism, she values and cherishes i t (SS, 3)« 

After Mr. Dashwood's death, for instance, she and Marianne "gave them-

selves up wholly to their sorrow, seeking increase of wretchedness in 

every reflection that could afford i t , and resolved against ever 

admitting consolation in future" (SS, 3)« As easily as Marianne, she 

i s deluded by Willoughby's apparent faultlessness: she does not see 

in him what i s clear to E l i n o r — " a propensity . . . of saying too much 

what he thought on every occasion, without attention to persons or 



circumstances" (SS, 29). When Willoughby suddenly and mysteriously 

leaves Barton, Elinor realizes that, i f Marianne i s to be helped, the 

actual status of her relationship with him must be known; on her sug-

gestion that her mother simply a6k Marianne whether an engagement 

exists, however, Mrs. Dashwood replies, '"I would not ask such a ques-

tion for the world. Supposing i t possible that they are not engaged, 

what distress would not such an enquiry i n f l i c t ! ' " (SS, 50) Any ten-

dency we may have to commend this apparent thoughtfulness i s deflected 

by Elinor who 

. . . thought this generosity overstrained, considering her sister's 
youth, and urged the matter farther, but in vain; common sense, com-
mon care, common prudence were a l l sunk i n Mrs* Dashwood's romantic 
delicacy. (SS, 51) 

For "common sense, common care, common prudence"—the lack of which 

i s just as obvious in the considerate Mrs* Dashwood as in the well-

meaning Sir Thomas Bertram and in the cynical Mr. Bennet—could pre-

vent much of Marianne's subsequent distress. With her "romantic 

delicacy" Mrs. Dashwood reinforces society's view of women as weak, 

irrational, dependent creatures governed by uncontrollable emotion— 

which i s , in effect, only another facet of the view of women as 

objects. This sentimental concept of women i s investigated more 

f u l l y in a subsequent chapter; let i t suffice at this point, there-

fore, to say that Mrs. Dashwood, as a g i r l , was no doubt very much 

like Marianne; she married a good man who almost certainly idealized 

her as a delicate, sensitive creature; she was never forced to face 

facts, to grow up enough to attain any real moral strength. And she 

does not actually mature u n t i l she sees the havoc her illusions have 

wrought in another's l i f e ; for when Marianne has acquired the wisdom 



36 

to regret her own f o l l y , her mother corrects her: "'Rather say your 

mother's imprudence, my c h i l d . . . she must be answerable'" (SS, 

2 1 0 ) . By bringing up Marianne i n her own romantic and sentimental 

image, by refusing to appeal to her on r a t i o n a l grounds, she i s indeed 

responsible for strengthening the concept of the i n f e r i o r i t y of women 

held by her society. 

To offset a l l these parents who, because of their adherence 

to society's f a u l t y concept of women, impede the progress of the 

comic rhythm, Jane Austen does present a few parents whom she con-

siders unobstructive. In Northanger Abbey, for instance, Mrs. Morland 

i s "a woman of useful p l a i n sense, with a good temper" who "did not 

i n s i s t on her daughters being accomplished i n spite of incapacity 

or d i s t a s t e " (M, 1 0 6 3 ) . She and her husband send Catherine o f f to 

Bath "with a degree of moderation and composure, which seemed rather 

consistent with the common feelings of common l i f e , than with the 

r e f i n e d s u s c e p t i b i l i t i e s " (HA, 1 0 6 6 ) . They make no attempt to 

engender vanity i n her, nor do they suggest that she be on the a l e r t 

for a wealthy s u i t o r : they have not, i n e f f e c t , prepared her for the 

marriage market. Since most of the story takes place at Bath and at 

Horthanger, we do not see much of the Morlands i n action; we do, how-

ever, perceive the e f f e c t s of t h e i r moral t r a i n i n g on Catherine: 

". . . her heart was affectionate, her d i s p o s i t i o n cheerful and open, 

without conceit or a f f e c t a t i o n of any kind . . . ." (HA, 1 0 6 6 ) 

Because of her inexperience with people, she i s naive at f i r s t : a 

l i t t l e blinded by her a f f e c t i o n for Isabella, she does not quite know 

how to take the older g i r l ' s exaggerated compliments, such as, 

'". . . you are just the kind of g i r l to be a great favourite with 

the men!" (NA, 1 0 8 0 ) . But, when Isabella offends her sense of moral 



37 
propriety by demanding that she break an engagement with the Tilneys 

merely to please her, she i s surprisingly quick to see through Isabella's 

machinations: "Isabella appeared to her ungenerous and selfish, re-

gardless of everything but her own gratification" (NA, 1116). Indeed, 

Isabella's vanity, pride and ambition are contrasted throughout with 

Catherine's simple goodness and belief in right conduct. But then, 

Isabella has "a very indulgent mother" (NA, I O 7 6 ) , whose f i r s t words 

to Mrs. Allen and Catherine about her daughters indicate the kind of 

training they have received: ""Here come my dear g i r l s . . . . the 

tallest i s Isabella, my eldest; i s not she a fine young woman? The 

others are very much admired too, but I believe Isabella i s the hand-

somest" (NA, 1074-75). When Catherine returns home from Northanger, 

Mrs. Morland ignores her melancholy for two days but then, unlike 

Mrs. Dashwood, determines "to lose no time in attacking so dreadful 

a malady" (N&, 1201), reproves her for not being more useful, and goes 

i n search of some instructive literature. Moreover, on Henry Tilney's 

applying for their consent to marry Catherine, the Morlands are not 

impressed by his background or his expectations, but by "his pleasing 

manners and good sense" (NA, 1205). To the extent that Catherine i n -

dulges in romantic fantasies, she i s unconsciously a victim of her 

society's view of women as objects—but this indulgence i s a defect 

of her formal, not her moral education. And the success with which 

she i s eventually able to overcome this defect i s no doubt due to the 

excellent moral training she has received from her parents. 

The Musgroves in Persuasion are also presented as parents who 

do not constitute an obstacle to the moral development of their 

children. People of considerable wealth, they might be expected to 

regard their daughters as investments to aggrandize the family estate. 



On the contrary, however, they exhibit a genuine and sensible concern 

for the g i r l s ' happiness. Indeed, their treatment of their children 

would seem to indicate that simple moral, goodness, with i t s implicit 

sense of responsibility and propriety, i s a much more valuable parent-

a l asset than either intelligence or the education of the day. Lady 

Russell and Mr. Bennet, for instance, are Jane Austen's best educated 

and most intelligent parent figures, yet they f a i l dismally in com-

parison with the Musgroves who are "friendly and hospitable, not much 

educated, and not at a l l elegant" (P, 1233), but whose daughters 

"Anne always contemplated . . . as some of the happiest creatures of 

her acquaintance . . . ." (P, 123*0 For the relationship between 

Henrietta and Louisa Musgrove i s based on "that seemingly perfect good 

understanding and agreement together, that good-humoured mutuall affec-

tion, of which she [Anne] had known so l i t t l e herself with either of 

her sisters" (P, 123 )̂. And how different i s their relationship from 

that of Maria and Julia Bertram (the daughters of materialistically-

minded parents) who regard each other with envy and even hatred as 

each strives to be the more attractive object of the two. Part of 

the key to the Musgroves' success as parents i s to be found in Anne's 

praise of them to their son Charles—which could, incidentally, apply 

with equal accuracy to the Morlands: 

USuch excellent parents . . . should be happy in their children's 
marriages. They do everything to confer happiness, I am sure. What 
a blessing to young people to be in such hands! Your father and 
mother seem totally free from a l l those ambitious feelings which have 
led to so much misconduct and misery, both in young and old." 
(P, 1342-̂ 3) 

It may be argued, of course, that parental influence i s not 

all-important; and Jane Austen i s not so na'ive as to imply that 

environment is the sole determining factor. Many of her comic heroines 



39 

escape relatively unscathed. Jane and Elizabeth Bennet transcend the 

imperfections of both their foolish mother and irresponsible father. 

Elinor Dashwood i s singularly unaffected by her mother's romanticism. 

Fanny Price, many of whose formative years were spent with a mother 

who was "a partial, ill-judging parent, a dawdle, a slattern, who 

neither taught nor restrained her children" (MP, 707), does not 

capitulate to the false values surrounding hep at Mansfield Park. 

But Jane Austen's real concern would seem to be that these admirable 

g i r l s , so wise, so free in s p i r i t , so eager to realize themselves as 

unique individuals, are forced to litfe in and—if they are not 

fortunate enough to marry a man who encourages their self-realization--

perhaps compromise with the . L society the false, mercenary values of X 

which are tacitly endorsed by their parents. 

Furthermore, i f parents, as spokesmen for the older, the control-

l i n g generation, do nothing to counteract the attitude of a sterile 

society which regards women as objects—accomplished and elegant, but 

objects nevertheless—the error is likely to be perpetuated and 

social progress impeded, as generation follows generation. For the 

conditioning process begins the moment a child i s born, and the 

values of the parent almost inevitably become the values of the child. 

Indeed, despite the greatest independence of mind—which, incidentally, 

i s extremely rare in a rigidly controlled s o c i e t y — i t i s only with the 

utmost d i f f i c u l t y that a child can ever free himself completely from 

the effects of a parental attitude, even when he comes to realize 

that the attitude i t s e l f i s totally wrong. And so, i f daughters are 

treated as objects, no matter how kind or how disguised the treatment, 

and i f sons are taught to accept this materialistic view of their 

sisters, they w i l l both tend not only to conform to i t for the rest of 



40 

t h e i r l i v e s — t h e sons t r e a t i n g t h e i r wives as objects as well--but 

a l s o , f o l l o w i n g the example set by t h e i r parents, transmit i t i n turn 

to t h e i r own c h i l d r e n . And so, o b s t r u c t i n g parents who block the 

s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n of t h e i r daughters by t h e i r unquestioning acceptance 

of the "absurd or i r r a t i o n a l law" which decrees the subjugation of 

women, become part of a c o n t i n u i n g , almost automatic process. Con-

s c i o u s l y or unconsciously, they are r e f u s i n g to accept "the 

fundamental law of l i f e , which i s the complete negation of r e p e t i t i o n . 

By so doing, they expose themselves to the r e l e n t l e s s attack of the 

comic s p i r i t , f o r 

the comic i s . . . that aspect of human events which, through i t s 
p e c u l i a r i n e l a s t i c i t y , conveys the impression of pure mechanism, of 
automatism, of movement without l i f e . Consequently, i t expresses an 
i n d i v i d u a l or c o l l e c t i v e imperfection which c a l l s f o r an immediate 
c o r r e c t i v e . This c o r r e c t i v e i s laughter, a s o c i a l gesture that 
s i n g l e s out and represses a s p e c i a l k i n d of absentmindedness i n men 
and i n e v e n t s . 7 (My i t a l i c s ) 



41 
NOTES 

Meredith, "An Essay on Comedy," p. 48. 
p 
Bergson, "Laughter," p. 7 1 . 

^Maynard Mack, " I n t r o d u c t i o n to Joseph Andrews," The H i s t o r y  
of the Adventures of Joseph Andrews and of His F r i e n d Mr. Abraham  
Adams by Henry F i e l d i n g (New York and Toronto: R i n e h a r t , 1948) 
p. x i v . 

Bergson, p. 154. 

5 I b i d . , p. 147-

^ I b i d . , p. 8 l . 

I b i d . , p. 117. 



CHAPTER III 

FORMAL EDUCATION: A FURTHER COMPLICATION 

. . . though, to the larger and more t r i f l i n g 
part of the [male} sex, i m b e c i l i t y i n females 
i s a great enhancement of their personal 
charms, there i s a portion of them too reason-
able, and too well-informed themselves, to 
desire anything more i n woman than ignorance. 

—Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey 

As indicated i n the previous chapter, i t i s d i f f i c u l t to sep-

arate moral from formal education; the same forces i n Jane Austen's 

society which relegated a woman to the status of an object, also 

decreed thpt she must be an uninformed object, and for the same 

reason. Preparation for the marriage-market, then, not only i n h i b i t -

ed her moral development but also prohibited her i n t e l l e c t u a l growth. 

And so again we see the r i g i d ideas of the older generation at work: 

a woman's education must bear no r e l a t i o n to her i n t e l l e c t u a l poten-

t i a l (the existence of such a potential was, of course, denied by the 

greater part of society) but must be automatically r e s t r i c t e d to mak-

ing her more desirable to the male. And what i s less desirable to 

the average male than the threat to his vanity constituted by an 

educated woman? Society demanded, therefore, that a woman direct her 

a b i l i t i e s toward the a c q u i s i t i o n of the so-called "feminine" accom-

plishments—penmanship, needlework, drawing, music, dancing and 

l a n g u a g e — a l l of which enhanced her attractiveness as an object. Read-

ing was an acceptable occupation up to a point: an acquaintance with 

the popular novels and poems of the day could be quite charming, but 

any attempt by a woman to extend her knowledge beyond these to, say, a 



43 
specialized f i e l d like science or mathematics was bound to be censured, 

because 

to come with a well-informed mind, i s to come with an inability of ad-
ministering to the vanity of others, which a sensible person would 
always wish to avoid. A woman, especially, i f she have the misfortune 
of knowing anything, should conceal i t as well as she can. (NA, 1124) 

For this clear-sighted comprehension of the prevailing attitude toward 

female enlightenment and of the quality of the male intellect which 

endorsed i t , Jane Austen i s partly indebted to Fanny Burney, one of 

her predecessors; in Evelina, Miss Burney presents a discussion of 

women by three utterly stupid men, together with the astute comment 

of a b r i l l i a n t woman: 

" . . . I have an insuperable aversion to strength, either of 
body or mind, in a female." fMr. Lovel] 

"•Faith, and so have I," said Mr. Coverley; "for egad I'd as soon 
see a woman chop wood, as hear her chop logic." 

"So would every man in his senses," said Lord Merton; "for a woman  
wants nothing to recommend her but beauty and good nature; i n every 
thing else she i s either impertinent or unnatural. For my part, deuce 
take me i f ever I wish to hear a word of sense from a woman as long 
as I l i v e ! " 

"It has always been agreed," said Mrs. Selwyn, looking round her 
with the utmost contempt, "that no man ought to be connected with a 
woman whose understanding i s superior to his own. Now I very much 
fear, that to accommodate a l l this good company, according to such a 
rule, would be utterly impracticable, unless we should chuse subjects 
from Swift's hospital of i d i o t s . " 1 (My i t a l i c s ) 

Society's discriminatory attitude i s , of course, based on the 

ad hoc argument that women do not deserve an education because they 

are naturally stupid and incompetent. (That this type of argument i s 

an effective weapon against any minority group is evident in the suc-

cess with which i t i s s t i l l being used to prohibit the education of 



kk 

the negro in the southern United States.) Although the fallacy has not 

gone unperceived—Plato, for instance, maintained that boys and g i r l s 

have the same natural aptitudes--the attitude has persisted: i t con-

stitutes an integral part of the whole concept of women's inferiority 

and has just as long a history. Indeed, in Jane Austen's society, the 

education of g i r l s was not much different from that in Anciant Greece 

(or in any intervening society, for that matter). In both s o c i e t i e s — 

although Jane Austen gives us a few instances in her work of g i r l s who 

attend boarding-schools (which never claim a status corresponding to 

that of a boy's "prep" schoolK-boys are sent away to school while g i r l s 

remain at home with their mothers, to be instructed in household duties, 

the bare essentials of literacy and the fine art of capturing a husband. 

In fact, we may infer from H. D. F. Kitto that a more l i b e r a l attitude 

toward the educated woman existed in Ancient Greece than in Jane 

Austen's society: not only books but a completely uncensored theatre 

were open to her; furthermore, the hetaerae, a class of highly-educated 

Ionian women who did not want the responsibilities of marriage, were 
2 

not only permitted to exist but were given a great deal of freedom. 

Despite the assumptions any historian may make about the position or 

education of women in a given society, however—and these assumptions 

are based mainly on the lack of positive evidence to the contrary—we 

cannot ignore the phenomenon, carefully noted by Virginia Woolf, that 

virtually nothing whatever i s known about women before the eighteenth 

century: we do not know how many children they had, how they spent 

their time, whether they could read or write, or whether they had any 

privacy; a l l we know i s that they had no money, no legal status and 

no choice as to a husband.^ That they certainly were not educated 

can be inferred from this very paucity of information which in i t s e l f 



45 

i s evidence that, throughout most of recorded history, one-half of the 

population has been mute. It i s curious that, in both her f i r s t and 

her last novel, Jane Austen refers to this strange fact which, even 

today, evokes l i t t l e surprise: in Northanger Abbey, Catherine Morland 

complains, "'. . . i t [history} t e l l s me nothing that does not either 

ve$ or weary me. . . . the men a l l so good for nothing, and hardly any 

women at a l l . . . . (NA, 1122-23); in Persuasion, Anne Elliot-: re-

fuses to accept much of what Captain Harville claims to be evidence of 

wome n's fickle ne s s: 

. . i f you please, no reference to examples in books. Men have had 
every advantage of us in t e l l i n g their own story. Education has been 
theirs in so much higher a degree; the pen has been in their hands. 
I w i l l not allow books to prove anything. (P, 1353. My i t a l i c s ) 

Jane Austen, i t would seem, i s f u l l y aware of the implications of a 

further and closely-related point made by Virginia Woolf: 

. . . a l l the great women of fiction were, u n t i l Jane Austen's day, 
not only seen by the other sex, but seen only in relation to the other 
sex. And how small a part of a woman's l i f e i s that; and how l i t t l e 
can a man know even of that when he observes i t through the black or 
rosy spectacles which sex puts upon his nose.-' 

It i s l i t t l e wonder that the circular argument has persisted. 

In the previous chapter i t was mentioned that a certain i n -

attention in parents to the formal education of their daughters i s 

more forgiveable than a corresponding inattention to their moral educa-

tion. The reason for this charity (which Jane Austen would seem to 

condone) i s that the obstructing forces which l i e behind both branches 

of training operate, with regard to formal education, in a much more 

subtle and insidious manner. For, while the,imposition of false, ° 

materialistic moral values on g i r l s shows f a i r l y rapid and quite 

obvious results in loss of happiness and peace of mind to nearly a l l 



k6 

concerned—the Bertram family, for instance—the consequences of educa-

tional restrictions accumulate much more slowly and are far more 

d i f f i c u l t to assess. Rarely do such limitations result in disastrous 

marriages, disgrace, or outright despair; i f they do, there i s l i t t l e 

evidence of a connection between cause and effect. The results are 

less l i k e l y to be positive than negative; less l i k e l y to be active 

unhappiness than an indefinable sense of dissatisfaction, of which the 

parent may never become aware and the reason for which the g i r l herself 

may, i f anything, only vaguely suspect, for 

they (young women} are trained to please man's taste, for which pur-
pose they soon learn to live out of themselves, and look on themselves 
as he looks, almost as l i t t l e disturbed as he by the undiscovered." 
(My i t a l i c s ) 

And so i t i s understandable why parents such as the Morlands and the 

Musgroves, who give their daughters excellent moral training and who 

live to see them happily settled, tend to accept without question 

society's arbitrary law that g i r l s must not be educated beyond the 

well-defined limits i t has set. 

For, after a l l , i f a woman i s moderately happy and content, i f 

she i s given freedom (and a good deal of luck!) in the choice of a 

husband, i f "the continuous balance of sheer v i t a l i t y that belongs to 
n 

society" i s not threatened, why should the society which endorses 

her lack of education be a target for the comic spirit? Simply because 

the goal of comedy i s a free, creative society which can never be 

realized i f the arbitrary laws of the older generation are allowed to 

keep one-half of the population in ignorance. Once again, we must 

remember that the purpose of comedy i s not merely to provide unquali-
g 

fied mirth, but that i t s real test i s to "awaken thoughtful laughter." 



47 

Jane Austen does not s i n g l e out s p e c i f i c people i n her novels 

as t a r g e t s f o r her a t t a c k on the q u a l i t y and q u a n t i t y o f women's educa-

t i o n ; she does not even r e p r o a c h such parents as the Bertrams and the 

Bennets, much l e s s the Musgroves and the Morlands, who unknowingly 

condone the e v i l . She i s content to set f o r t h the f a c t s which, i n 

themselves, are an i n d i c t m e n t o f s o c i e t y ' s a t t i t u d e . And the f a c t s i n -

d i c a t e t h a t , whether a g i r l i s educated by her p a r e n t s , by masters or 

governesses or both, or whether she i s sent away to s c h o o l , her educa-

t i o n — d e s p i t e the competence of those who i n s t r u c t her and d e s p i t e her 

own a b i l i t i e s — i s d e p l o r a b l y inadequate and c o n s t i t u t e s a major o b s t a c l e 

to her s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n . While the obvious and immediate i m p l i c a t i o n s 

to be drawn from these f a c t s w i l l be i n d i c a t e d here, t h e i r f u l l r a m i -

f i c a t i o n s w i l l be r e s e r v e d f o r d i s c u s s i o n i n subsequent c h a p t e r s . 

I t i s i r o n i c a l , and perhaps i n t e n t i o n a l l y so, t h a t Northanger  

Abbey, which c o n t a i n s the best example of an i d e a l moral e d u c a t i o n 

f o r a g i r l , p r o v i d e s an e q u a l l y good example of a lamentable n e g l e c t 

o f her f o r m a l e d u c a t i o n . C a t h e r i n e Morland i s taught w r i t i n g and 

accounts by her f a t h e r , French (and presumably r e a d i n g ) by her 

mother, n e i t h e r o f whom seems concerned by her l a c k o f p r o f i c i e n c y 

(NA, 1 0 6 4 ) . And s i n c e , w i t h the e x c e p t i o n o f her a b o r t i v e attempt 

t o l e a r n music, no other source o f i n s t r u c t i o n i s mentioned, we may 

i n f e r t h a t these bare fundamentals of l i t e r a c y are the extent of her 

f o r m a l e d u c a t i o n . ( L a t e r i n the n o v e l , Henry T i l n e y makes an a s t u t e 

comment on the q u a l i t y o f t h i s k i n d of b a s i c t r a i n i n g : women's l e t t e r s , 

he says, show "'a g e n e r a l d e f i c i e n c y of s u b j e c t , a t o t a l i n a t t e n t i o n 

to s t o p s , and a very frequent ignorance o f grammar"• fNA, 1072J.). She 

has no n a t u r a l i n c l i n a t i o n f o r books o f i n s t r u c t i o n , and no one takes 

the t r o u b l e to p r o v i d e her w i t h any guidance as to the k i n d of r e a d i n g 



to which she should devote at least part of her time. And so, at f i f -

teen, having outgrown the physical activities she has shared with her 

brothers—and simply because her occupations have no supervision what-

ever—we find her 

in training for a heroine; she read a l l such works as heroines must 
read to supply their memories with those quotations which are so 
serviceable and so soothing in the vicissitudes of their eventful 
l i v e s . (NA, 1064) 

It i s , therefore, not at a l l strange that when, at seventeen, she i s 

about to leave for her adventures in Bath, her mind i s "about as 

ignorant and uninformed as the female mind at seventeen usually i s " 

(NA, 1066). Although Northanger Abbey i s a parody and Jane Austen i s , 

at least part of the time, writing tongue-in-cheek, her description of 

the desultory kind of education a g i r l i s l i k e l y to receive i s not 

exaggerated. Catherine Morland, as we shall see later, i s not natur-

a l l y stupid but, like a l l the other girls in Jane Austen's novels who 

suffer in varying degrees from the same discrimination, she i s doomed 

to a high degree of ignorance by her society. 

The voice of this society can be clearly heard i n Pride and 

Prejudice when Mr. Bennet says of his daughters, "'They have none of 

them much to recommend them . . . they are a l l s i l l y and ignorant, 

like other g i r l s ; but Lizzy has something more of quickness than her 

sisters'" (PP, 232). Scholarly though he may be, Mr. Bennet cannot 

so far perceive the fallacy in the argument against the education of 

women as to give his daughters anything but an almost totally unsuper-

vised education. Elizabeth must, therefore, agree partly with Lady 

Catherine that her family has suffered through want of a governess 

(PP. 330). For, although a comparatively good education was available 



49 
to the Bennet g i r l s , not a l l of them took advantage of i t : as Eliza-

beth t e l l s Lady Catherine, " . . such of us as wished to learn 

never wanted the means* We were always encouraged to read, and had 

a l l the masters that were necessary. Those who chose to be idle, 

certainly might'" (PP, 330). Lydia and Catherine, for instance, who 

needed the supervision of a s t r i c t boarding-school! Our real sympathy, 

however, l i e s with Elizabeth. Because of her intelligence and quick 

wit, we tend to think her a better educated g i r l than she actually 

i s ; we never do, however, see her engaged in any intellectual 

activity except, perhaps, the rather perfunctory interest she displays 

i n books at Netherfield. She has, indeed, suffered more than her 

sisters from the hit-and-miss type of education her father considers 

sufficient for g i r l s . 

Since:' .r there is no evidence in Sense and Sensibility of the 

Dashwood g i r l s ' having been away at school, i t may be assumed that 

they, too, have received their education at home. Whether i t was 

supervised by their parents, visiting masters or a governess, we do 

not know. Because of Eleanor's predilection for drawing and 

Marianne's for music, however, i t would seem that the emphasis has 

been on the acquisition of "feminine" accomplishments. But not entire-

l y . That their education has been more consistent and, therefore, 

better than that of the Bennet g i r l s can be inferred from the respect 

they both have for studious occupations. On their arrival at Barton, 

for instance, Sir John Middleton i s surprised to find them constantly 

employed (SS, 23); and that this employment by no means precludes 

intellectual effort, abortive though i t may be, i s evident in that, 

after Marianne's restoration to health later in the novel, the g i r l s 

" . . . i f not pursuing their usual studies with quite so much vigour 



50 

as when they f i r s t came to Barton, [they were] at least planning a 

vigorous prosecution of them in future" (SS, 211). The accuracy with 

which Elinor, perceives wherein l i e Lucy Steele's deficiencies i s a 

revealing comment on both her own respect for education and i t s limita-

tions within her society: 

Lucy was naturally clever; . . . but her powers had received no aid 
from education, she was ignorant and i l l i t e r a t e , and her deficiency 
of a l l mental improvement, her want of information in the most common 
particulars could not be concealed from MissDashwood . . . . Elinor 
saw, and pitied her for the neglect of a b i l i t i e s which education might 
have rendered so respectable . . . . (SS, 76) 

We, in turn, pity Elinor for her own restricted education, which led 

her no further than her drawing-board. 

In Mansfield Park, Jane Austen presents a different method of 

education in that the Bertram g i r l s are i n the care of a governess. 

(This novel, incidentally, i s diametrically opposed to Northanger  

Abbey, in that, while i t illustrates most clearly the neglect of 

moral training for g i r l s , i t also provides the best example of a super-

vised education at home—at the same time exposing the limitations of 

such an education.) At f i r s t , i t would seem that the Bertram g i r l s , 

with their governess (Miss Lee) and their masters, are receiving 

f a i r l y good instruction; they boast that, when they were quite young, 

they were able to 

"repeat the chronological order of the kings of England, with the dates 
of their accession, and most of the principal events of their 
reigns! . . . and of the Roman emperors as low as Severus; besides a 
great deal of the heathen mythology, and a l l the metals, semi-metals, 
planets, and distinguished philosophers." (MP, 478) 

For a moment, before the heterogeneity of this information strikes us, 

we may wonder whether Jane Austen really i s mocking Lady Catherine 



51 

when, in Pride and Prejudice, she has that lady assert, 11'I always 

say that nothing i s to be done in education without steady and regular 

instruction, and nobody but a governess can give i t ' " (PP, 331). We 

should know better, of course. The superficiality and ineffectiveness 

of learning by rote—which would seem to constitute the instruction 

given by most governesses—is f u l l y exposed when, on Mrs. Norris' 

t e l l i n g Maria and Julia that there i s much more for them to learn, one 

of them replies, "'Yes, I know there i s , t i l l I am seventeen'" 

(MP, 479). This illuminating remark gives rise to the suspicion that 

a good deal of irony probably underlies Jane Austen's comment that 

"in everything but disposition, they were admirably taught" (MP, 479). 

Because of "their promising talents and early information" (MP, 479), 

and more particularly because of their pride and arrogance which go 

far to offset native a b i l i t y , they should be away at boarding-school— 

preferably the kind of establishment in which one of Jane Austen's con-

temporaries, Eliza Fletcher, found herself and where " . . . the 

spoilt g i r l found that her recitations and erudition counted for noth-
Q 

ing, and that she was a totally inelegant female child." For a 

governess i n a household such as the Bertrams' has l i t t l e more status 

or authority than a poorly-paid servant and, no matter how competent 

she may be, could hardly have i t within her power to convince the 

headstrong Bertram g i r l s that education i s a life-long activity and 

must continue far beyond the great day of "coming out." 

The inadequacies of the governess system are even more evident 

in Emma. Unlike Miss Lee in Mansfield Park, Miss Taylor has for six-

teen years been more like a sister than a governess to Emma, with the 

result that her pupil's education, completely permissive, has l e f t 

much to be desired: 



52 

Even before Miss Taylor had ceased to hold the nominal office of 
governess, the mildness of her temper had hardly allowed her to impose 
any restraint; and the shadow of authority being now long passed away, 
they had been l i v i n g together as friend and friend very mutually 
attached, and Emma doing just what she liked; highly esteeming Miss 
Taylor's judgment, but directed chiefly by her own. (E, ?63. My 
i t a l i c s ) 

Emma has sincere intentions for self-improvement, of course, but they 

do not materialize. As Mr. Knightley points out, she has conscien-

tiously drawn up highly commendable reading l i s t s since the age of 

twelve, but has never pursued them (E, 783). In fact, the only l i t e r -

ary activity in which we see her engaged i s the collection of riddles 

with Harriet Smith! At times, she i s forced to admit her deficiencies: 

after the Coles' dinner party, for instance, at which she realizes the 

i n f e r i o r i t y of her musical accomplishments to those of Jane Fairfax, 

"she did most heartily grieve over the idleness of her childhood; and 

sat down and practised vigorously an hour and a half" (E, 903). And, 

we must assume, such was her atonement for years of neglect! Indeed, 

with no real direction, her cleverness has been a detriment to her; 

as Mr. Knightley points out, 

"Emma i s spoiled by being the cleverest of her family. At ten years 
old, she had the misfortune of being able to answer questions which 
puzzled her sister at seventeen. She was always quick and assured; 
Isabella slow and diffident." (E, 783) 

"The shadow of authority" which M i s s Taylor at one time represented 

could never be enough for Emma; like Maria and Julia Bertram, she 

needs the solid substance of authority, a rigidly-enforced program of 

studies and the keen competition of minds better than her own. Of a l l 

the g i r l s in Jane Austen's novels with any appreciable degree of 

a b i l i t y , surely Emma seems to be the most short-changed with regard 



53 

to education* Even the Bertram g i r l s have fared better: whereas t h e i r 

t r a i n i n g persisted u n t i l they were seventeen, Emma's apparently ceased 

when she was much younger. 

There i s , however, no evidence i n Jane Austen's novels that, by 

exposing the unsatisfactory r e s u l t s of t r y i n g to educate g i r l s at 

home, she i s advocating boarding-schools. (It i s i n t e r e s t i n g to note, 

just the same, that none of the g i r l s who go away to school—Anne 

E l l i o t , Louisa and Henrietta Musgrove, Harriet Smith and Charlotte 

Palmer—are so s e l f i s h , vain and i l l - d i s p o s e d as, for instance, the 

Bertram g i r l s who have been confined to the four walls of the school-

room at home.) On the contrary, she consistently takes the position 

that such schools, although they might i n some instances serve a use-

f u l purpose, leave much to be desired. Her strongest single indictment 

of them i s to be found i n Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y ; describing the apart-

ment which the Dashwood g i r l s are to occupy i n Mrs. Jennings' London 

home, she remarks, 

i t had formerly been Charlotte's [Charlotte Palmer], and over the 
mantelpiece s t i l l hung a landscape i n coloured s i l k s of her perform-
ance, i n proof of her having spent seven years at a great school i n 
town to some e f f e c t . (SS, 94) 

She indicates l i t t l e more respect for the school i n Exeter from which 

Henrietta and Louisa Musgrove have brought " a l l the usual stock of 

accomplishments, and were now, l i k e thousands of other young ladies, 

l i v i n g to be fashionable, happy, and merry" (SS, 1 2 3 3 ) — t h e i r educa-

t i o n safely over! Nothing i s s a i d of the quality of the education 

Anne E l l i o t received during her three years at school i n Bath; we 

know of her unhappiness there, but t h i s was presumably attributable 

to the recent death of her mother (P, 1 2 1 8 ) ; that her "elegance of 



mind" (P, 1212) has resulted from her association with her mother and 

Lady Russell rather than from her t r a i n i n g at school i s , however, 

i n f i n i t e l y more probable. The only school which receives the s l i g h t -

est positive endorsement from Jane Austen i s that which Harriet Smith 

attends i n Emma; not an elaborate " f i n i s h i n g sohool"which encourages 

vanity by s t r e s s i n g elegance of manners and appearance, Mrs. Goddard's 

establishment i s 

a r e a l , honest, old-fashioned boarding-school, where a reasonable 
quantity of accomplishments were sold at a reasonable p r i c e , and 
where g i r l s might be sent to be out of the way, and scramble them-
selves into a l i t t l e education, without any danger of coming back 
prodigies. (E, 773) 

It would seem that the best Jane Austen can do for g i r l s ' boarding-

schools i s to damn them with f a i n t praise! 

I f education at home—with the usual run of parents, masters 

and governesses—and at boarding-school i s inadequate, how i s i t pos-

s i b l e i n Jane Austen's society for a woman even p a r t i a l l y to evade 

the obstacle of ignorance which society places squarely i n the path 

of her s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n ? For Jane Austen, there i s only one answer: 

by reading—not at random but with great discrimination. She makes 

her point b r i l l i a n t l y i n her f i r s t novel and she reinforces i t again 

and again. 

jjorthanger Abbey, with i t s juxtaposition of the na'ive Catherine 

Morland and the sophisticated Eleanor Tilney, c l e a r l y i l l u s t r a t e s 

that reading must be a c a r e f u l l y directed a c t i v i t y . Of Catherine's 

i l l - c h o s e n reading material, i n which she indulged between the ages 

of f i f t e e n and seventeen, we have already made mention; under the 

influence of Isabella Thorpe at Bath, however, her tastes are led 

even further astray. When the weather i s miserable, the two g i r l s 



55 
"shut themselves up to read novels together" (NA, 1077)—not in i t s e l f 

an entirely uninstructive pastime, but extremely dangerous to an unin-

formed g i r l like Catherine when the l i s t i s composed exclusively of 

Gothic horrors such as Castle of Wolfenbach, Mysterious Warnings, 

Necromancers of the Black Forest and Horrid Mysteries (NA, 1079)* 

Catherine, in fact, has no taste for other than "horrid" books: as 

she asks Isabella, 11' . . . are they a l l horrid? Are you sure they 

are a l l horrid?'" (NA, 1079) Eventually, of course, she admits that 

the unfortunate predicaments in which she finds herself "might be 

traced to the influence of that sort of reading which she had there 

[at Bath] indulged" (NA, 1176)—and, we might add, to the lack of dis-

crimination which had directed her reading while "in training for a 

heroine." Eleanor Tilney, on the other hand, has profited immensely 

from the informal tutoring of her well-educated brother; when, for 

instance, Catherine admits that she cares l i t t l e for any other kind 

of reading than the Gothic novel and that she finds history, even 

with the inventions that are ideant to enliven i t , extremely wearisome 

and dull, Eleanor states her own position: 

"I am fond of history, and am very well contented to take the false 
with the true. In the principal facts they [the historians] have 
sources of intelligence in former histories and records, which may be 
as much depended on, I conclude, as anything that does not actually 
pass under one's own observation; and as for the l i t t l e embellish-
ments you speak of, they are embellishments, and I like them as such. 
If a speech be well drawn up, I read i t with pleasure, by whomsoever 
i t may be made; and probably with much greater, i f the production of 
Mr. Hume or Mr. Robertson, than i f the genuine words of Caractacus, 
£gricola, or Alfred the Great." (NA, 1123) 

When we consider the quality of his sister's mind, we realize that 

Henry Tilney's comments on women's mental deficiencies—"'Perhaps the 

a b i l i t i e s of women are neither sound nor acute, neither vigorous nor 



56 

keen. Perhaps they may want o b s e r v a t i o n , discernment, judgment, f i r e , 

genius and w i t ' " (NA, 1125)—are meant to be n o t h i n g more than w i t t y 

g e n e r a l i z a t i o n s . C e r t a i n l y he i s speaking i n good f a i t h when he 

t e a s i n g l y says o f her, "'. . . she i s by no means a s i m p l e t o n i n 

g e n e r a l ' " (NA, 1125). But C a t h e r i n e i s a s i m p l e t o n at t h i s p o i n t — 

and the d i f f e r e n c e s u r e l y l i e s i n t h e i r r e s p e c t i v e r e a d i n g h a b i t s . 

When, i n P r i d e and P r e j u d i c e , E l i z a b e t h i s spending a few days 

at N e t h e r f i e l d d u r i n g Jane's i l l n e s s t h e r e , the importance of r e a d i n g 

i s emphasized i n a s l i g h t l y d i f f e r e n t way. B i n g l e y has expressed 

amazement t h a t a l l young women are so a c c o m p l i s h e d — " ' T h e y a l l p a i n t 

t a b l e s , cover s c r e e n s , and net p u r s e s ' " (PP, 253). When Darcy i n s i s t s 

t h a t "accomplished" presupposes much g r e a t e r t a l e n t , Miss B i n g l e y — 

always eager to p l e a s e h i m — s u b m i t s t h a t "'a woman must have a t h o r -

ough knowledge o f music, s i n g i n g , drawing, dancing, and the modern 

languages, to deserve the word . . . .'" t o g e t h e r w i t h a great d e a l o f 

s t y l e and elegance (PP, 253)» Much to everyone's s u r p r i s e , Darcy goes 

even f u r t h e r : " ' A l l t h i s she must possess . . . and to a l l t h i s she 

must yet add something more s u b s t a n t i a l , i n the improvement of her 

mind by e x t e n s i v e r e a d i n g ' " (PP, 253• My i t a l i c s ) . Immediately we 

f e e l h a p p i e r about E l i z a b e t h ; she i s bound to p r o f i t immeasurably 

from her coming acquaintance w i t h the f i n e l i b r a r y at Pemberley. 

In M a n s f i e l d Park, Jane Austen r e t u r n s to her p o i n t by 

emphasizing the t r a i n i n g p r o c e s s i t s e l f . Indeed, Fanny P r i c e i s p r o -

b a b l y the most f o r t u n a t e g i r l i n any of the n o v e l s , i n t h a t she has 

Edmund, who i s aware of both her a p t i t u d e and the i n e s t i m a b l e value 

o f r e a d i n g , as her w i l l i n g guide: 

He knew her to be c l e v e r , to have a q u i c k apprehension as w e l l as good 
sense and a fondness f o r r e a d i n g , which, p r o p e r l y d i r e c t e d , must be an 



57 
education i n i t s e l f . . . . he recommended the books which charmed her 
l e i s u r e hours, he encouraged her taste, and corrected her judgment; 
he made reading useful by t a l k i n g to her of what she read and heighten-
ed i t s a t t r a c t i o n by judicious praise. (MP, 48l. My i t a l i c s ) 

We cannot f a i l to perceive the contrast between the Bertram g i r l s , 

destined to remain i n i n t e l l e c t u a l poverty because they assume their 

education w i l l terminate at seventeen, and Fanny, to whom reading w i l l 

furnish a l i f e - l o n g source of i n s t r u c t i o n and pleasure. 

Henry Tilney, then, by guiding his s i s t e r into other f i e l d s 

than the novel, Darcy by i n s i s t i n g on extensive reading as the main 

prerequisite of a woman's education, Edmund by c u l t i v a t i n g Fanny's 

taste for books, and even Mr. Knightley who deplores Emma's neglect 

of her reading l i s t s , are a l l , to varying degrees, opposing the 

attitudes of t h e i r society. There i s no doubt that they consider 

women to be educable. 

Mona Wilson speaks the truth when she says, "Miss Austen i s , 

indeed, far from regarding education as a mere matter of s u p e r f i c i a l 

accomplishments designed to snare husbands . . . . W e cannot agree 

so r e a d i l y , however, with her contention that Jane Austen "found a 

home education with encouragement to read quite s a t i s f a c t o r y for a 

woman of native wit and i n t e l l i g e n c e . " ^ " That she considers i t the 

best compromise a woman can make with her society i s probably true* 

But, l i k e a l l comic writers, Jane Austen envisions an i d e a l society, 

i n which a l l members must be able to r e a l i z e their p o t e n t i a l . And, 

as early as Northanger Abbey, she presents an almost pathetic l i t t l e 

incident which indicates the l i m i t a t i o n s imposed upon even the most 

i n t e l l i g e n t women of her day. Henry Tilney, discussing with Catherine 

and Eleanor such topics as forests and crown lands, "shortly found 

himself arrived at p o l i t i c s ; and from p o l i t i c s i t was an easy step to 



58 

s i l e n c e " and "the general pause which succeeded his short d i s q u i s i t i o n 

on the state of the nation" (NA, 1124). It i s understandable that, 

at t h i s point, Catherine has nothing to contribute to the conversation— 

but Eleanor? Her silence speaks for i t s e l f . In Emma, as we become 

aware of Jane Fairfax's predicament, the obstacle assumes much greater 

proportions. For Jane has received what was considered an outstanding 

education for her day: 

She had f a l l e n into good hands, known nothing but kindness from the 
Campbells, and been given an excellent education. L i v i n g constantly 
with right-minded and well-informed people, her heart and understand-
i n g had received every advantage of d i s c i p l i n e and culture; and 
Colonel Campbell's residence being i n London, every higher talent had 
been done f u l l j u s t i c e to by the attendance of f i r s t - r a t e masters. 
(E, 8 6 0 - 8 6 1 ) 

And for what do her superior i n t e l l i g e n c e and admirable education 

q u a l i f y her? For eventual admission to the bar? For l e c t u r i n g i n a 

university? For the pursuit of medicine which, i n those days, was not 

a highly prestigious profession? Hardly—women were not allowed to 
12 

s i t f o r matriculation u n t i l 1868. For any position whatever through 

which her talents might benefit society?. No. She i s equipped for 

one thing only—"'the governess-trade'" (E, 946). And the despair and 

f r u s t r a t i o n with which she contemplates a l i f e confined to the nursery 

(of an acquaintance of Mrs. Elton!) constitute the strongest and most 

e x p l i c i t indictment of a r e s t r i c t e d education to be found i n Jane 

Austen's work. And so, while inadequacies i n the t r a i n i n g of g i r l s 

l i k e Emma Woodhouse, Elizabeth Bennet, Eleanor Tilney and Anne E l l i o t ! 

go almost unnoticed, they show up i n unrelieved starkness i n Jane 

Fairfax, the only one faced with having to earn her own l i v i n g . 

The extent to which g i r l s l i k e Eleanor Tilney and Fanny Price 

benefit from guidance i n t h e i r reading has already been pointed out. 



It may not, therefore, be unreasonable to suspect that Jane Austen i s 

implying that g i r l s like these—and particularly g i r l s like Jane Fair-

fax—might profit even more from a higher education, through which 

proportionately more able and specialized guidance would be available; 

that she i s , in fact, suggesting they should have the same educational 

opportunities as boys. Indeed, i t would seem that, allowing for dif-

ferences in the studies of the respective periods, she would be among 

the f i r s t to accept the fact, based on the evidence of reputable 

aptitude tests given in the 1950's and 1960*8, that 

. . . most of those who should have been studying physics, advanced 
algebra, analytic geometry, four years of language—and were not— 
were g i r l s . They had the intelligence, the special g i f t which was 
not sex-directed, but they also had the sex-directed attitude that 
such studies were "unfeminine. f,13 

And so Henry Tilney, after t e l l i n g Catherine that he has read much 

more widely than she, qualifies what might seem to her a criticism 

by adding, "'Consider how many years I have had the start of you. 

I had entered on my studies at Oxford, while you were a good l i t t l e 

g i r l working your sampler at home J *" (NA, 1122) Although he i s 

directly referring to the eight years' difference i n their respective 

ages, he may also be suggesting that, instead of spending her time 

on useless embroidery, Catherine, like her brothers, should have been 

pursuing a course of studies. 

Indeed, the similarity of Catherine's temperament and 

a b i l i t i e s (to say nothing of lack of a b i l i t i e s ! ) to those of her 

brothers—a similarity not obliterated by the conditioning process 

to which most l i t t l e g i r l s are subjected from the moment of birth, 

but which Catherine as a child escapes—brings the discrepancies 



between the education of a g i r l and that of a boy into much sharper 

focus than i s to be found elsewhere i n Jane Austen's novels. Very 

unlike society's i d e a l l i t t l e g i r l , Catherine i s "fond of a l l boys' 

play and greatly preferred c r i c k e t , not merely to d o l l s , but to the 

more heroic enjoyments of infancy, nursing a dormouse, feeding a canary-

b i r d , or watering a rose-bush" (NA, 1063). She has no talent for 

music or drawing, no proficiency i n writing or French; displaying an 

even more unfeminine t r a i t i ". . . she shirked her lessons . . . 

whenever she could" (NA, 1064). A l l of these f a i l i n g s are, of course, 

"natural" i n a boy, but "what a strange unaccountable character," 

what "symptoms of p r o f l i g a c y " i n a g i r l ! (NA, 1064) By the age of 

ten, Catherine has even fewer claims to femininity: "she was . . . 

noisy and wild, hated confinement and cleanliness, and loved nothing 

so well i n the world as r o l l i n g down the green slope at the back of 

the house" (NA, 1064). ' Even at fourteen, she i s s t i l l a t y p i c a l 

tomboy, p r e f e r r i n g — l i k e her b r o t h e r s — " c r i c k e t , baseball, r i d i n g on 

horseback, and running about the country" to reading i n s t r u c t i v e 

books (NA, 1064). The reason for her non-conformity i s simple: her 

mother i s so busy with confinements and the younger children that 

the elder are l e f t to t h e i r own devices (NA, 1064). Yet i t does not 

occur to her parents that, once the young-animal enjoyments of c h i l d -

hood s t a r t to give way to the consideration of more serious pursuits, 

Catherine might be just as capable of sharing her brothers' i n t e l -

l e c t u a l a c t i v i t i e s as she has been of sharing t h e i r physical 

adventures. On the contrary, while the boys presumably go o f f to 

school (James' education, we know, eventually leads him to Oxford) 

where t h e i r energies and talents w i l l be channelled and d i s c i p l i n e d , 



Catherine at f i f t e e n — s i m p l y because she has nothing else to d o — 

s t a r t s her " t r a i n i n g for a heroine" (NA, 1064). The conditioning 

process has at l a s t caught up with her. 

And yet Catherine, although denied the education which could 

conceivably save her from much future embarrassment, indicates that 

she i s , i f anything, p o t e n t i a l l y brighter than at least two of the 

men with whom she comes i n contact. She has only to meet John Thorpe 

once, for instance, to perceive his outright boorishness (NA, 1086); 

yet her brother James claims him for a f r i e n d whose only f a u l t l i e s 

i n his being "a l i t t l e of a r a t t l e " (NA, 1086). Moreover, she i s 

better informed than Thorpe on at least one subject, i n spite of his 

attendance (we hesitate to say "education") at Oxford: he professes 

to admire Mrs. Radcliffe's novels yet i s unaware that she i s the 

author of Udolpho (NA, 1085). It i s indeed i r o n i c that Catherine, 

perhaps the least i n t e l l i g e n t of Jane Austen's comic heroines, best 

demonstrates the common p o t e n t i a l of boys and g i r l s , , the f u l l implica-

tions of which are not evident u n t i l we are confronted with Jane 

Fairfax's predicament i n Emma. 

Jane Austen never, of course, implies that a l l women would 

benefit from a higher education—but then, neither would a l l men. 

The advantages of Oxford have obviously been wasted on John Thorpe, 

whereas they could conceivably have done much for Catherine Morland. 

Surely E l i n o r Dashwood would have p r o f i t e d more from a university 

education than Edward Ferrars; Fanny Price, more than Tom Bertram 

and perhaps as much as Edmund; Emma, more than Frank C h u r c h i l l or Mr. 

Elton; Jane F a i r f a x probably as much as Mr. Knightley; Anne Elliot', . 

much more than S i r Walter; Elizabeth Bennet, almost as much as Darcy, 

and Charlotte Lucas, i n c r e d i b l y more than Mr. C o l l i n s . (For the 



Harriet Smiths, the Mrs. Eltons, the Isabella Thorpes, the Lydia 

Bennets, the Mrs. John Dashwoods, the Lady Middletons, the Charlotte 

Palmers and even the Bertram g i r l s , we hesitate to make any claims.) 

What Jane Austen seems to be suggesting i s , simply, that i f i n t e l -

ligence and a b i l i t y are equal, i t follows that p o t e n t i a l i s also 

equal. A l l that i s needed—and i t i s a very big " a l l " — i s the recog-

n i t i o n of t h i s truth by society, which alone could give the g i r l s the 

educational opportunities they should have. Certainly, by i n d i c a t i n g 

that i n t e l l i g e n c e and s t u p i d i t y are f a i r l y equally divided between 

men and women, Jane Austen makes her point that any discrimination i n 

education on the basis of sex i s ipso facto i n v a l i d . 

You must, as I have said, believe that our state .pf society 
i s founded i n common sense, otherwise you w i l l not be struck by the  
contrasts the Comic S p i r i t perceives . . . . You w i l l , i n f a c t , be 
standing i n that peculiar oblique beam of l i g h t , yourself illuminated 
to the general eye as the very object of chase and doomed quarry of 
the thing obscure to you.-"' (My i t a l i c s ) 

"The contrasts the Comic S p i r i t perceives": the difference between 

the education offered to a boy and that available to a g i r l ; the d i s -

p a r i t y between a g i r l ' s p o t e n t i a l and the t r a i n i n g deemed f i t for her 

by society. "For centuries s t u p i d i t y has kept i t s e l f stupid by 

t e l l i n g g i r l s , 'If you know too much you w i l l never get a husband.'"^ 

C l e a r l y t h i s i s the voice of the obstructing characters of the older 

generation who block the progress of the comic rhythm toward a more 

v i t a l society; and behind the voice i s the t a c i t admission that "a 
16 

woman cannot know too much unless she knows more than you do." 

And so, i n order to protect the status quo from the very tangible 

threat of the educated woman, i n order to keep i n t a c t the a r b i t r a r y 

law which decrees her subjugation, "the object of being a t t r a c t i v e to 

men" has become "the polar star of feminine education and formation 



o f c h a r a c t e r . 1 1 (My i t a l i c s ) Here indeed i s an example of what 

Bergson c a l l s "any s u b s t i t u t i o n whatsoever of the a r t i f i c i a l f o r the 
18 

n a t u r a l , " which l a u g h t e r must t r y to remove. And t h i s i s the 

" i d e a l , " s e t b e f o r e the comic heroine by the o b s t r u c t i n g f o r c e s , on 

which Jane Austen c o n s i s t e n t l y f o c u s s e s " t h a t p e c u l i a r o b l i q u e beam 

o f l i g h t " u n t i l i t i s unmistakably " i l l u m i n a t e d to the g e n e r a l eye" 

as n o t h i n g but a tour de f o r c e to perpetuate the i l l u s i o n o f female 

i n f e r i o r i t y and to mask the r e a l i t y of the p o t e n t i a l e q u a l i t y of the 

sexes* By so emphasizing the d i s c r e p a n c y between what a woman i s and 

what a male-dominated s o c i e t y f o r c e s her to be, Jane Austen a l i g n s 

h e r s e l f w i t h the p h i l o s o p h e r who 

d i s c e r n s the s i m i l a r i t y of boy and g i r l , u n t i l the g i r l i s marched 
away to the n u r s e r y . P h i l o s o p h e r and comic poet are o f a c o u s i n s h i p 
i n the eye they c a s t on l i f e ; and they are e q u a l l y unpopular w i t h 
our w i l f u l E n g l i s h o f the hazy r e g i o n and the i d e a l t h a t i s not to  
be d i s t u r b e d . 9 (My i t a l i c s ) 



NOTES 

"^Evelina or A Young Lady 's Entrance into the World (London: 
Dent, 1964), p. 336. 

The Greeks (Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin, 1958), 
pp. 219-236. 

^A Room of One's Own, p. 6 9 . 

Defoe's Moll Flanders might be an exception. 

^A Room of One's Own, p. 124. 
6. Meredith, The Egoist, p. 202. 

? 

8 

7 
'Langer, Feeling and Form, p. 333• 
Meredith, "An Essay on Comedy," p. 4 7 . 

^Mona Wilson, Jane Austen and Some Contemporaries (London: 
Cresset Press, 1938), p. 46. 

10 -T-l . , O 

Ibxd., p. o. 
i : L I b i d . , p. 9 . 
1 2 I b i d . , p. 282. 
^ B e t t y Friedan, The Feminine Mystique (New York: W. W. Norton, 

1 9 6 3 ) , p. 161. 
l i f Meredith, "An Essay on Comedy," p. 48. 
1 5 G. B. Needham and R. P. Utter, Pamela's Daughters (New York: 

Macmillan, 1936), p. 225-
l 6 I b i d . , p. 22*f. 
1 7 M i l l , The Subjection of Women, p. 4 3 . 
•j o 

Bergson, "Laughter," p. 91. 
1 9 Meredith, "An Essay on Comedy," p. 15* 



65 

CHAPTER IV 

EMERGENCE OF THE SELF-CONCEPT 

Emotion uncontrolled by reason leads you into 
ludicrous mistakes . . . . I do not believe the 
v i t a l issue between Elinor and Marianne—nor be-
tween the wise and foolish virgins in any other 
of Jane Austen's novels—to be the issue between 
head and heart, old-fashioned rationalist and 
new-fashioned romanticist. I have tried to show 
i t rather as (in part) an expression of her con-
stant tranquil preference for a true over a 
false vision of l i f e , particularly with regard to 
ideas of happiness. 
—Mary Lascelles, Jane Austen and Her Art 

In order for the comic heroine to have "a true vision of 

l i f e , " she must have a true vision of herself. The development of 

a reasonably accurate self-concept, then, i s often a very important 

part of the comic action which, of course, comprises the heroine's 

struggle for self-realization. That her f i r s t steps towards an 

adequate self-concept are made extremely d i f f i c u l t by the obstructing 

forces which try to bar her from any appreciable moral or intellectual 

development has already become obvious. Indeed, we can never escape 

from the fact that the many obstacles with which she has to cope 

throughout the entire comic action are closely related to, i f not 

part of that one great obstacle, her severely limited education. 

It would, of course, be d i f f i c u l t to argue that there i s a 

direct relationship between the quantity and quality of education the 

comic heroine receives and the degree of self-deception in which she 

indulges. That there i s some relationship between these f a c t o r s — i f 

only to the extent that the amount of time she can devote to day-

dreaming is of necessity much shorter when she has a schedule of 



66 
studies on which she must c o n c e n t r a t e — i s almost indisputable. When 

she has no i n t e l l e c t u a l i n t e r e s t s whatever, when she has to submit 

to no s e l f - d i s c i p l i n e , when there i s nothing, as i t were, to take 

her mind o f f her mind, she i s completely free to give f u l l reign to 

her imagination and thus indulge her wildest fancies. I n t e l l e c t u a l l y 

i n a state of arrested development, she i s unable to exercise either 

her c r i t i c a l faculty or her r a t i o n a l powers. And, i f her moral 

t r a i n i n g has also been defective, her v i s i o n may be even more f a u l t y 

i n that she w i l l tend to l e t her emotions, as well as her imagination, 

go unchecked by reason. Although not a l l of Jane Austen's comic 

heroines have to struggle for an adequate self-concept—some are able 

to s t a r t their climb towards s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n r e l a t i v e l y unimpeded by 

s e l f - d e c e p t i o n — i n each case the truth or f a l s i t y of the self-concept 

i s c l o s e l y linked with the kind of education received. 

The obstacle Catherine Morland has to overcome before she 

a r r i v e s at an accurate self-concept i s c h a r a c t e r i s t i c of those facing 

the comic heroine who, even though she has no exalted view of herself 

and has, a c t u a l l y , a f a i r degree of common sense for her age, has 

received almost no formal education. Her self-deception begins, i n 

f a c t , at the precise moment she enters her " t r a i n i n g for a heroine" 

(NA, 1064), and i s nothing more than a rather pathetic attempt to 

escape from the empty existence i n which an uneducated g i r l of f i f -

teen often finds herself. Since she has nothing else to think about, 

she begins to l i v e i n her imagination, p i c t u r i n g herself as a f i c t i o n -

a l heroine. And, i f Isabella Thorpe had not introduced her to "horrid 

books," her fancy might have led her no further than "those quotations 

which are so serviceable and so soothing i n the v i c i s s i t u d e s of their 

^heroines V, eventful l i v e s " (NA, 1064). The Gothic novel, however 



67 

rooted as i t i s i n the whole realm of imagination, emotion and super-

s t i t i o n , has a direct appeal to and a t e r r i f i c impact on a mind l i k e 

Catherine's which has not been trained to an objective, r a t i o n a l 

approach to l i t e r a t u r e . She i s , consequently, disproportionately 

affected by what she reads to the point at which "the luxury of a 

raised, r e s t l e s s , and frightened imagination over the pages of 

Udolpho" (NA, 1087) i s one of her greatest delights. When the Tilneys 

i n v i t e her to Northanger, then, i t i s not surprising that she immedi-

ately invests the Abbey with a l l the c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s of Udolpho: 

Its long, damp passages, i t s narrow c e l l s and ruined chapel, were to 
be within her d a i l y reach, and she could not e n t i r e l y subdue the 
hope of some t r a d i t i o n a l legends, some awful memorials of an injured 
and i l l - f a t e d nun. (NA, 1140) 

The comic implications and consequences are, of course, h i l a r i o u s . 

When Henry Tilney teases her about the horrors she w i l l encounter at 

Northanger, she i s alternately credulous and ashamed of her credulity, 

yet she remains credulous. That the Abbey i s so e a s i l y accessible 

s t r i k e s her as "odd and inconsistent" (NA, 1152). She i s keenly d i s -

appointed to f i n d the i n t e r i o r handsome, elegantly furnished, clean 

and w e l l - l i t — " t o an imagination which had hoped for . . . painted 

glass, d i r t , and cobwebs, the difference was very d i s t r e s s i n g " 

(NA, 1153). To f i n d some marked resemblance to Udolpho, however, i s 

v i t a l : there must be a mystery somewhere and she must be the one to 

solve i t . The f i r s t p o s s i b i l i t y i s the large old chest i n her room, 

which she regards with " f e a r f u l c u r i o s i t y " (NA, 1154); when a l l her 

e f f o r t s to open i t are rewarded by the sight of a neatly folded white 

cotton counterpane, she r e a l i z e s 6he has been "a great simpleton" and 

immediately forms "wise resolutions with the most violent despatch" 



68 

(NA, 11155). But she has not yet learned her lesson. Preparing for 

bed, with a storm raging outside, she notices a high old black cabinet 

and cannot rest u n t i l , after considerable e f f o r t , she extricates a 

r o l l of paper from i t s recesses. Unfortunately, just as she i s about 

to examine i t , she a c c i d e n t a l l y — a n d to her utmost horror—extinguishes 

her candle. A night of mental agony follows: "hollow murmurs seemed 

to creep along the g a l l e r y , and more than once her blood was c h i l l e d 

by the sound of distant moans" (NA, I I 5 9 ) . In her imagination, 

Catherine i s indeed at Udolpho: she i s l i v i n g , not her own l i f e , but 

that of a character i n a Gothic novel. When, the next morning, the 

seemingly mysterious old manuscript turns out to be a recent inventory 

of l i n e n , she i s u t t e r l y ashamed of her f o l l y : "nothing could now be 

clearer than the absurdity of her recent fancies" (NA, I I 5 9 ) . And 

yet, on such s l i g h t evidence as Colonel Tilney's d i s l i k e of the walk 

h i s deceased wife once enjoyed and his indifference toward her por-

t r a i t , coupled with the fact that her i l l n e s s was sudden and short, 

Catherine's imagination i s soon again at work. She f e e l s her sus-

picions are e n t i r e l y j u s t i f i e d when she sees the Colonel thoughtfully 

and q u i e t l y pacing the drawing room: " i t was the a i r and attitude of 

a Montoni!" (NA, 1168) Her imagination delves further: perhaps he 

didn't murder his wife, perhaps she s t i l l l i v e s , imprisoned i n a c e l l 

somewhere i n the AbbeyI It i s not u n t i l she f i n a l l y has an opportun-

i t y to examine the neat, sunny, handsome room which Mrs. Tilney had 

occupied, and which could not possibly hold any mystery, that she 

r e a l i z e s the f u l l extent of her foolishness. And when Henry, accident-

a l l y meeting her on her way to her room and suspecting what she has 

been doing, gives her the facts of his mother's i l l n e s s and of his 

father's attachment to her, "the visions of romance were over. . . . 



Most grievously was she humbled" (NA, 1175). Her next step i s to 

understand the cause of her f o l l y : 

It had been a l l a voluntary, self-created delusion, each t r i f l i n g 
circumstance receiving importance from an imagination resolved on  
alarm, and every thing forced to bend to one purpose by a mind which, 
before she entered the Abbey, had been craving to be frightened. 
(NA, 1175. My i t a l i c s ) 

When Henry asks her, "'Does our education prepare us for such 

a t r o c i t i e s ? ' " (NA, 1175) he i s unwittingly posing a r h e t o r i c a l ques-

t i o n . Catherine's education, or lack of i t , has p e r f e c t l y prepared 

her to blur the d i s t i n c t i o n between l i t e r a t u r e and l i f e . But now, 

f u l l y aware of her mistake, she makes rapid progress toward a truer 

v i s i o n of the world around her and also toward a greater s o c i a l 

awareness. She i s prepared to admit that "some s l i g h t imperfection" 

(NA, 1176) might conceivably exist even i n Henry and Eleanor, and 

that Coloney Tilney may be somewhat disagreeable without being an 

u t t e r v i l l a i n . More important, when the Colonel so unreasonably 

orders her to leave Northanger, "her anxiety had foundation i n f a c t , 

her fears i n p r o b a b i l i t y . . . ." (NA, 1192) and the dark room, the 

high wind and the strange noises a l l go unnoticed. Catherine i s no 

longer a Gothic heroine. By f i n a l l y seeing herself c l e a r l y i n r e l a -

t i o n to her experience, she has overcome a major obstacle. 

The d i f f i c u l t i e s facing Emma before she can know the truth 

about herself are, l i k e those of Catherine, the r e s u l t of an over-

active imagination and an underactive i n t e l l e c t . Miss Taylor, as we 

have already seen ( i n Chapter III) has allowed her to do exactly as 

she pleased, with the r e s u l t that, as Mr. Knightley observes, "'She 

w i l l never submit to anything requiring industry and patience, and 

a subjection of the fancy to the understanding'" (E, 783. My i t a l i c s ) . 



70. 

Even Emma's own decision to improve Harriet Smith's mind by reading 

and discussion r e s u l t s only i n good intentions, for " i t was much 

easier to chat than to study; much pleasanter to l e t her imagination 

range and work at Harriet's fortune, than to be labouring to enlarge 

her comprehension, or exercise i t on sober facts . . . . (E, 803) 

Unlike Catherine, whose extremely limited s o c i a l c i r c l e (we hear only 

of Mrs. Allen) may have influenced her to indulge i n romantic f i c t i o n , 

Emma as mistress of H a r t f i e l d has a comparatively wide acquaintance. 

; She i s not, therefore, tempted to direct her imagination toward l i t e r -

ature ( p a r t i c u l a r l y since her only interest i n books i s t h e i r 

appearance on a reading l i s t ) but chooses instead to l e t i t play with 

the l i v e s of those around her. With "a d i s p o s i t i o n to think a l i t t l e 

too well of h e r s e l f " (E, 763), she l i k e s to manoeuvre people and to 

f e e l she i s c o n t r o l l i n g their destinies; she considers herself 

e s p e c i a l l y adept i n the f i e l d of matchmaking which i s , to her, "'the 

greatest amusement i n the world!'" (£, 767) Even when she i s only a 

spectator, she t r i e s to take credit for influence; she boasts, for 

instance, of her success i n promoting the match betwen Miss Taylor 

and Mr. Weston, i n spite of Mr. Knightley's contention that "'success 

supposes endeavour. . . . You made a lucky guess;.and that i s a l l 

that can be s a i d ' " (E, 768). At t h e i r f i r s t meeting, she engages to 

manage Harriet's future—and Harriet herself: 

She would notice her; she would improve her; she would detach her 
from her bad acquaintances, and introduce her into good society; she 
would form her opinions and her manners. It would be an interesting, 
and c e r t a i n l y a very kind undertaking; highly becoming her own s i t u -
ation i n l i f e , her l e i s u r e , and powers. (E, 775) 

When her plans for Harriet and Mr. Elton miscarry (because Mr. Elton 

i s a c t u a l l y courting her!) she i s deeply humiliated and " . . . the 



71 

sight of Harriet's tears made her think that she should never be i n 

charity with herself again" (E, 848). Frank Churchill's rescue of 

Harriet from the gypsies, however, immediately sets her imagination 

working on another match for her protegee: 

Such an adventure as t h i s . . . could hardly f a i l of suggesting cer-
t a i n ideas to the coldest heart and the steadiest brain. So Emma 
thought, at l e a s t . Could a l i n g u i s t , could a grammarian, could even 
a mathematician have seen what she did . . . without f e e l i n g that 
circumstances had been at work to make them p e c u l i a r l y i n t e r e s t i n g 
to each other? How much more must an imaginist, l i k e herself, be on 
f i r e with speculation and foresight? (E, 966-967. My i t a l i c s ) 

And so the comedy i s enriched: because, l i k e Catherine Morland, 

although she r e a l i z e s her errors each step of the way, she learns 

nothing from them. She does decide not to interfere with Harriet and 

Frank, but f e e l s "there could be no harm i n a scheme, a mere passive 

scheme" (E, 967). While taking the precaution of not mentioning 

names and of warning Harriet of a l l the d i f f i c u l t i e s , however, she 

cannot r e f r a i n from encouraging her by adding, *". . . but yet, 

Harriet, more wonderful things have taken place: there have been 

matches of greater d i s p a r i t y ' " (E, 971). Much as Emma would l i k e to 

manage Jane Fairfax's l i f e , she can only "lament that Highbury 

afforded no young man worthy of giving her independence—nobody that 

she could wish to scheme about for her" (E, 863). But her imagination 

i s not so e a s i l y subdued. With no evidence whatever except the 

a r r i v a l of a piano for Jane, she conjures up an attachment between 

Jane and Mr. Dixon*-and incautiously confides her assumption to Frank 

C h u r c h i l l . Naturally she i s distressed when she hears of Frank's 

long-standing engagement with Jane, but she blames them for their 

secrecy rather than herself for her imprudence. It i s not u n t i l she 



learns that Harriet's sights are set not on Frank but on Mr. 

Knightley—not, i n f a c t , u n t i l she r e a l i z e s the match she has always, 

unconsciously, wanted for herself i s threatened ("How l i t t l e do we 

know our thoughts—our r e f l e x actions indeed, yes; but our r e f l e x 

r e f l e c t i o n s ! " ) - - t h a t she f i n a l l y sees herself i n her true l i g h t and, 

at the same time, exhibits the s o c i a l awareness which she has always 

lacked: 

With insufferable vanity had she believed herself i n the secret of 
everybody's feelings; with unpardonable arrogance proposed _to arrange  
everybody's destiny. She was proved to have been universally mis-
taken; and she had not quite done n o t h i n g — f o r she had done 
mischief. (E, 1016. My i t a l i c s ) 

Like Catherine, after undergoing the f u l l humiliation she has brought 

upon herself, she relinquishes her world of fancy for a world of 

f a c t . As she forces herself to face a lonely, dismal f u t u r e — a v i r t u -

a l l y deserted H a r t f i e l d , the Westons occupied with t h e i r baby, Frank 

and Jane gone and, worst of a l l , Mr. Knightley married to H a r r i e t — 

she does not allow her imagination to r e l i e v e the darkness of the 

prospect. The only comfort she permits herself i s to be found i n 

the resolution of her own better conduct, and the hope that, however 
i n f e r i o r i n s p i r i t and gaiety might be the following and every future 
winter of her l i f e to the past, i t would yet f i n d her more r a t i o n a l , 
more acquainted with herself, and leave her less to regret when i t 
were gone. "717 1022. My i t a l i c s ) 

Emma no longer sees herself as a kind of dea ex machina. She has 

triumphed over her impediment to an accurate self-concept and i s well 

on her way to a true v i s i o n of l i f e . 

The self-concepts of Catherine and Emma, f a u l t y as they are, 

do not constitute nearly so great an obstacle to s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n as 

does the concept of s e l f as a romantic heroine. For one thing, 



73 
although t h e i r imaginations are out of hand, t h e i r emotions are i n -

volved to a comparatively l i m i t e d degree: Catherine exhibits mainly 

self-induced fear while Emma*s feelings are almost e n t i r e l y vicarious. 

On the other hand, the g i r l who thinks of herself as a romantic 

heroine i s a creature of emotion; she, too, has an exaggerated 

imagination, but she uses i t almost exclusively to reinforce the ex-

cessive s e n s i b i l i t i e s which she prides herself on possessing to an 

i n f i n i t e degree. Since her emotions dominate every area of her l i f e , 

the operation of her c r i t i c a l faculty remains at an absolute minimum. 

Unfortunately, her romantic fantasies center around love and mar-

r i a g e — t h e sine qua non of her existence—and she thus becomes the 

" i d e a l woman" of the old society: 

Men, for whom we are t o l d women were made, haye too much occupied the 
thoughts of women; and t h i s association has so entangled love with 
a l l t h e i r motives of action; and . . . having been s o l e l y employed 
either to prepare themselves to excite love, or actually putting 
t h e i r lessons i n practice, they cannot l i v e without love.^ 

Although she thinks of herself as a highly complex, sensitive creature, 

she i s — i n her emotionalism, p a s s i v i t y and dependence on the male— 

just the kind of malleable object her society wishes her to be. The 

obstructing characters, of course, try to impose t h i s self-concept 

on a l l women and go out of t h e i r way to reinforce i t during courtship 

because, as we s h a l l see i n a subsequent chapter, the entanglement of 

such a self-concept with the d i f f i c u l t i e s surrounding courtship r e -

s u l t s i n an almost insurmountable obstacle to the establishment of a 

new and i d e a l society which i s the goal of the comic action. 

I f a character i s comic i n proportion to his lack of s e l f -

knowledge, then "the romantic heroine" i s the most comic of a l l . Her 

uninhibited view of h e r s e l f — a n d we can be sure Marianne Dashwood 



7k 

holds such a view, although she does not admit i t so f r a n k l y — i s 

expressed by Laura i n Love and Freindship: 

In my Mind, every Virtue that could adorn i t was centered; i t was the 
Rendez-vous of every good Quality and of every noble sentiment. A 
s e n s i b i l i t y too tremblingly a l i v e to every a f f l i c t i o n of my Freinds, 
my Acquaintance and p a r t i c u l a r l y to every a f f l i c t i o n of my own, was 
my only f a u l t , i f a f a u l t i t could be called.3 

Isabella, i n Northanger Abbey, adds a further dimension to the con-

cept : 

"When once my affections are placed, i t i s not i n the power of any-
thing to change them. But I believe my feelings are stronger than 
anybody's; I am sure they are too strong for my own peace . . . ." 
(NA, 1116) 

And Lady Catherine de Bourgh suggests a superannuated romantic hero-

ine when she contends, "'I believe nobody feels the loss of friends 

so much as I do'" (PP, 357). It i s obvious that the vanity (always 

a prime target of the comic s p i r i t ) inherent i n t h i s kind of s e l f -

deception heightens the comedy by increasing the size of the .obstacle 

to be overcome. 

In Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , Colonel Brandon remarks to E l i n o r , 

"'Your s i s t e r , I understand, does not approve of second attachments,'" 

to which E l i n o r r e p l i e s , "'No . . . her opinions are a l l romantic'" 

(SS, 33). We know very l i t t l e of Marianne's formal education, except that 

she:, has become fond of Cowper and Scott and plays the piano rather 

well; c e r t a i n l y i t has not been demanding enough to absorb her best 

q u a l i t i e s — h e r cleverness, eagerness and enthusiasm—and r e d i r e c t 

them to some constructive a c t i v i t y . They are, instead, driven inward 

and transmuted into that inordinate s e n s i b i l i t y which, as we have 

seen ( i n Chapter I I ) , her mother values, cherishes and encourages. 

The extent to which the r a t i o n a l processes of these two women are 



75 

s h o r t - c i r c u i t e d by t h e i r emotions i s revealed by E l i n o r who "knew that 

what Marianne and her mother conjectured one moment, they believed the 

next--that with them, to wish was to hope, and to hope was to expect" 

(SS, 1 2 ) . To Marianne, the romantic heroine par excellence, her ex-

treme s e n s i b i l i t y i s her most precious possession and she constantly 

underlines i t s r a r i t y with great pride. She remarks that E l i n o r , on 

q u i t t i n g Norland, " ' c r i e d not as I did'" (SS, 23) and, l a t e r , as she 

grieves for.the dead leaves at her former home, declares, "'. . . my 

feelings are not often shared, not often understood. But sometimes 

[ r e f e r r i n g to Willoughby] they are'" (SS, 5 3 ) . To her, the strength 

of an emotion may be measured by the i n t e n s i t y of i t s outward expres-

sion: "the business of self-command she s e t t l e d very e a s i l y ; with 

strong affections i t was impossible, with calm ones i t could have no 

merit" (SS, 6 2 ) . Her "romantic opinions" also place an undue stress 

on appearance. Because Edward Ferrars i s not handsome, she i s con-

vinced he must lack the inner q u a l i t i e s necessary to attract E l i n o r : 

'*His eyes want a l l that s p i r i t , that f i r e , which at once announce 

v i r t u e and i n t e l l i g e n c e ' " (SS, 1 0 ) . Referring to Colonel Brandon, she 

asserts, "'•• . . t h i r t y - f i v e has nothing to do with matrimony'" 

(SS, 2 2 ) . And, on E l i n o r ' s suggestion that a more mature woman might 

not agree, she exclaims, "'A woman of seven-and-twenty . . . can 

never hope to f e e l or i n s p i r e a f f e c t i o n again . . . .*" (SS, 22) She 

subscribes unconditionally to the romantic i d e a l of "togetherness": 

'"I could not be happy with a man whose taste did not i n every point 

coincide with my own. He must enter into a l l my feelings; the same 

books, the same music must charm us both'" (SS, 1 0 ) . She deplores the 

calmness with which Edward reads Cowper, "'those b e a u t i f u l l i n e s which 

have frequently almost driven me w i l d " 1 (SS, 1 0 )~a revealing comment, 



i n c i d e n t a l l y , on the q u a l i t y of her formal education! In the best 

romantic t r a d i t i o n , she discounts E l i n o r ' s contention that wealth i s 

a contributing factor to happiness; she i s quite w i l l i n g to s e t t l e 

for a mere "competence" and yet i t turns out that her "competence" i s 

twice the sum of E l i n o r ' s "wealth" (SS, 54). Marianne's interaction 

with Willoughby—a man who endorses society's concept of the " i d e a l 

woman"—will be discussed i n a subsequent chapter. For present pur-

poses i t w i l l s u f f i c e to say that t h e i r association at Barton only 

increases her lack of s o c i a l awareness; i n t h e i r complete preoccupa-

t i o n with each other, she i s as g u i l t y as he of " s l i g h t i n g too e a s i l y 

the forms of worldly propriety" (SS, 29). After Willoughby leaves, 

she thinks of no one but herself. Her indulgence of her sorrow be-

comes emotional exhibitionism: 

She was without any power, because she was without any desire of 
command over herself. . . . giving pain every moment to her mother 
and s i s t e r s , and forbidding a l l attempt at consolation from either, 
(ss;, 49) 

Even a f t e r the storm has subsided and she i s temporarily refreshed by 

Edward's v i s i t , her lack of "general c i v i l i t y " and her r e f u s a l to be 

more attentive to their acquaintance are s t i l l deeply disturbing to 

E l i n o r (SS, 56). En route to London, with prospects of happiness 

ahead, she ignores both E l i n o r and Mrs. Jennings and "sat i n silence 

almost a l l the way, wrapt i n her own meditations, and scarcely ever 

v o l u n t a r i l y speaking" (SS, 94). U n t i l she reaches London she i s a 

t r u l y comic figure, not only because of her grossly inaccurate s e l f -

concept, but also because of the vanity she exhibits i n her 

self-conscious flaunting of her s e n s i b i l i t i e s . When she begins her 

long process of disillusionment, however, tragic implications begin 

to emerge: our sympathy i s evoked and we become more involved with 



77 
her than with the group around her. We cannot laugh at her anguish 

when she f i r s t confronts Willoughby or when, later, she receives his 

letter. (At this point we must remind ourselves that comedy and 

tragedy are permitted to interplay within the comic form and admit 

that here, for a while, tragedy i s predominant.) Unlike Catherine 

and Emma, Marianne has such a long way to go: because of her complete 

emotional involvement she has cut herself off from any rational con-

tact; she has no previous experience of insight by the light of which 

she can retrace her steps. And Willoughby's outright rejection of her 

serves only to reinforce her ideal of " f a l l i n g a sacrifice to an i r -

resistible passion" (SS, 227). It is not until Elinor t e l l s her of 

Edward's forthcoming marriage and of the distress she herself has 

suffered for many months that Marianne takes her f i r s t halting step 

toward self-knowledge: "*0h! Elinor . . . you have made me hate myself 

for ever. How barbarous have I been to you!" (SS, 157) But, as she 

admits later, feeling she i s the greater sufferer of the two, she s t i l l 

leaves to Elinor the discharge of a l l their social obligations. Only 

when she faces death during her illness does she become aware of the 

f u l l extent of her self-deception: 

". . . I saw in my own behaviour . . • nothing but a series of imprud-
ence toward myself, and want of kindness to others. I saw that my  
own feelings had prepared my sufferings. . . . I cannot express my 
own abhorrence of myself. Whenever I looked towards the past, I saw 
some duty neglected, or some f a i l i n g indulged . . . . I nave laid 
down my plan . . . my feelings shall be governed and my temper 
improved." U3S, 206-207. My i t a l i c s ) 

Despite the near-tragedy which befalls Marianne, however, the comic 

i s triumphant: "Marianne Dashwood was born to an extraordinary fate. 

She was born to discover the falsehood of her own opinions, and to 

counteract, by her conduct, her most favourite maxims"(SS, 227). 



78 

Marianne i s no longer a romantic heroine. After a p a r t i c u l a r l y ardu-

ous struggle, she i s able to abandon that self-concept which i s the 

greatest impediment to a woman's s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n . , 

As indicated e a r l i e r i n t h i s chapter, some of Jane Austen's 

comic heroines are not hindered by a f a l s e view of themselves. 

E l i n o r Dashwood, whose behaviour i s consistently contrasted with that 

of Marianne, possesses from the s t a r t "a strength of understanding, 

and coolness of judgment" (SS, 3) which never forsake her and which 

permit her, even i n the midst of her distress over Edward, to f u l f i l 

her s o c i a l commitments. Because Fanny Price i s so meek, she may seem 

to conform to the t r a d i t i o n a l concept of the i d e a l woman—until we 

remember the quiet strength of mind with which she r e s i s t s pressure 

to act against her better judgment, either by taking part i n the 

t h e a t r i c a l s at Mansfield Park or by consenting to accept Henry 

Crawford's attentions; i n direct contrast to J u l i a and Maria Bertram 

who, i n spite of t h e i r apparent self-assurance, are a v a r i a t i o n of 

the romantic heroine type, she i s never mistaken, never deceived. 

Anne E l l i o t s , who, "at seven-and-twenty, thought very d i f f e r e n t l y 

from what she had been made to think at nineteen" (P, 1226), could 

very e a s i l y — r e g r e t t i n g her l o s t youth—indulge i n the s e l f - p i t y of 

the romantic heroine, yet shows not the s l i g h t e s t i n c l i n a t i o n to do 

so. Among the lesser comic heroines we cannot overlook Eleanor 

Tilney who, confined to Northanger with her tyrannical father most of 

the time, might be expected to resort to Cinderella-type fantasies: 

that she does not, i s indicated by the singular lack of s e l f -

consciousness with which she i s able to engage i n the s o c i a l functions 

at Bath. Jane Fairfax, whose straitened circumstances might have led 

her to escape into the realm of imagination, r e l i e s firmly on her 



79 
reason: parrying Frank Churchill's hints about the o r i g i n of her 

piano, she says~and her words are an unconscious c r i t i c i s m of Emma— 

' " T i l l I have a l e t t e r from Colonel Campbell . . . I can imagine 

nothing, with any confidence. It must be a l l conjecture'" E, 909-

910. My i t a l i c s ) . That the more accurate self-concepts of a l l these 

g i r l s i s due to their better education i s highly probable. 

Somewhere between the self-deceived and the enlightened comic 

heroines l i e s Elizabeth Bennet. Her only error seems to be an over-

confidence i n f i r s t impressions: she i s r i g h t about almost everyone 

but she i s t o t a l l y wrong about Wickham and Darcy. That she considers 

t h i s error to be of no inconsiderable magnitude i s obvious from her 

thoughts as she reads and re-reads Darcy's l e t t e r of explanation: 

"How humiliating i s t h i s discovery! . . . Had I been i n love, I 
could not have been more wretchedly b l i n d . But vanity, not love, has 
been my f o l l y . Pleased with the preference of one, and offended by 
the neglect of the other, I have courted prepossession and ignorance, 
and driven reason away, where either were concerned. T i l l this moment 
I never knew myself." (PP, 356. My i t a l i c s ) 

Certainly Elizabeth f e e l s she has entertained a false self-concept I 

Perhaps we tend to see her as more discerning than she r e a l l y i s be-

cause of the quickness with which she overcomes t h i s obstacle and 

the s k i l l with which she avoids any further error. Moreover, anyone 

with such a d e l i g h t f u l sense of humour (a t r a i t unknown to the roman-

t i c heroine) cannot labour under a false self-concept for long. When, 

f o r instance, she overhears Darcy say of her, "'She i s tolerable, but 

not handsome enough to tempt me'" (PP, 236), she i s not crushed but, 

on the contrary, " t o l d the story . . . with great s p i r i t among her 

friends; for she had a l i v e l y , p l a y f u l d i s p o s i t i o n , which delighted 

i n anything r i d i c u l o u s " (PP, 236). Even Jane i s closer to the p e r i -

phery of the realm of romance than Elizabeth; her sadness over 



80 

Bingley's departure induces her aunt to say to Elizabeth, " ' I t had 

better have happened to you, Lizzy; you would have laughed yourself 

out of i t sooner"' (PP, 316). Although Mr. Bennet, as a father, 

leaves much to be desired, his influence on Elizabeth, i n which both 

his strengths and his weaknesses are revealed, has enabled her to 

overcome any obstacle with comparative ease. 

It should be pointed out that the comic heroine, i n her quest 

for s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n , must face a problem hardly ever encountered by 

the comic hero. Although he too must fight the a r b i t r a r y laws of 

an i n f l e x i b l e society and, i n the process, may have to reach a 

greater degree of self-awareness, he i s at least able to s t a r t out 

equipped with that society's own weapons of education and enlighten-

ment: from the outset, he can be himself. On the other hand, the 

comic heroine, even i f she has an adequate self-concept, i s always 

one step removed from r e a l i t y because almost nothing i s known about 

her r e a l , her e s s e n t i a l nature: "what i s now c a l l e d the nature of 

women i s an eminently a r t i f i c i a l t h i n g — t h e r e s u l t of forced repres-

sion i n some directions, unnatural stimulation i n others." Because 

t h e i r i n t e l l e c t has been repressed and their emotions stimulated, a l l 

women—not only the Mariannes but also the E l i n o r s - — l i v e more i n 

t h e i r emotions than do men. As Anne E l l i o t , claiming that an unhappy 

love a f f a i r has a more l a s t i n g e f f e c t on a woman than on a man, 

points out to Captain H a r v i l l e : 

"We l i v e at home, quiet, confined, and our feelings prey upon us. 
You are forced on exertion. You have always a profession, pursuits, 
business of some sort or other, to take you back into the world 
immediately . . . ." (P, 1352) 



81 

That any of the comic heroines can, under the circumstances, attain 

and then preserve "a true over a false vision of l i f e " i s indeed 

remarkable. And i f we tend to feel that some of them seem to overcom-

pensate for the pull of their emotions by displaying an inordinate 

amount of self-control and sometimes acting more rationally than the 

situation warrants, i t could be that we are reflecting the prejudices 

of a society which s t i l l looks askance at the rational woman. Perhaps 

we too must learn that 

the heroines of comedy are like women of the world, not necessarily 
heartless from being clear-sighted; they seem so to the sentimentally 
reared, only for the reason that they use their wits, and are not 
wandering vessels crying for a captain or a pilot.6 



82 

NOTES 

Samuel Butler, The Way of A l l Flesh (New York: Holt, Rinehart 
& Winston, I960), p. 22. 

Wollstonecraft, Rights of Woman, p. 183. 
3 Jane Austen, "Love and Freindship," i n Minor Works, Vol. VI 

of Works, ed. R. W. Chapman (London: Oxford Univ. Press, 1958) 
p. 78. A l l subsequent references to "Love and Freindship" w i l l be 
to t h i s e d i t i o n . 

if 

Langer, Feeling and Form, p. 334. 

^ M i l l , The Subjection of Women, p. kS. 

^Meredith, "An Essay on Comedy, p. 15* 



83 

CHAPTER V 

THE ILLUSION OF INDEPENDENCE 

The general opinion of men i s supposed to be, 
that the natural vocation of a woman i s that 
of a wife and mother. I say, i s supposed to 
be, because, judging from a c t s — f r o m the whole 
of the present constitution of society—one 
might i n f e r that t h e i r opinion was the direct 
contrary. 

— J . S. M i l l , The Subjection of Women 

Armed with a reasonably accurate self-concept and the happy 

confidence which often accompanies i t , the comic heroine might be 

tempted to think that she can f u l f i l her destiny i n whatever way she 

chooses. But, with the exception of Emma Woodhouse, there i s no posi-

t i v e evidence that she i s so tempted. M l her l i f e , the obstructing 

characters have been d i r e c t i n g t h e i r entire e f f o r t s towards convincing 

her that she can f i n d fulfilment i n one role o n l y — t h e role for which 

God and nature intended h e r — t h a t of wife and mother. They would 

seem to protest too much. By refusing to prepare women for any other 

way of l i f e , they give r i s e to the suspicion that they are consciously 

or unconsciously a f r a i d that, i f given any choice whatsoever, many 

women would express their deep d i s s a t i s f a c t i o n with t h e i r l o t by 

open r e b e l l i o n against or r e f u s a l to enter into the married state. 

As M i l l points out, the exertion of.such tremendous pressures to keep 

women i n a state of bondage i s a t a c i t admission that men do not be-

l i e v e the vocation of wife and mother i s "natural" to a woman but do 

i n fact believe the exact opposite; and the doctrine to which they 

a c t u a l l y subscribe i s , " " I t i s necessary to society that women should 

marry and produce children. They w i l l not do so unless they are 



84 
compelled. Therefore i t i s necessary to compel them.1""'' The same 

kind of argument was used, M i l l adds, to defend the practice of slav-

ery i n the American cotton f i e l d s and impressment into the B r i t i s h 
2 

navy. And i f we think that the pressures to which women have been 

subjected were a phenomenon peculiar only to Jane Austen's and e a r l i e r 

s o c i e t i e s , we should look to our own mass media and t h e i r c o n s i s t e n t — 

and, i n c i d e n t a l l y , increasingly s u c c e s s f u l — e f f o r t s to persuade women 

to return to t h e i r "natural" role by keeping up the pretense that a 

c e r t a i n , very s p e c i a l talent, a very s p e c i a l and wholly feminine 

t a l e n t , i s required to make f l o o r s shine and to keep laundry white. 

Even today, "the feminine mystique says that the highest value and the 
only commitment for women i s the f u l f i l l m e n t of their own feminin-

3 

i t y . " —which, of course, means giving up any claim for recognition 

as an i n d i v i d u a l and l i v i n g only through t h e i r husbands and children. 

But whereas the women of today have the weapons, i f they choose to use 

them, to combat t h i s kind of propaganda, to the women of Jane Austen's 

day i t represented a v i r t u a l l y insurmountable obstacle, with deep 

s o c i a l , economic and i n t e l l e c t u a l implications. 

Although Jane Austen's comic heroines are allowed to engage i n 

r e l a t i v e l y free s o c i a l intercourse with other young people, their 

movements are almost completely r e s t r i c t e d td the narrow, d u l l routine 

of home and neighborhood. The l i m i t e d view of the world which they 

are bound to acquire i s parodied as early as Love and Freindship: 

"Isabel had seen the World. She had passed 2 Years a t one of the 

f i r s t Boarding-schools i n London; had spent a fortnight i n Bath and 

had supped one night i n Southampton" (LF, 78). The same tone i s 

maintained i n Northanger Abbey when Catherine, supervised by the 

Aliens, i s "about to be launched into a l l the d i f f i c u l t i e s and 



85 
dangers of a s i x weeks* residence i n Bath" (NA, 1066). But parody 

gives way to realism when Catherine, i n Bath, unwittingly reveals to 

Henry Tilney the emptiness of her existence at home: "'I walk about 

here, and so I do there; but here I see a variety of people i n every 

s t r e e t , and there I can only go and c a l l on Mr6. A l l e n * " (NA, 1104). 

In reply, Henry s u c c i n c t l y sums up the l i m i t a t i o n s imposed on most 

women of the day: "'What a picture of i n t e l l e c t u a l poverty! However, 

when you sink: into t h i s abyss again, you w i l l have more to say. You 

w i l l be able to t a l k of Bath, and of a l l that you did here'" (NA.1103). 
She w i l l indeed but, i r o n i c a l l y , the abyss to which she returns w i l l 

be even deeper because by then she w i l l have relinquished the f i c t i o n -

a l world which has formerly r e l i e v e d her boredom. Eleanor Tilney's 

l i f e , i f anything, i s more confined; apart from her occasional v i s i t s 

to Bath, i t consists of the "hours of companionship, u t i l i t y , and 

patient endurance" (NA, 1206) she must devote to her capricious father. 

Fanny Price's v i s i t to Portsmouth, the Dashwood g i r l s * sojourn i n 

London with Mrs. Jennings, Elizabeth Bennet's holiday with the 

G a r d i n e r s — a l l are considered major and almost unprecedented events 

i n the l i v e s of the comic heroines. Persuading her husband that his 

mother and s i s t e r s need no f i n a n c i a l assistance, Mrs. John Dashwood 

represents the attitude of her society towards the s o c i a l a c t i v i t i e s 

of the single woman: 

"They w i l l l i v e so cheap! Their housekeeping w i l l be nothing at a l l . 
They w i l l have no carriage, no horses, and hardly any servants; they 
w i l l keep no company, and can have no expenses of any kind!'" 
(SS, 7) 

(Substantially the same argument i s used today to j u s t i f y lower 

s a l a r i e s for women than for men.) And we must always remember that 



86 
Emma Woodhouse, "the heiress of t h i r t y thousand pounds" (E, 845), i s 

"'very, very seldom . . . ever two hours from H a r t f i e l d ' " (E, 954). 

Since s o c i a l r e s t r i c t i o n s i n themselves are r a r e l y stringent 

enough to force women into marriage, the obstructing influences are 

always ready with their b i g guns—economic pressures. In Jane Austen's 

society, there was simply no way i n which a young woman could achieve 

economic independence on her own. By t h i s time, the r i s e of i n d u s t r i -

alism had gradually abolished the economic niche of the single woman 

i n the household just as, two hundred and f i f t y years e a r l i e r , the 

d i s s o l u t i o n of the monasteries had closed the door to the sanctuary 
5 

she had once been able to f i n d i n r e l i g i o u s orders. With no useful 

purpose to f u l f i l , with only a s u p e r f i c i a l education, and neither the 

t r a i n i n g nor the opportunity for lucrative employment, the unmarried 

gentlewoman had now to choose between working for a pittance as a 

governess or accepting the status of a family dependent. Because of 

her almost inevitable poverty, she soon became a much-maligned figure: 

"the Puritan-commercial organization of society deprived her of every 

opportunity for productive a c t i v i t y , and then found f a u l t with her 

because she was unproductive."^ And so, i n the .eighteenth century, 
"the old maid" became a r i d i c u l o u s i f not frankly odious l i t e r a r y 

7 
caricature: Moll Flanders, r e f l e c t i n g Defoe's attitude, speaks of 

g 
"that f r i g h t f u l state of l i f e c a l l e d an old maid"; F i e l d i n g , as 

evidenced i n his treatment of Bridget Allworthy and Mrs. Western, saw 

the single woman as a f a r c i c a l and completely unsympathetic figure. 

And the general attitude of Jane Austen's day i s voiced by Harriet 

Smith as she says to Emma, who has just assured her she w i l l never be 

l i k e Miss Bates, "'But s t i l l , you w i l l be an old maid—and that's so 

dreadful!'" (E, 8l4) While most of her society shared t h i s view, 



Jane Austen was the f i r s t writer to break t r a d i t i o n by presenting an.' 
9 

old maid without r i d i c u l e and with compassion. Miss Bates "enjoyed 

a most uncommon degree of popularity for a woman neither young, hand-

some, r i c h , nor married" (E, 773). L i v i n g i n very reduced 

circumstances, devoting herself almost e n t i r e l y to the care of her 

aged mother, yet never indulging i n s e l f - p i t y , 

. . . she was a happy woman, and a woman whom no one named without 
good-will.. . . [she] thought herself a most fortunate creature, and 
surrounded with blessings i n such an excellent mother, and so many 
good neighbors and friends, and a home that wanted for nothing. 
(E, 773) 

The underlying pathos of her s i t u a t i o n , however, and that of a l l old 

maids l i k e her, i s evident i n her gratitude to friends for their 

s o c i a l and economic favours—and p a r t i c u l a r l y i n her v u l n e r a b i l i t y , 

because she i s poor and harmless, to i n s u l t s such as Emma's i n the 

Box H i l l incident. No one but Miss Bates herself, i t would seem, 

could regard her s i t u a t i o n with anything but p i t y . And yet, compared 

to most middle-aged single women, she i s fortunate. As Emma points 

out, "'. . . a very narrow income has a tendency to contract the mind, 

and sour the temper*"(E, 8 l 4 ) . But, because of her "universal good-

w i l l and contented temper" (E, 773), t h i s tendency i s unknown to Miss 

Bates. And so, i f our comic heroines do not capitulate to marriage, 

and i f they become p o o r — a very r e a l p o s s i b i l i t y for a l l of them ex-

cept Emma—a l i f e l i k e that of Miss Bates i s the best they can 

a n t i c i p a t e . Of t h i s the obstructing influences make very sure. 

It i s extraordinary that, with the exception of Emma, Jane 

Austen's comic heroines do not seem to consider, much less worry about, 

the alternatives to t h e i r not marrying. That their conditioning has 

been so successful as to convince them that they w i l l "just naturally 



marry" i s hardly conceivable—particularly in the case of those who 

are emotionally committed to men who seem unavailable. The answer 

must be that their common possession of three inestimable q u a l i t i e s — 

youth and beauty and hope—has given them the i l l u s i o n of freedom 

from a state which i s too far in the future to constitute a tangible 

threat. We must except, of course, two of the minor comic heroines: 

Jane Fairfax who has to relinquish hope because she must start to 

earn her l i v i n g now, and Charlotte Lucas who i s twenty-seven and 

plain. These two g i r l s realize early what the major comic heroines 

w i l l , theoretically at least, have to recognize sooner or later—that 

the obstacles to their achieving the status of independent human 

beings are irremovable. 

Although "brought up for educating others" (E, 860), Jane 

Fairfax, as we have already seen (in Chapter III) i s restricted to 

earning her l i v i n g as a governess. A l l she can hope for i s a mere 

subsistence. And she i s quite aware that her social and intellectual 

deprivations w i l l be no less than her economic: 

With the fortitude of a devoted novitiate, she had resolved at one-
and-twenty to complete the sacrifice, and retire from a l l the 
pleasures of l i f e , of rational intercourse, equal society, peace and 
hope, to penance and mortification for ever. (E, 861) 

Obviously, Jane has no illusions whatever about the "'governess-

trade,*" which she compares with the slave-trade—"'widely different, 

certainly, as to the guilt of those who carry i t on; but as to the 

greater misery of the victims, I do not know where i t l i e s ' " (E, 9^6). 

When Mrs. Elton assures her that she w i l l be "'delightfully, honour-

ably, and comfortably settled,'" Jane, far from deceived, replies, 

"'You may well class the delight, the honour, and the comfort of such 



89 

a situation together . . . they are pretty sure to be equal . . . .'" 

(E, 946-9^7) B r i l l i a n t , clear-sighted, capable, yet condemned to a 

l i f e of frustration, f u t i l i t y and waste by a society which prohibits 

her realizing her truly great potential, she i s the only comic hero-

ine actively to seek independence; at the same time, before she takes 

her f i r s t steps toward i t , she knows that any real independence for 

her i s quite impossible. 

It i s understandable how economic pressures such as this could 

force a g i r l like Charlotte Lucas, for instance, into marriage. Per-

haps, as the daughter of Sir William Lucas, she could not with 

propriety accept a position as a governess; or perhaps, and much more 

l i k e l y , she i s unwilling to face the miseries involved, especially 

when she i s pretty well assured they would eventually end in a depend-

ent spinsterhood. In any event, she feels she i s choosing the least 

of several evils in her decision to marry Mr. Collins: 

Without thinking highly either of men or of matrimony, marriage had 
always been her object; i t was the only honourable provision for well-
educated young women of small fortune, and however uncertain of giving 
happiness, must be their pleasantest preservative from want. This 
preservative she had now obtained; and at the age of twenty-seven, 
without having ever been handsome, she f e l t a l l the good luck of i t . 
(PP, 306. My i t a l i c s ) 

'All the good luck of i t ! " That Charlotte can actually believe this, 

knowing f u l l well that Mr. Collins "was neither sensible nor agree-

able; his society was irksome, and his attachment to her must be 

imaginary" (PP, 3 0 6 ) , testifies to her extreme aversion to the alter-

natives. To condemn Charlotte, as we shall do in the next chapter, 

for compromising her sex by playing into the hands of a male egoist, 

i s one thing; to understand her problem and that of thousands of women 
like her who feel they must conform in order to survive, i s another. 



And, i n t h i s sense, Charlotte i s a r e a l i s t : 

90 

"I am not romantic, you know; I never was. I ask only a comfortable 
home; and considering Mr. C o l l i n s ' s character, connections, and s i t u -
ation i n l i f e , I am convinced that my chance of happiness with him i s 
as f a i r as most people can boast on entering the marriage state." 
(PP, 307) 

She knows the s l i g h t degree of autonomy she w i l l a t t a i n i n a home 

with Mr. C o l l i n s i s b e t t e r — a t least., better for her--than eventual 

dependence on r e l a t i v e s and no autonomy at a l l . 

Free from the pressures which might force her into the 

"'governess-trade,'" an unwelcome marriage or dependence on others, 

Emma i s the only major comic heroine who does-not face a gigantic 

obstacle to independence. That she, who should have nothing to fear 

from spinsterhood, i s the only one to t a l k about i t , i s rather 

singular. She i s quite confident, of course, that a r i c h , f u l l l i f e 

awaits her as a single woman. As she reassures Harriet, 

". . . 1 s h a l l not be a poor old maid; and i t i s poverty only which 
makes celibacy contemptible to a generous public ! A single woman 
with a very narrow income must be a r i d i c u l o u s , disagreeable old 
maid! . . . but a single woman of good fortune i s always respectable, 
and may be as sensible and pleasant as anybody else!" (E, 8l4) 

Up to a point she i s r i g h t : because of her wealth, the pejorative 

connotations of spinsterhood w i l l not attach to her. She does not 

r e a l i z e , however, that she i s doomed to s o c i a l , emotional and i n t e l -

l e c t u a l poverty, i f she pursues a single course. Early i n the novel, 

the barrenness of the existence which conceivably awaits her i s 

indicated: 

. . . with a l l her advantages, natural and domestic, she was now 
[ a f t e r Miss Taylor's marriage] i n great danger of s u f f e r i n g from 
i n t e l l e c t u a l s o l i t u d e . She dearly loved her father, but he was no 



9 1 

companion for her. He could not meet her i n conversation, r a t i o n a l 
or p l a y f u l . (E, 764) 

While Mr. Woodhouse l i v e s , the conditioning of society--which decrees 

that the place of a single daughter i s with an aged p a r e n t — w i l l con-

demn her to the multiple role of nurse, guardian and companion (the 

same r e l a t i o n s h i p , i r o n i c a l l y , i n which M - ± B S Bates stands to her 

mother) and hence to the inevitable and perpetual tediousness of 

"many a long October and November evening" (E, 764). After his death, 

she w i l l be emotionally l i m i t e d to her s i s t e r ' s family: "'l?here w i l l 

be enough of them, i n a l l p r o b a b i l i t y , to supply every sort of sensa-

t i o n that declining l i f e can need. . . . My nephews and n i e c e s — I 

s h a l l often have a niece with me'" (E, 8l4). And, making no allowance 

for the tendency toward g a r r u l i t y which i s common among the middle-

aged, she i s sure that she w i l l never "'bore people half so much about 

a l l the Knightleys together as she [ M i s e Bates} does about Jane 

F a i r f a x ' " (E, 815). Worst of a l l , however, w i l l be her i n t e l l e c t u a l 

l i m i t a t i o n s , of which she i s quite unaware: " ' I f I know myself, Harriet, 

mine i s an active, busy mind, with a great many independent resources; 

and I do not perceive why I should be more i n want of employment at 

f o r t y or f i f t y than one-and-twenty'" (E, 8l4). But we know she does 

not know h e r s e l f . She has no' ''independent resources': she has nothing 

with which to amuse herself but her imagination. With the f u l l con-

fidence of youth, she asserts, "'Woman's usual occupations of eye, 

and hand, and mind, w i l l be as open to me then as they are now . . . . 

I f I draw l e s s , I s h a l l read more; i f I give up music, I s h a l l take 

to carpet-work 1" (E, 8l4). Unlike E l i n o r Dashwood, however, she has 

never taken her drawing seriously: she has a p o r t f o l i o of p o r t r a i t s 

but " . . . not one of them had ever been finished . . . ." (E, 787) . 



And, unlike Jane Fairfax, Anne E l l i o t and even Marianne Dashwood, she 

does not play the piano for her own amusement. That reading has 

never been one of her occupations we have already established. She 

i s faced, l i t e r a l l y , with the cramped world of Miss Bates which she 

deplores so vehemently, a world i n which neighborhood v i s i t s and 

l o c a l gossip comprise the main i n t e r e s t s . Her wealth w i l l ensure 

material comfort but i t w i l l not provide an escape from the mass of 

t r i v i a l i t i e s which constitute the narrow province assigned to women. 

And so, even to Emma, the v i s i o n of an i n t e r e s t i n g , challenging and 

s a t i s f y i n g independence i s only an i l l u s i o n . 

None of Jane Austen's comic heroines, then, can hope for the 

status of independent i n d i v i d u a l s , unhampered by the r e s t r i c t i o n s and 

pressures of a marriage-oriented society which scorns the "old maid" 

and which considers any marriage, no matter how bad, better than no 

marriage at a l l . Moreover, i f they were to remain single, t h e i r 

fate would be worse than that of Miss Bates other than economically 

because most of them are i n t e l l i g e n t enough to recognize and resent 

the denial of s e l f (which Miss Bates pleasantly accepts) i n their con-

t i n u a l adaptation to the needs of o t h e r s — a denial, by the way, they 

would have to accept i n a conventional marriage. Their i n t e l l i g e n c e , 

then, i s a p o t e n t i a l handicap. In e f f e c t , the only type of woman 

who f i t s naturally into such a society i s the pretty, limited Harriet 

Smith, with her great s o c i a l and emotional f l e x i b i l i t y . Unlike most 

of our comic heroines who, we f e e l , would choose to remain single i f 

unable to marry the men of t h e i r choice, Harriet i s i n love with 

three d i f f e r e n t men i n the course of a few months; as Mr. Knightley 

remarks, "'. . . Harriet Smith i s a g i r l who w i l l marry somebody 



or other . . . .'" (E, 800) For the b r i l l i a n t , capable, emotionally 

mature woman, there seems to be no place at a l l . The inevitable con-

c l u s i o n i s that the degree of adjustment a single woman can expect 

to make to such a society i s i n inverse r a t i o to her a b i l i t i e s and 

i n t e l l i g e n c e . Here, again, we have something "inert or stereotyped 

. . . on the surface of l i v i n g society . . . r i g i d i t y . . . clashing 

with the inner suppleness of l i f e , " 3 ' 0 which, i n spite of the tragic 

implications, must depend on "thoughtful laughter" for i t s removal. 

The contrast between Mrs. Churchill's importance i n the world 
and Jane Fairfax's struck her; one was everything, the other n o t h i n g — 
and she sat musing on the difference of woman's destiny . . . . 
(E, 997) 

Despite her seemingly flippant attitude toward her own future, Emma 

does speak with genuine concern i n the cause of unmarried women, 

e s p e c i a l l y i f they happen to be poor. And, through Emma, Jane Austen 

would seem to imply that i t ought to be possible for a woman to be 

h e r s e l f , whether married or not; i t ought to be possible for her to 

take a productive place i n society and thus contribute to i t s regen-

eration other than only b i o l o g i c a l l y . Miss Bates, for instance, 

leads a far more useful l i f e i n terms of the general good than does 

Mrs. Elton. I f i t were feasible for Charlotte Lucas, who quite 

frankly does not think very highly "either of men or of matrimony" 

(PP, 306), to obtain a "'comfortable home'" without the burdensome 

appendage of Mr. C o l l i n s or any other man, she could conceivably 

lead an immensely s a t i s f y i n g single l i f e . (Lady Russell, a r i c h 

widow with no desire to remarry, could be an adumbration of the i n -

dependent single woman Jane Austen seems to suggest; but, because 

Lady'Russell's character i s by no means f u l l y developed, this thought 



94 
cannot be pushed too far.) By implying that the unmarried woman i s 

not of necessity a burden on the community, Jane Austen i s moving 

counter to the usual comic hypothesis that an "old maid" i s a s o c i a l 

outcast because she i s incapable of furthering the physical regenera-

t i o n of society. It i s the obstructing characters themselves, she 

would seem to say, who are g u i l t y of impeding the progress of society 

because of t h e i r denying a productive role to the single woman. For, 

although most women f i n d happiness and fulfilment i n t h e i r t r a d i t i o n -

a l r o l e of wife and mother, many do not; many need a separate 

i d e n t i t y , and these represent an immense potential contribution to 

the community. Plato himself, from his usual highly tenable position, 

steadfastly maintained that a society which does not u t i l i z e the 

talents and a b i l i t i e s of i t s women i s l o s i n g half i t s manpower. By 

r e f u s i n g to recognize that a woman's freedom to be herself i s not 

only i n her own but also i n the public i n t e r e s t , the obstructing 

characters are indeed "congregating i n absurdities, planning short-

sightedly, p l o t t i n g dementedly . . . [and v i o l a t i n g ^ the unwritten 

but perceptible laws binding them i n consideration one to another.^ 

To force a l l women into the same r o l e , whether they are suited for 

i t or not, constitutes not only a categorical denial of human rights 

but also a grave danger to the equilibrium of the group—an 

equilibrium which the comic s p i r i t must always s t r i v e to maintain. 

It i s maintained, of course, by permitting the comic heroine 

to f i n d s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n within the framework of an i d e a l marriage. 

Fortunately, she i s rescued from spinsterhood before she i s con-

fronted with the deprivations of the single existence which otherwise 



would await her, before her d a i l y p u r s u i t s lose t h e i r importance and 

savor and become i r k s o m e — b e f o r e , i n e f f e c t , she i s r e a l l y conscious 

of the s i z e of the obstacle she can n e i t h e r overcome nor circumvent. 

Otherwise, she would be so i l l - e q u i p p e d to meet the f u r t h e r obstacles 

inherent i n c o u r t s h i p that she might enter i n t o a marriage of expedi-

ence through sheer d e s p e r a t i o n — a n d thus, by her own hand, f r u s t r a t e 

the purpose of the comic a c t i o n . I t i s w e l l indeed that she s t i l l 

has her i l l u s i o n of independence, f o r 

11. . . i t i s only on the standing-ground of a happy and independent 
c e l i b a c y that a woman can r e a l l y make a free choice i n marriage. 
To secure t h i s standing-ground, a p u r s u i t i s more needful than a 
pecuniary competence, f o r a l i f e without aim or object i s one which 
more than a l l others, goads a woman i n t o accepting any chance of a 
change."1 2 



96 

NOTES 

"̂The Subjection of Women, pp. 54-55. 
2 
Ibid., p. 55« 

^Friedan, Mystique, p. 4 3 . 

Ian Watt, The Rise of the Novel: Studies i n Defoe, Richardson  
and F i e l d i n g (Berkeley & Los Angeles: Univ. of C a l i f o r n i a Press, 
1 9 6 2 ) , p. 145. 

5 

Needham and Utter, Pamela's Daughters, pp. 222-223-

Ibid., p. 223* 
7Watt, p. 144. 
g 
Daniel Defoe, The Fortunes and Misfortunes of the Famous Moll  

Flanders (New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston, 19^9), p. 72. 
Q 
Needham and Utter, p. 241. 

"^Bergson, "Laughter, " p. 8 9 . 

^Meredith, "An Essay on Comedy," p. 48. 
12 

Fraser's Magazine, 1862, as quoted i n Needham and Utter, 
Pamela's Daughters, p. 253-



97 

CHAPTER VI 

THE CHALLENGE OF COURTSHIP 

But I hate to hear you talking so like a fine 
gentleman, and as i f women were a l l fine 
ladies, instead of rational creatures. 
[Mrs. Croft to Frederick Wentworth] 

—Jane Austen, Persuasion 

In the comic heroine's struggle for self-realization which, in 

Jane Austen's society, can be found only in the right kind of marriage, 

the period of courtship i s obviously crucial. The obstacles she must 

face, of course, are not new: they have shaped her education, in-

fluenced her self-concept and closed a l l the avenues to independence. 

But in the area of courtship, where men and women meet as potential 

marriage partners, she is no longer a passive victim. She becomes an 

active participant in a social r i t e . She i s f i n a l l y confronted with 

a choice; and on her choice depends the direction the coming genera-

tion w i l l take, whether toward the old bondage or a new freedom. As 

might be expected, the obstructing influences converge in this v i t a l 

area and bring to bear the f u l l weight of their combined power. In 

the interests of the old, established society, they must try to force 

her into the traditional pattern of courtship. This she must avoid 

at a l l costs: by so doing she w i l l not only open the way to a more 

ideal society but she w i l l also expose the driving forces behind the 

arbitrary laws which have decreed her subjugation—male egoism and 

sentimentality. 

Since the concept of male superiority has prevailed throughout 

countless generations, i t i s not surprising that most men remain 

egoists. But egoism i s , of course, just another form of self-deception 



98 

which must be constantly reinforced, particularly when i t i s based on 

the fallacious assumption that physical strength presupposes mental 

strength. And so the energies and talents of half the human race have 

been diverted to this tasks 

Women have served a l l these centuries as looking-glasses possessing 
the magic and delicious power of reflecting the figure of man at 
twice i t s natural size. • • • That serves to explain in part the 
necessity that women so often are to men. And i t serves to explain 
how restless they are under her criticism. . . . For i f she begins 
to t e l l the truth, the figure in the looking-glass shrinks; his 
fitness for l i f e i s diminished.1 

Since the rational woman poses such a threat to the confidence of an 

egoist, i t i s in his own interest to prevent her evolution. He does 

not want a real woman but aspires to "the common male Egoist ideal of 
2 

a waxwork sex" —someone, something he can mould into whatever form 

pleases him most. (Pygmalion, as he appears in the Greek legend, 

could be seen as the archetypal egoist who, disliking ordinary women, 

sculptures out of ivory what to him i s the perfect woman, and then 

f a l l s in love with the a r t i f i c i a l creature he has created. In the 

Shavian version, a further dimension is given to the story in that 

"Pygmalion" rejects the woman he has formed when she tries to assume 

an identity of her own.) The qualities the egoist finds especially 

attractive are those ascribed to the romantic heroine, particularly 

"naivete, dependence, and meek adoration for the 'stronger sex.'"^ 

Not only has male egoism, then, prevented the development of women as 

individuals, but i t has also "led men to form a sentimental image of 

[them] that i s totally divorced from reality."^ 

Since these qualities which are so appealing to the egoist are 

not part of the natural character of a woman, she tends consciously or 

unconsciously to assume them. And, unfortunately, " . . . when women 



99 
5 

conform to t h i s stereotype they become sentimentalists too." With 

no opportunity for a l i f e of her own and with complete s o c i a l and 

economic dependence on the male, however, i t i s extremely d i f f i c u l t 

for a woman not to adhere to the pattern which delights the source of 

a l l her amenities. Moreover, she has been conditioned since b i r t h to 

make herself a t t r a c t i v e to the male and now, when "meekness, submis-

siveness, and resignation of a l l i n d i v i d u a l w i l l into the hands of a 

man [are represented] as an e s s e n t i a l part of sexual attractiveness," 

she w i l l not wish to r e l i n q u i s h her gains: 

Women are t o l d from their infancy, and taught by the example of t h e i r 
mothers, that a l i t t l e knowledge of human weakness, j u s t l y termed 
cunning, softness of temper, outward obedience, and a scrupulous atten-
t i o n to a puerile kind of propriety, w i l l obtain for them the 
protection of man; and should they be b e a u t i f u l , everything else i s 
needless, for, at least, twenty years of t h e i r l i v e s . ' 

To warn them that they are s a c r i f i c i n g long-term freedom for short-

term favours would indeed seem f u t i l e . 

And so, at t h i s point, a common f a l l a c y should be exposed. It 

i s too often assumed that, since a society which i s based on the sub-

ordination of women i s always male-dominated, men alone are the 

obstructing characters who uphold the "absurd or i r r a t i o n a l law" which 

denies women's claim for recognition. On the contrary, those women 

who foster male egoism and sentimentalism by conforming to the unreal-

i s t i c image men have prescribed for them are equally g u i l t y : they too 

are accepting and perpetuating the myth of female i n f e r i o r i t y . And 

"they are b l i n d to t h e i r i n t e r e s t s i n swelling the ranks of the 
g 

sentimentalists" , because they thus become obstacles to their own 

s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n . 



100 
Closely connected with male egoism and male and female s e n t i -

mentalism i s the subtle r e v e r s a l of male and female r o l e s which l i e s 

at the heart of the t r a d i t i o n a l pattern of courtship. This shrewd 

sleight-of-hand i s , of course, a derivative of the old courtly love 

convention to which, i n c i d e n t a l l y , most of the a r t i f i c i a l i t y which per-

vades the r e l a t i o n s between the sexes may be traced. In r e a l i t y , i t i s 

a concerted e f f o r t on the part of the obstructing characters to keep 

a woman permanently i n f e r i o r by placing her on a pedestal during court-

ship, thus making her f e e l temporarily superior. And so another reason 

why the obstacle of inadequate education i s placed so f i r m l y i n the 

path of the comic heroine becomes apparent: unenlightened, she i s much 

more l i k e l y to f a l l victim to the hoax; to welcome naively the gallan-

t r y i n the male which gives her a f a l s e , i d e a l i z e d picture of herself 

and, consequently, makes her less l i k e l y to rebel against the passive, 

i n f e r i o r role to which, as an object, she i s being condemned for l i f e . 

Even today, i t takes a remarkably discerning g i r l to r e a l i z e that a 

woman placed on a pedestal i s , for a l l p r a c t i c a l purposes, a woman 

treated as an i n f e r i o r ; that a woman's actual status varies i n inverse 

r a t i o to the degree of i d e a l i z a t i o n she has attained, and that the con-

ventions of courtly love are possible only i n a man's world. 

That Jane Austen considers t r a d i t i o n a l courtship, with a l l i t s 

implications of egoism and sentimentalism, a grave threat to society 

and thus a legitimate target for her comic irony i s obvious throughout 

her work. Nowhere i s her awareness so succinctly exhibited, however, 

than i n the courtship she parodies i n Pride and Prejudice as Mr. 

C o l l i n s i n his " w i l f u l self-deception" (PP, 297) pursues f i r s t 

Elizabeth Bennet and then Charlotte Lucas. With no sublety whatever 

with which to cloak his egoism, Mr. C o l l i n s i s only too happy to 



101 
express his sentimental view of women and the combination of meekness 

and cunning he thinks i t only correct to expect of them. After E l i z a -

beth has unconditionally refused him three times, he smugly asserts, 

". . . I know i t to be the established custom of your sex to r e j e c t 
a man on the f i r s t application, and perhaps you have even now said as 
much to encourage my s u i t as would be consistent with the true  
delicacy of the female character." (PP, 297. My i t a l i c s ) 

Nonplussed, Elizabeth can only repeat her r e f u s a l , which he knowingly 

translates into an e f f o r t to increase his ardor by keeping him i n sus-

pense, "'according to the practice of elegant females'" (PP, 297). 

Elizabeth then makes the straightforward plea of the anti-sentimental, 

clear-sighted heroine: 

"I do assure you, s i r , that I have no pretensions whatever to that kind 
of elegance which consists i n tormenting a respectable man. I would 
rather be paid the compliment of being believed sincere. . . . Do not 
consider me now as an elegant female, intending to plague you, but as 
a r a t i o n a l creature, speaking the truth from her heart." (PP, 297• 
My i t a l i c s ) 

A few days l a t e r , f i n a l l y convinced of her r e f u s a l and encouraged by 

Charlotte's attention, he p e r s i s t s i n following the time-honoured cus-

tom of courtship and "hasten[s] to Lucas Lodge to throw himself at her 

f e e t " (PP, 305). With only her material comfort i n mind, Charlotte i s 

only too w i l l i n g to accept the rules of the game. She makes sure his 

reception "was of the most f l a t t e r i n g k i n d " — s e e i n g him approach, she 

" i n s t a n t l y set out to meet him accidentally i n the lane" where "so 

much love and eloquence awaited her" (PP, 305). Since a prolonged 

exposure to Mr. C o l l i n s ' brand o£ gallantry could only be irksome, 

she accepts him immediately, and " s o l e l y from the pure and d i s i n t e r e s t -

ed desire of an establishment" (PP, 305). (Charlotte's position as a 

r e a l i s t can be appreciated, as indicated i n Chapter V, but i t cannot 



102 

d i s p e l the d i s s a t i s f a c t i o n evoked by her deliberate f o s t e r i n g of male 

egoism.) In what i s l i t t l e more than a vignette, Jane Austen has out-

l i n e d and exposed to the l i g h t of the comic s p i r i t "the basic i n s i n -
9 

c e r i t y i n the r e l a t i o n s between the sexes-' which underlies the 

t r a d i t i o n a l pattern of courtship and which i s endlessly perpetuated 

by the male egoist and the female conformist. Consistently throughout 

her novels she emphasizes the many facets of t h i s enormous obstacle 

which must be recognized, understood and eventually overcome by the 

comic heroine. 

According to established standards, courtship usually begins 

with love at f i r s t sight on the part of one or both of the persons 

concerned. Assuming, as i t does, instantaneous and complete knowledge 

of the other person, the idea has generally been considered e x c i t i n g 

and romantic. In fact, however, since such knowledge- can be based 

only on appearance, and unless a rather shaky case for i n t u i t i o n can 

be admitted, such "love" can exist only between people who are 

attracted to each other as objects. Jane Austen parodies t h i s s e n t i -

mental aspect of courtship as early as Love and Freindship i n which 

Laura, immediately after meeting a young man who has merely l o s t his 

way, exclaims, 

My natural s e n s i b i l i t y had already been greatly affected by the suf-
ferings of the unfortunate stranger and no sooner did I f i r s t behold 
him, than I f e l t that on him the happiness or Misery of my future 
L i f e must depend. (LF, 80) 

In Northanger Abbey, Isabella Thorpe confides to Catherine, "'The very 

f i r s t day that Morland came to us l a s t Christmas, the very f i r s t 

moment I beheld him, my heart was irrevocably gone'" (NA, 1129). The 

depth of her emotion i s placed i n i t s proper perspective by her next 



103 

statement: " ' I remember I wore my yellow gown, with my hair done up 

i n braids . . . . •" (NA, 1129) That her "love" i s only a mask for 

her i n t e r e s t i n h i 6 supposed wealth i s obvious when she declares, 

"'Had I the command of m i l l i o n s , were I mistress of the whole world, 

your brother would be my only choice'" (NA, 1129). A woman's beauty 

evokes much the same immediate response from a man: "Mr. Rushworth 

was from the f i r s t struck with the beauty of Miss Bertram, and, being 

i n c l i n e d to marry, soon fancied himself i n love" (MP, 4-91). Even Mr. 

C o l l i n s , seeking the status symbol of marriage which he can humbly 

present to Lady Catherine, assures Elizabeth, "'Almost as soon as I 

entered the house, I singled you out as the companion of my future 

l i f e ' " (PP, 295). Jane Austen makes i t evident that people thus 

chosen are not loved for what they are but for what they can give. 

Love at f i r s t sight i s , of course, often followed by the w h i r l -

wind courtship so dear to the heart of l o y a l romanticists. With 

d e l i c i o u s irony, Jane Austen exposes the motives which t h i s supposedly 

i n t o x i c a t i n g r e l a t i o n s h i p may disguise as, i n Emma, she reveals the 

stages of Mr. Elton's courtship of Miss Augusta Hawkins5 

The story t o l d well: he had not thrown himself away—he had gained a 
woman of ten thousand pounds . . . with such d e l i g h t f u l r a p i d i t y ; 
the f i r s t hour of introduction had been so very soon followed by d i s -
tinguishing notice; the history . . . of the r i s e and progress of the 
a f f a i r was so glorious; the steps so quick, from the accidental 
rencontre, to the dinner at Mr. Green's, and the party at Mrs. Brown's— 
smiles and blushes r i s i n g i n importance—with consciousness and 
a g i t a t i o n r i c h l y scattered; the lady had been so e a s i l y impressed—so 
sweetly disposed; had, i n short, to use a most i n t e l l i g e n t phrase, 
been so very ready to have him, that vanity and prudence were equally 
contented. (JH 872. My i t a l i c s ) 

The Eltons are, perhaps, Jane Austen's best example of a pair of 

shrewd bargaining agents operating under the cloak of f e v e r i s h romance. 



104 

With the exception of Catherine Morland who, because she i s 

preoccupied with f i c t i o n a l heroines at the time, i s deeply impressed 

by what she considers the power of Isabella's love for her brother, 

Jane Austen's comic heroines are perceptive enough to laugh at such 

t r a v e s t i e s of courtship. But the obstacles are not always so e a s i l y 

recognizable. The remarkably clear-sighted Jane Fairfax, for instance, 

has been persuaded by Frank C h u r c h i l l to consent to a secret engage-

ment. P a r t i c u l a r l y a t t r a c t i v e to the t r a d i t i o n a l i s t s , the element of 

secrecy i s generally thought to heighten a romance; for one thing, i t 

provides a direct l i n k with the courtly love " i d e a l " and, for another, 

i t creates a private, exclusive world into which lovers can escape 

from the demands of society. But Jane Austen exposes the secret 

engagement for what i t r e a l l y i s — a s e l f i s h , h y p o c r i t i c a l and a n t i -

s o c i a l r e l a t i o n s h i p which brings l i t t l e joy and much pain, distress 

and misunderstanding to the partners. Revealing the truth which 

underlies the romantic i l l u s i o n , Jane Fairfax admits, "'I w i l l not 

say that since I entered into the engagement I have not had some 

happy moments; but I can say, that I have never known the blessing of 

one t r a n q u i l hour" 1 (E, 1 0 1 9 ) . 

Even when emotions are not seriously involved, i t i s extremely 

d i f f i c u l t for a woman not to be influenced to some extent by the 

g a l l a n t r i e s of a conventional courtship. Because women have been 

made to think that t h e i r success as individuals can be rated by the 

degree to which men f i n d them a t t r a c t i v e , t h e i r vanity i s bound to be 

vulnerable. I f an engaging young man i s attentive, they are f l a t t e r -

ed; i f not, they are disappointed, perhaps hurt. Moreover, they tend 

to respond too quickly: as Jane Bennet wisely observes, " ' I t i s very 

often nothing but our own vanity that deceives us. Women fancy 



105 

admiration means more than i t does'" (PP, 3 1 3)• A l l things considered, 

i t i s not s u r p r i s i n g that two of the comic heroines, Elizabeth Bennet 

and Emma Woodhouse, are at one point tempted to mount the pedestal. 

From the moment of their introduction, Elizabeth i s favourably 

impressed with Wickham. And since, the f i r s t time they are i n the 

same company, she i s "the happy woman by whom he f i n a l l y seated him-

s e l f " (PP, 2 7 6 ) , she soon has the opportunity of assessing and 

admiring the conversational s k i l l and charming manner which captivate 

a l l who meet him. To do j u s t i c e to Wickham, there i s no evidence that 

he pursues Elizabeth as deliberately as, for instance, Henry Crawford 

pursues Maria Bertram i n Mansfield Park; a l l we can lay to his debit 

are his s i n g l i n g her out a few times i n company and his conscious use 

of his charm to prejudice her against Darcy. Preparing for the b a l l 

at Netherfield, however, Elizabeth "had dressed with more than usual 

care, and prepared i n the highest s p i r i t s for the conquest of a l l that 

remained unsubdued of his heart" (PP, 2 8 4 - 2 8 5 ) . And her disappoint-

ment, on finding him absent, i s so acute that " . . . every prospect of 

her own was ruined for the evening . . . ." (PP, 2 8 5 ) Elizabeth, i t 

would seem, i s more interested i n Wickham than his actions toward her 

warrant but, when her aunt reveals her anxieties about t h e i r obvious 

preference for each other, Elizabeth assures her that she i s not i n 

love with Wickham, at least not at the moment—"'I see the imprudence 

of i t ' " (PP, 3 1 8 ) . When he transfers his attentions to Miss King, 

she can see him go "without material pain" for "her heart had been 

but s l i g h t l y touched and her vanity ^my i t a l i c s ] was s a t i s f i e d with 

b e l i e v i n g that she would have been his only choice, had fortune per-

mitted i t " (PP, 3 2 1 ) . Elizabeth has a d r o i t l y jumped from the pedestal 



106 

before i t could constitute a real obstacle to her. 

Long before Frank Churchill's arrival in Highbury, Emma i s pre-

disposed in his favour. And, since there are so few attractive young 

men in the neighborhood, i t i s remarkable that she i s not even more 

flattered by the unqualified attention he shows in his frequent Visits 

to Hartfield and his eagerness in marking her "as his peculiar object" 

(E, 892) at such social functions as the Coles* dinner party. On his 

leaving for Enscombe just before the Crown Inn Ball, she feels he stops 

just short of making a serious declaration of love. She i s sure, at 

least, of "his having a decidedly warm admiration, a conscious prefer-

ence of herself" which, with a l l that had gone before, "made her think 

that she must be a l i t t l e in love with him" (E, 922). The strength of 

her feeling lessens, however, as the length of his absence increases: 

"Emma continued to entertain no doubt of her being in love. Her ideas 

only varied as to the how much. At f i r s t , she thought i t was a good 

deal; and afterwards but l i t t l e " (E, 923). By the time he returns to 

Highbury, "her own attachment had really subsided into a mere 

nothing . . . ." (E, 954). And soon she i s busy scheming to unite 

him with Harriet. She i s not, however, above giving him "the admis-

sion to be gallant" (E, 987) and happily accepting the flattery he 

showers upon her during the Box H i l l party—although she i s well aware 

i t means nothing to her. At this point she seems both pleased and 

amused briefly to play the role of an idealized heroine. As she up-

holds her side of a very obvious f l i r t a t i o n which, incidentally, sets 

her and Frank apart from the group (Emma herself remarks, "*. . . no-

body speaks but ourselves . . . .'" ^E, 988]} she i s carried away by 

her flippancy almost to the point of the pertness and familiarity of 

which she once accused Mrs. Elton (E, 928), and quite to the point of 



107 
her unforgiveable rudeness to Miss Bates. Mr. Knightley's sharp re-

buke quickly brings her to her senses, however, and much l a t e r she 

frankly admits to him the reason for any interest she has ever d i s -

played i n Frank C h u r c h i l l : 

"I was tempted by his attentions, and allowed myself to appear  
pleased. . . . l e t me swell out the causes, ever so ingeniously, they 
a l l center i n t h i s at last—my_ vanity was f l a t t e r e d , and I allowed 
h i s attentions." (EJ 1024. My i t a l i c s ! 

Like Elizabeth, Emma i s rnuch^: too clear-sighted ever to be taken i n 

completely or for long by outward gallantry. 

Only once does Jane Austen l e t a comic heroine seriously 

stumble over the obstacle of a t r a d i t i o n a l courtship. According to 

conventional standards, the s i t u a t i o n i s perfect. Marianne Dashwood 

i s the lady on the pedestal, the epitome of everything a young man 

could possibly desire i n a woman. Willoughby i s the gallant lover, 

the kind of s u i t o r every young g i r l - presumably dreams of one day 

f i n d i n g . The circumstances under which they meet—her f a l l , the co-

incidence of his passing just at that time, his insistence on carrying 

her home—could not be more "romantic." Immediately she i s aware that 

"his person and a i r were equal to what her fancy had ever drawn for 

the hero of a favourite story . . . ." (SS, 25) A few days l a t e r she 

confides to E l i n o r , " ' I t i s not time or opportunity that i s to deter-

mine intimacy: i t i s d i s p o s i t i o n alone. . . . of Willoughby, my 

judgment has long been formed'" (SS, 3^-35)• That Willoughby shares 

a l l her tastes and feelings she has no doubt; not only does he admire 

the same books, but even the same passages! But then, she i s so 

charming and so lovely that " . . . any young man of five-and-twenty 

must have been insensible indeed, not to become an immediate convert 



108 

to the excellence of such works, however disregarded before" (SS, 28. 

My i t a l i c s ) . In every way he appears to be " a l l that her fancy had 

delineated . . . as capable of attaching her; and- his behaviour de-

clared his wishes to be i n that respect as earnest as his a b i l i t i e s 

were strong" (SS, 29). There seems to be no doubt that he loves her 

with an a f f e c t i o n as deep as her own. Apart from t h e i r obvious de-

l i g h t i n each other, whenever they are i n company they have no thought 

or consideration for anyone e l s e . And, as-Elizabeth Bennet at one 

point i r o n i c a l l y inquires, "'Is not general i n c i v i l i t y the very essence 

of love?*" (PE, 316) Their lack of s o c i a l awareness i s disturbing to 

E l i n o r who "could not be surprised at t h e i r attachment" but "only 

wished that i t were less openly shown" (SS., 31). Her mother, however, 

who i s "romantic," thinks t h e i r display of feelings i s "the natural 

consequence of a strong a f f e c t i o n " (SS, 32). For once, i t would seem, 

Jane Austen has given us a pair of young lovers i n an i d e a l l y roman-

t i c r e l a t i o n s h i p . 

It i s not u n t i l much l a t e r , u n t i l after Marianne has nearly 

died through her love of Willoughby, that the i r o n i c r e a l i t y beneath 

the charming i l l u s i o n comes to l i g h t . From the beginning, Willoughby 

confesses to E l i n o r , he had only his own s e l f i s h amusement i n mind: 

"*. . . I endeavoured by every means i n my power, to make myself 

pleasing to her, without any design of returning her a f f e c t i o n " 1 

(SS, 191). Since even at that time he was planning to marry a woman 

of fortune, he admits, "'To attach myself to your s i s t e r . . . was 

not a thing to be thought of . . . .*" (SS, 191) The crowning irony 

i s , of course, that he never did come to love Marianne: explaining 

that he was unaware of the injury he was i n f l i c t i n g on her because 

he did not know the meaning of love, he adds, 



109 

"But have I ever known i t ? Well may i t be doubted; for, had I r e a l l y  
loved, could I have s a c r i f i c e d my feelings to vanity, to avarice? 
or, what i s more, could I have s a c r i f i c e d hers? But I have done i t . " 
(SS, 1 9 1 . My i t a l i c s ) 

A l l he admits to i s that he found himself, , M b y insensible degrees, 

s i n c e r e l y fond of her'" (SS, 1 9 1 ) . For Willoughby i s an egoist a nd, 

therefore, capable only of s e l f - l o v e ; Marianne's "'lovely person and 

i n t e r e s t i n g manners'" (SS_, 191) which so elevate his vanity are the 

egoist's i d e a l . And by her behaviour, she j o i n s — a l t h o u g h perhaps 

unconsciously-?--t-he ranks of the female sentimentalists: "when he 

was present, she had no eyes for anyone e l s e . Everything he did was 

r i g h t . Everything he said was clever" (SS, 3 2 ) . Shockingly apparent 

i s the discrepancy between the i d e a l i z e d status he gives her at Barton 

and the actual status he assigns to her i n London. His l e t t e r of 

explanation, for instance, even when the pressures to which he was 

subjected when writing i t are given f u l l consideration, exhibits less 

kindness for her than he would show to an object, p a r t i c u l a r l y such a 

valuable object as money. E l i n o r , never blinded by emotion, cannot 

understand how Willoughby could be 

capable of departing so far from the appearance of every honourable 
and delicate f e e l i n g — s o far from the common decorum of a gentleman, 
as to send a l e t t e r so impudently cruel . . . a l e t t e r of which every 
l i n e was an i n s u l t . . . . (SS, 1 0 8 . My i t a l i c s ) 

As Marianne's pedestal crumbles beneath her, she i s indeed crushed 

by the forces of male egoism and sentimentality. 

But not forever. Within two years, "and with no sentiment  

superior to strong esteem and l i v e l y friendship" (SS, 227. My i t a l i c s ) , 

Marianne weds Colonel Brandon. No t r a d i t i o n a l courtship precedes 

t h e i r marriage; no games are played between them. She simply and 



110 

quite suddenly becomes f u l l y aware of his long and deep attachment to 

her. Even more remarkable, she "found her own happiness i n forming 

his . . . and her whole heart became i n time, as much devoted to her 

husband, as i t had once been to Willoughby" (SS, 227). 

In Marianne's t r a n s i t i o n from misery to happiness, Jane Austen 

c l a r i f i e s the r e l a t i o n s h i p which she seems to believe should precede 

marriage. It should not be t r a d i t i o n a l courtship, which, she consist-

ently r i d i c u l e s (because i t frustrates the goal which underlies the 

comic action) and which she invariably shows as ending either unsatis-

f a c t o r i l y or unhappily. Too often this kind of relationship i s but a 

disguise for' questionable motives; i f not, i t i s based on an i n f a t u -

ation which has only the appearance of genuine a f f e c t i o n . The so-

c a l l e d romantic love i t pretends to exalt i s at best only a g l o r i f i e d 

self-deception and, at worst, a highly destructive force, making of 

i t s victims, " . . . a pipe for fortune's finger/To sound what stop 

she p l e a s e . " ^ As an alternative, she offers a relationship based 

primarily on friendship and respect which gradually grows into genu-

ine a f f e c t i o n and eventually culminates i n deep and l a s t i n g love. 

( I r o n i c a l l y , Marianne—formerly so "romantic"—is the only comic hero-

ine who marries before the friendship and esteem she f e e l s for her 

s u i t o r have ripened into love.) Because such an honest and sincere 

r e l a t i o n s h i p could only be degraded by a r t i f i c i a l trappings and con-

ventional g a l l a n t r i e s , the actual "courtship" of the lovers consists 

of a simple and mutual declaration of a love which has become appar-

ent to both, and i s t e l e s c o p e d — l i k e that of Colonel Brandon and 

Marianne—into a paragraph or two at the end of the novel. 

In order to participate i n such a r e l a t i o n s h i p , the comic 

heroine must, above a l l , i n s i s t upon being herself and not the unreal 



I l l 

because i d e a l i z e d image of lady-love to be found i n a romance. This 

i s the reason i t i s so important that she achieve an accurate s e l f -

concept before she enters the period of courtship for, as Marianne 

would r e a d i l y vouch, ". . . i t must be an i l l - c o n s t r u c t e d tumbling 

world where the hour of ignorance i s made the creator of our destiny 

by being forced to the decisive elections upon which l i f e ' s main 

issues hang."^ But to be herself i s no easy task i n a society which 

almost unanimously regards her as a puppet i t has conditioned to react 

according to plan. Consequently—and t h i s i s perhaps why heroines 

such as Fanny Price, E l i n o r Dashwood and, at times, even Anne E l l i o t — 

appear somewhat drab—her virtues tend to consist more of what she 

does not do than of what she does: she must not conform to the s e n t i -

mental, " i d e a l " image the obstructing characters have placed before 

her and she must never resort to "feminine" guile or t r i c k e r y to gain 

her ends. Above a l l , since i t i s v i r t u a l l y impossible for her to be 

h e r s e l f unless she i s seen as herself, she must not l e t herself be 

attracted to an egoist but must, instead, choose a man who i s w i l l i n g 

to treat her as a r a t i o n a l creature and a p o t e n t i a l equal. She must, 

i n e f f e c t , refuse to be everything that the society which has perpetu-

ated her subjection has decreed she should be. Otherwise, she w i l l 

never clear the obstacle of t r a d i t i o n a l courtship and enter into what, 

So Jane Austen, seems the i d e a l r e l a t i o n s h i p which i s the goal of the 

comic action and the cause for the f i n a l celebrations. 

'"Now I must give one smirk, and then we may be r a t i o n a l 

again" 1 (NA, 1071). Thus Henry Tilney concludes a set of questions 

he has p l a y f u l l y asked Catherine Morland4-fordinary questions such as, 

"'Have you been long i n Bath, madam?'" (NA, 1070) which, exchanged by 

two young people on holiday, are too often charged with the counterfeit 



112 

emotion which precedes a sudden attachment. And so the quality of 

the r e l a t i o n s h i p between Henry and Catherine i s established at their 

f i r s t meeting. It i s only f i t t i n g , of course, that the tone of a 

work which parodies the sentimental novel should be l i g h t ; neverthe-

l e s s , i t i s i n t e r e s t i n g that Catherine's delusions of romance never 

s p i l l over into the area of courtship. Although she i s immediately 

and favourably impressed by Henry, she i s happy to l e t t h e i r acquaint-

ance grow along natural l i n e s . Unlike Isabella Thorpe, she resorts 

to no cunning: i t does not occur to her, for instance, to try to arouse 

Henry's jealousy by playing o f f John Thorpe against him. Instead, she 

i s miserable u n t i l she can explain to Henry the misunderstandings which 

have arisen through Thorpe's interest i n her. During her stay at 

Northanger with "her two young f r i e n d s" (NA, l l f i O . My i t a l i c s ) , t h e i r 

mutual fondness increases, but never to the point of any a n t i - s o c i a l 

action such as excluding Eleanor from any of their a c t i v i t i e s . 

Although, by t h i s time, Catherine i s i n love with Henry, she t r i e s her 

best not to show i t ; and, since Henry never indulges i n conventional 

gallantry, she has no evidence of his a t t r a c t i o n to her u n t i l he 

follows her to F u l l e r t o n . Their entire "courtship," then, takes 

place on a subsequent walk to the Aliens', during which "she was 

assured of his a f f e c t i o n ; and that heart i n return was s o l i c i t e d which, 

perhaps, they pretty equally knew was already his own . . . ." (NA,1202) 

At one point, Charlotte Lucas says to Elizabeth Bennet, 

"'. . . there are very few of us who have heart enough to be r e a l l y i n 

love without encouragement"1 (PP, 242). Indeed, i t takes a p a r t i c u l a r 

kind of comic heroine to appreciate the worth of the man she loves 

enough to r e s i s t the temptation to b e l i t t l e i t because he does not 

seem to return to her a f f e c t i o n . Early i n t h e i r friendship, E l i n o r 



Dashwood i s convinced of 11 'the excellence of his [Edward Ferrars'} 

understanding, and his p r i n c i p l e s * " (SS, 11). She cannot help but 

notice, however, "a want of s p i r i t s about him, which, i f i t did not 

denote indifference, spoke a something almost as unpromising" (SS, 12-

1 3 ) . When he v i s i t s Barton, she i s hurt by his "coldness and reserve" 

but, refusing to capitulate to vanity, "avoided every appearance of 

resentment or displeasure" (SS, 5 3 ) . Edward's actions do seem p e c u l i -

ar, even discourteous, yet any other behaviour would amount to 

deception, i n the l i g h t of his secret engagement to Lucy Steele. And 

so, when E l i n o r learns of t h i s previous commitment, she i s "consoled 

by the b e l i e f that Edward had done nothing to f o r f e i t her esteem" (SS, 

8 2 ) . (It may be worth noting that a secret engagement, the r e s u l t of 

"the youthful infatuation of nineteen" [SS, 82. My i t a l i c s ] , stands 

between E l i n o r and Edward, and that another "romantic" attachment be-

tween Lucy and Edward's brother, based on "an earnest, an unceasing 

attention to s e l f - i n t e r e s t " [SS, 225j on Lucy's part, eventually re-

moves the b a r r i e r between them.) E l i n o r respects his position; she 

does not try to make him suffer by encouraging his jealousy of Colonel 

Brandon; and eventually she instruments Colonel Brandon's giving him 

the l i v i n g at Delaford so that he and Lucy may be comfortably s e t t l e d . 

During what each thinks i s t h e i r l a s t meeting before his marriage, 

they both exhibit admirable s e l f - c o n t r o l by o f f e r i n g each other good 

wishes instead of uttering the one careless word which could e a s i l y 

p r e c i p i t a t e a "romantic" parting. When eventually he i s free to de-

clare himself, his "courtship" i s capsuled into one sentence 5 

. . . about three hours after his a r r i v a l , he had secured his lady, 
engaged her mother's consent, and was not only i n the rapturous pro-
fession of the lover, but i n the r e a l i t y of reason and truth, one of 
the happiest of men.'' (SS, 216. My i t a l i c s ) 



Ilk 

Fanny Price, i n Mansfield Park, loves with even less encourage-

ment than E l i n o r because, although E l i n o r knows Edward i s not i n love 

with Lucy, Fanny must a c t u a l l y watch the progress of Edmund's attach-

ment to Mary Crawford. That he has only brotherly feelings toward her 

(Fanny) i s further evidenced by his confiding to her a l l the problems 

of h i s courtship. Fanny's clear-sightedness i s , of course, exhibited 

i n her adamant r e f u s a l to be affected by the g a l l a n t r i e s of Henry 

Crawford: she has witnessed his pseudo-courtship of Maria Bertram and 

recognizes him for the supreme egoist he i s . Considering her naivete^ 

and inexperience, however, i t i s surprising that she i s not taken i n 

to some e x t e n t — p a r t i c u l a r l y when she feels her love for Edmund i s 

hopeless—by his sincere o f f e r s of marriage, and tempted to think, 

"This time i t w i l l be d i f f e r e n t . " Although she cannot be praised for 

not attempting to make Edmund jealous, since he favours the match with 

Henry, she can be commended for withstanding the heavy pressures which 

are exerted on her from a l l sides and for continuing to keep her 

r e l a t i o n s h i p with Edmund on the same f r i e n d l y basis. And so, after 

his break with Mary, "Fanny's friendship was a l l t h a t he had to c l i n g 

to" (MP, 751. My i t a l i c s ) . His "courtship"of her i s nominal: very 

soon he began "to prefer soft l i g h t eyes to sparkling dark ones" 

(MP, 758) and, because he and Fanny have known each other so long and 

so well as friends, 

. . . there was nothing on the side of prudence to stop him or make 
h i s progress slow; . . . her mind, d i s p o s i t i o n , opinions, and habits 
wanted no half concealment, no self-deception on the present, no 
reliance on future improvement. Even i n the midst of his late 
infatuation, he had acknowledged Fanny's mental s u p e r i o r i t y . What 
must be his sense of i t now, therefore! (MP, 758) 



115 

Insofar as she continues to love with no encouragement, Anne 

E l l i o t i n Persuasion may be grouped with E l i n o r and Fanny. In the back-

ground, of course, i s her youthful association with Frederick Wentworth: 

He was, at that time, a remarkably fine young man, with a great deal 
of i n t e l l i g e n c e , s p i r i t , and b r i l l i a n c y ; and Anne an extremely pretty 
g i r l , with gentleness, modesty, taste, and f e e l i n g . . . . They were  
gradually acquainted, and when acquainted, r a p i d l y and deeply i n love. 
(P, 1225. My i t a l i c s ) 

When she hears he w i l l v i s i t the Crofts at Kellynch, she i s too c l e a r -

sighted to p a l l i a t e the " r e v i v a l of former pain" (P, 1227) by i d l y 

dreaming that he s t i l l loves her; she faces squarely the knowledge 

that, since he has long ago made his fortune and could have returned 

to her at any time, he must have been either " i n d i f f e r e n t or unwilling" 

(P, 1244) to do so. At t h e i r f i r s t meeting she r e a l i z e s "that to 

retentive feelings eight years may be l i t t l e more than nothing" 

(P, 1245) but Frederick i s sure that "her power with him was gone for 

ever" (P, 1246). Although they are frequently i n the same s o c i a l 

group, since Frederick i s ostensibly but not too seriously courting 

the Musgrove g i r l s , they meet only on the most formal footing; they 

are "worse than strangers, for they could never become acquainted. 

It was a perpetual estrangement" (P, 1247). Anne has no hope whatever. 

Deeply disturbed by the s l i g h t e s t word or gesture of acknowledgment 

on his part, she t r i e s to s t e e l herself to his indifference but "his 

cold politeness, his ceremonious grace, were worse than anything" 

(P, 1253). Her f i r s t breakthrough comes at Lyme, after she has demon-

strated her c a p a b i l i t y at the time of Louisa's accident; as Frederick 

asks her to stay with Louisa, he speaks "with a glow, and yet a gentle-

ness, which seemed almost r e s t o r i n g the past" (P, 1279). With t h i s 



116 

s l i g h t encouragement, Anne might conceivably be tempted to hone her own 

weapons of elegance and charm with which to combat the youth and v i t a l -

i t y of the Musgrove g i r l s . But she does not. On t h e i r a r r i v a l at 

Uppercross, he asks her advice about the means of breaking the news 

of Louisa's accident to her parents and ". . . the remembrance of the 

appeal remained a pleasure to her, as a proof of friendship, and of 

deference for her judgment, a great pleasure . . . ." (P, 1281. My 

i t a l i c s ) When theynext meet, i n Bath, she i s " f u l l y sensible of his 

being less at ease than formerly" (P, 1316), but she refuses to l e t 

h e r s e l f be heartened by what perhaps means nothing. Later, his com-

ments about Louisa Musgrove's engagement to Captain Benwick, 

p a r t i c u l a r l y his emphasis on there being '"too great a d i s p a r i t y , and 

i n a point no less e s s e n t i a l than mind'" (P, 1320), coupled with his 

surprise that Benwick could have recovered so quickly from his love 

f o r Fanny H a r v i l l e , make her supremely happy: 

. . . a l l declared that he had a heart returning to her at least; 
that anger, resentment, avoidance, were no more; and that they were 
succeeded, not merely by friendship and regard, but by the tenderness 
of the past. . . . She could not contemplate the change as implying 
l e s s . He must love her. (P, 1322. My i t a l i c s ) 

Instead of encouraging Mr. E l l i o t ' s attentions (of whom she i s aware 

that Frederick i s very jealous) further to stimulate Frederick's love, 

or to punish him for his former neglect, she i s concerned only that he 

know the truth. And, a few days l a t e r , discussing constancy with 

Captain H a r v i l l e i n his presence, she makes sure he knows her r e a l 

f e e l i n g s by avowing, " ' A l l the p r i v i l e g e I claim for my own sex . . . 

i s that of loving longest, when existence or when hope i s gone'" 

(P, 1353-54). Her s i n c e r i t y prompts his l e t t e r , which constitutes 

h i s "courtship." During t h e i r subsequent conversation, he reveals 

the reason,, which had become apparent to him at Lyme, why he regards 



117 
her as so superior to other women: "Her character was now fixed on his 

mind as perfection i t s e l f , maintaining the l o v e l i e s t medium of f o r t i -

tude and gentleness . . . ." (P, 1358. My i t a l i c s ) With their common 

"maturity of mind" and "consciousness of r i g h t " (P, 1362), there i s 

no need for courtship, only for a c l a r i f i c a t i o n of past events. 

Perhaps the reason we tend to see Emma Woodhouse and Elizabeth 

Bennet as the greatest of the comic heroines i s that, unlike Catherine, 

E l i n o r , Fanny and Anne, they are not p a r t i a l l y protected from the 

obstacle of t r a d i t i o n a l courtship by an emotional commitment to a man 

who i s not an egoist, find, unlike Marianne, although each has been 

tempted to capitulate, she has recovered from her temporary aberration 

before she i s faced with her great moment of decision. 

Considering how wrong she i s about so many things, Emma i s for 

the most part very perceptive inlher view of men. She i s not at a l l 

f l a t t e r e d , for instance, by Mr. Elton's attentions: 

Contrary to the usual course of things, Mr. Elton's wanting to pay 
h i s addresses to her had sunk him i n her opinion. . . . Sighs and 
f i n e words had been given i n abundance; but she could hardly devise 
any set of expressions, or fancy any tone of voice, less a l l i e d with  
r e a l love. (E, 845. My i t a l i c s ) 

And, even when she i s playing with the idea of being i n love with 

Frank C h u r c h i l l , she i s r a t i o n a l enough to r e f l e c t , "'. . . I do not 

look upon him to be quite the sort of man—I do not altogether b u i l d 

upon his steadiness or constancy'" (E, 923-924). It never occurs to 

her to be coquettish with Mr. Knightley and, of course, she i s com-

p l e t e l y unaware of his attachment to her. "One of the few people who 

could see f a u l t s i n Emma Woodhouse, and the only one who ever t o l d her 

of them" (E, 766-777), he i s so far from gallantry that he seems to be 



118 

exactly what he professes to be—'"a p a r t i a l old f r i e n d 1 ' 1 (E, 784). 

Emma does not for a moment attribute his d i s l i k e of Frank C h u r c h i l l to 

jealousy. And she herself i s not jealous when Mrs. Weston suspects 

Mr. Knightley i s interested i n Jane Fairfax. In f a c t , there i s no 

i n d i c a t i o n of anything but friendship on either side u n t i l the Grown 

Inn B a l l ; when Emma remarks that they are not quite so much brother 

and s i s t e r as to make i t improper for them to dance together, Mr. 

Knightley gives but the s l i g h t e s t hint of his f e e l i n g for when he 

r e p l i e s , '"Brother and s i s t e r ! no, indeed*" (E, 964). The hint makes 

no impression on Emma, however, and even i f i t had, his severe remon-

strance for her c r u e l behaviour to Miss Bates on Box H i l l would have 

u t t e r l y negated i t . When, however, she fears Harriet Smith may have 

won Mr. Knightley, "a few minutes were s u f f i c i e n t for making her ac-

quainted with her own heart. . . . It darted through her with the 

speed of an arrow that Mr. Knightley must marry no one but h e r s e l f ! " 

(E, 1012) She r e a l i z e s , for the f i r s t time, her great need of him 

and the extent of her debt to him: 

She had herself been f i r s t with him for many years past. She had not 
deserved i t . . . but s t i l l , from family attachment and habit, and 
thorough excellence of mind, he had loved her, and watched over her 
from a g i r l , with an endeavour to improve her, and an anxiety for her 
doing r i g h t , which no other creature had at a l l shared. (E, 1017. 
My i t a l i c s ) 

Overwhelmed by her own unworthiness, she has not to suffer long. On 

her assuring him, the next day, that she has never loved Frank Church-

i l l , his declaration of love i s both sincere and a r t l e s s and, 

i n c i d e n t a l l y , gives us a glimpse of an Emma we have never seen before: 

".I cannot make speeches, Emma . . . . I f I loved you l e s s , I might 
be able to t a l k about i t more. But you know what I am. You hear  
nothing but truth from me. I have blamed you, and lectured you, and 



119 

you have borne i t as no other woman i n England would have borne 
i t . . . . God knows, I have been a very i n d i f f e r e n t lover. But you 
understand me." (E, 1026. My i t a l i c s ) 

And she does. With no wish for gallantry, with no desire to be arch 

or to f l a t t e r him, or to keep him i n suspense, "she was his own Emma, 

by hand and word, when they returned into the; house . . . ." (E, 1028) 

Without doubt, Elizabeth Bennet has a greater temptation to 

y i e l d to the obstacle of t r a d i t i o n a l courtship than any of the other 

comic heroines: without fortune, without expectation, she i s sought 

by a wealthy, prominent man. His wooing, however, does not follow the 

t r a d i t i o n a l pattern. Far from i d e a l i z i n g Elizabeth, he follows his 

declaration of love by dwelling on "his sense of her i n f e r i o r i t y — o f 

i t s being a degradation" (PP, 3^5). Her r e f u s a l i s based, of course, 

on her genuine and long-standing d i s l i k e of him: she taxes him with 

undue c r i t i c i s m of her family, with ruining Wickham and with harming 

Jane by persuading Bingley to leave Netherfield. And he attributes 

her attack to hurt pride: 

"These b i t t e r accusations might have been suppressed, had I, with 
greater p o l i c y , concealed my struggles, and f l a t t e r e d you into the 
b e l i e f of my being impelled by unqualified, unalloyed i n c l i n a t i o n ; 
by reason, by r e f l e c t i o n , by everything. But disguise of every sort 
i s my_ abhorrence." (PP, 3^7 • My i t a l i c s ) 

While Darcy thus abnegates any claim to the status of a courtly lover, 

we are more interested i n E l i z a b e t h ^ reaction. With everything to be 

gained by accepting his love and overlooking his reservations—by, i n 

f a c t , nothing more than a l i t t l e well-directed f l a t t e r y and well-

disguised h u m i l i t y — E l i z a b e t h s t i l l disdains to j o i n the ranks of the 

female conformists. Tempted by neither his wealth nor his status, she 

does not equivocate i n her r e f u s a l : "*. . . I had not known you a 



120 
month before I f e l t that you were the l a s t man i n the world whom I 

could ever be prevailed on to marry 1" (PP, 34-7). Furthermore, she 

quite frankly and j u s t i f i a b l y c r i t i c i z e s him for not behaving " ' i n a 

more gentlemanlike manner'" (PP, 3̂ 7)• On receiving his l e t t e r the 

next morning, she f e e l s genuinely ashamed of those reproaches which 

were unjust; she undergoes no sudden reversal of f e e l i n g , however, 

but decides that, i f they should meet again, she w i l l not be so 

blinded by prejudice as to continue to misjudge him. Their accidental 

meeting at Pemberley i s characterized by a d i f f e r e n t kind of r e l a t i o n -

ship between them—a kind of f r i e n d l i n e s s which quickly takes root. 

To her, as well as to her aunt and uncle, he i s consistently kind and 

gracious. Although she i s eventually convinced he s t i l l loves her, 

she i s not yet sure of her own f e e l i n g . Certainly, she no longer hates 

him: 

The respect created by the conviction of his valuable q u a l i t i e s . . . 
was now heightened into somewhat of a f r i e n d l i e r nature, by the 
testimony so highly i n his favour . . . . She respected, she esteemed, 
she was g r a t e f u l to him, she f e l t a r e a l i n t e r e s t i n his welfare; and 
she only wanted to know how far she wished that welfare to depend upon 
herself, and how far i t would be for the happiness of both that she 
should employ the power, which her fancy t o l d her she s t i l l possessed, 
of bringing on the renewal of his addresses. (PP, 388-389. My 
i t a l i c s ) 

Only when t h i s happy interlude i s ended by the news of Lydia's elope-

ment with Wickham (which Elizabeth frankly relates to Darcy), and i n 

the f u l l consciousness of the i n f e r i o r i t y of her family which must be 

even more clear to him than to her, does she r e a l i z e her true f e e l i n g : 

". . . never had she so honestly f e l t that she could have loved him, 

a6 now, when a l l love must be vain" (PP, 396). Elizabeth's change of 

heart i s the culmination of a long, slow process. Commenting on i t , 

Jane Austen makes her most e x p l i c i t statement on the respective worth 



121 
of "romantic" and "real" love! 

If gratitude and esteem are good foundations of affection, Elizabeth's 
change of sentiment w i l l be neither improbable nor faulty. But i f 
otherwise—if the regard springing from such sources i s unreasonable 
or unnatural, in comparison of what i s so often described as arising  
on a f i r s t interview with i t s ob.ject, and even before two words have  
been exchanged, nothing can be said in her defence, except that she 
had given somewhat of a t r i a l to the latter method in her partiality 
for Wickham, and that i t s i l l success might, perhaps, authorise her 
to seek the other less interesting mode of attachment. (PP, 397* 
My i t a l i c s ) 

Later, when everything i s c l a r i f i e d , Jane asks Elizabeth how long she 

has loved Darcy, to which Elizabeth replies, "'It has been coming on 

so gradually, that I hardly know when i t began'" (PP, 4 5 6 ) . Elizabeth, 

although often mistaken about him, has always been herself with Darcy: 

even in her distress over Lydia, she does not resort to "feminine" 

wiles to engage his sympathy. And i t is well for her that she does 

remain herself because Darcy, although by no means faultless, is one 

of the few men who do not share society's sentimental view of women. 

As Elizabeth points out, in what i s an accurate description of the 

effect of the female conformist on the male who i s not an egoist: 

"The fact i s , that you were sick of c i v i l i t y , of deference, of o f f i c i -
ous attention. You were disgusted with the women who were always 
speaking and looking and thinking for your approbation alone. I 
roused and interested you, because I was so unlike them. Had you not 
been really amiable, you would have hated me for i t ; but, in spite of 
the pains you took to disguise yourself, your feelings were always 
noble and just; and, in your heart, you thoroughly despised the per-
sons who so assiduously courted you." (PP, 4-60) 

Their essential "courtship" consists simply of Darcy's asking Eliza-

beth whether her feelings have undergone any change since he last 

approached her, and her honest and frank reply that they have altered 

to such an extent that she i s now only too happy to accept the assurance 

of his love. 



And so, i n spite of the concerted e f f o r t s of the obstructing 

characters who control the old, r i g i d society, Jane Austen's comic 

heroines overcome the major obstacle to t h e i r s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n and 

look forward to a marriage i n which they can f i n d fulfilment as 

i n d i v i d u a l s . That t h e i r success l i e s i n t h e i r behaving as " ' r a t i o n a l 

creatures'" instead of "'elegant females'" and i n t h e i r being so 

regarded by t h e i r s u i t o r s , t e s t i f i e s to the wisdom of Mr. Knightley's 

contention: '"Mystery—finesse—how they pervert the understanding! 

My Emma, does not everything serve to prove more and more the beauty 

of truth and s i n c e r i t y i n a l l our dealings with each other?'" (E, IO36 

My i t a l i c s ) 

There i s no evidence that Jane Austen ever a l l i e d herself with 
12 

the cause of Feminism. Apparently uninterested i n p o l i t i c a l move-

ments, "here was a woman about the year 1800 writing without hate, 

without bitterness, without fear, without protest, without preaching." 

And yet, by r i d i c u l i n g the t r a d i t i o n a l concept of courtship and by 

exposing i t i n the l i g h t of the comic s p i r i t for what i t r e a l l y i s — 

a framework within which egoism and sentimentalism, disguised by the 

myth of "romantic" love, can take advantage of women's ignorance and 

dependence and thus perpetuate the whole vicious c i r c l e of female 

subjugation—she exhibits ideals very close to those of the Feminists. 

Her methods are d i f f e r e n t but her goal i s the same: 
. . . her name should be linked with that of the great Vindicator of 
the Rights of Women, Mary Wollstonecraft . . . the v i s comica of the 
one has been as powerful an agency i n t h e i r vindication as the saeva  
indignatio of the other. . . . Jane Austen and Mary Wollstonecraft 
were bent on the destruction of the f a i r sex . . . and the evolution 
of the r a t i o n a l woman.^ 



123 

NOTES 

"Htfoolf, A Room of One's Own, pp. 53-54. 
2 

Meredith, The Egoist, p. 123. 

^Lionel Stevenson, "Introduction 1 1 to The Egoist, p. i x . 

S b i d . 
5 I b i d . 

^ M i l l , The Subjection of Women, p. 4-3. 
n 
Wollstonecraft, Rights of Woman, pp. 49-50. 

8 
Meredith, "An Essay on Comedy," p. 32. 
9 
Stevenson, p. i x . 

1 0 Hamlet, I I I , i i , 75-76. 
11 

Meredith, The Egoist, p. 78. 
12 
A. S. Kumar, "Jane Austen—The Feminist S e n s i b i l i t y , " Indian  

Journal of English Studies, III (196l), 135» 
13 
^Woolf, Room, p. 101. 
14 

Wilson, Jane Austen, p. i x . 



12k 

CHAPTER VII 

MARRIAGE: THE COMIC RESOLUTION 

. . . the movement of comedy i s usually a move-
ment from one kind of society to another. At 
the beginning of the play the obstructing 
characters are i n charge of the play's 
society. . . . The society emerging at the con-
clusion . . . represents, by contrast, a kind of 
moral norm, or pragmatically free society. 
—Northrop Frye, Anatomy of C r i t i c i s m 

Since comedy i s concerned with society and celebrates the 

forces of love through which i t i s regenerated, i t i s only to be ex-

pected that most comedies end with the marriage of the hero and the 

heroine. Jane Austen's comedies are no exception. Having overcome 

her obstacles, the comic heroine i s free to make the marriage of her 

choice. That t h i s marriage constitutes both the resolution of the 

comic action and the turning point i n the fortunes of the heroine i s 

not coincidence; for the "pragmatically free society" which w i l l form 

around the newly married couple i s not only the goal of the comic 

action but also the one area i n which the comic heroine can f u l l y 

r e a l i z e h e r s e l f . In a sense, then, the society which emerges at the 

end of Jane Austen's comedies i s d i f f e r e n t from that which takes shape 

at the end of most comedies—Fielding's Tom Jones and Shakespeare's 

Twelfth Night, for instance—the ideals of which "are seldom defined 

or formulated."^ Far from being vaguely and amorphously i d e a l i s t i c , 

Jane Austen's new society, l i k e that glimpsed at the conclusion of 

Meredith's The Egoist and Congreve's The Way of the World, i s based 

f i r m l y on the p r i n c i p l e of the p o t e n t i a l equality of the sexes. It 

i s obvious that the marriage which establishes t h i s r a d i c a l l y d i f f e r e n t 



125 

s o c i e t y must indeed be remarkable. 

In order t h a t the q u a l i t y and i m p l i c a t i o n s of t h i s redemptive, 

p i v o t a l marriage may be a c c u r a t e l y assessed, i t must be compared w i t h 

the marriages e n t e r e d i n t o or approved by the members of the o b s t r u c t -

i n g group which has endorsed the concept of female i n f e r i o r i t y . As 

R. W. Chapman s t a t e s : 

. . . the c o n t r a s t between the two g e n e r a t i o n s , between the i l l -
a s s o r t e d matches c o n t r a c t e d b e f o r e the a c t i o n o f the n o v e l s begins 
and the marriage of true minds, a harmony i n d i v e r s i t y , t h a t s h ^ 
[Jane Austen] p l a n s f o r her heroes and h e r o i n e s , i s very marked. 

We must c o n d i t i o n a l l y except, of course, the Morlands and the e l d e r 

Dashwoods who, though.they have u n c o n s c i o u s l y a c t e d on the assumption 

o f female i n f e r i o r i t y , have n e v e r t h e l e s s enjoyed c o n g e n i a l — a n d t h e r e -

f o r e f a i r l y e q u a l — m a r r i a g e s . Of the a c t u a l r e l a t i o n s h i p o f the 

Woodhouses we know n o t h i n g , but can surmise much from the f a c t t h a t 

Mr. Woodhouse i s a man "whose t a l e n t s c o u l d not have recommended him 

at any time" (E, 764); very wealthy, he must have m a r r i e d a woman con-

s i d e r a b l y s u p e r i o r to him i n t e l l e c t u a l l y s i n c e , as Mr. K n i g h t l e y t e l l s 

us (E, 7 8 3 ) , it i s from her t h a t Emma has i n h e r i t e d a l l her a b i l i t i e s . 

We have more d e f i n i t e i n f o r m a t i o n on the S i r Walter E l l i o t s : S i r 

Walter's "good l o o k s and h i s rank had one f a i r c l a i m on h i s a t t a c h -

ment, s i n c e to them he must have owed a wife of very s u p e r i o r c h a r a c t e r 

to a n y t h i n g deserved by h i s own" (P, 1212. My i t a l i c s ) . In M a n s f i e l d  

Park, "the greatness o f the match" between the wealthy S i r Thomas 

Bertram and the c o m p a r a t i v e l y poor but very b e a u t i f u l Miss Maria Ward 

astounded the whole county (MP, * f 6 9 )—and S i r Thomas has the r e s t o f 

h i s l i f e to contemplate w i t h perhaps even g r e a t e r astonishment the 

i n f i n i t e s t u p i d i t y and u s e l e s s n e s s of h i s handsome w i f e . The d i s p a r i t y 



126 

between Mr. and Mrs. Bennet i s equally obvious, and unnecessarily ag-

gravated by Mr. Bennet's lack of tolerance and exhibition of active 

d i s l i k e for the woman who precipitated his youthful error: 

. . . captivated by youth and beauty, and that appearance of good  
humour which youth and beauty generally give, [hej had married a woman 
whose weak understanding and i l l i b e r a l mind had very early i n their 
marriage put an end to a l l r e a l a f f e c t i o n for her. (PP, 372. My 
i t a l i c s ) 

These " i l l - a s s o r t e d matches" r e s u l t , of course, from the tendency of 

the older generation to regard women as objects to be bargained for 

i n a market where beauty, wealth and status are prime assets. 

Speaking of Colonel Brandon's preference for Marianne Dashwood, 

Mrs. Jennings happily speculates that " i t would be an excellent match 

f o r he was r i c h and she was handsome" (SS_, 21). Mrs. Jennings speaks 

from first-hand knowledge. Her own daughter's marriage was apparently 

based on the same premise, as evidenced by Elinor's r e f l e c t i o n s on the 

i l l - n a t u r e of Charlotte's husband: 

His temper might perhaps be a l i t t l e soured by finding, l i k e many 
others of his sex, that through some unaccountable bias i n favour of 
beauty, he was the husband of a very s i l l y woman—but she knew that 
t h i s kind of blunder was too common for any sensible man to be 
l a s t i n g l y hurt by i t . (SS, 67) 

Wickham i s attracted to Lydia Bennet by the i d e n t i c a l q u a l i t i e s which 

attracted her father to her mother. Mr. Rushworth marries Maria 

Bertram for her beauty, which she trades for "the enjoyment of a 

larger income than her father's, as well as . . . the house i n town" 

(MP, 491). Mr. C o l l i n s ' unrelieved unattractiveness Charlotte Lucas 

i s w i l l i n g to accept i n return for the p r i v i l e g e of having her own 

home. Mr. Elton marries Miss Hawkins for her money, which she i s only 



127 

too happy to exchange for status. None of these marriages, although 

contracted between members of the younger generation, can i n s t i t u t e 

a new society. Based not on equality but on a commercial r e l a t i o n -

ship between the sexes which Defoe deplores as "the disaster of the 

times,"^ they do but perpetuate the old, s t e r i l e society. And i f by 

any chance we entertain the delusion that the old society has long 

vanished, we should remember that even today the r e a l reasons for 

which people marry do not bear too close a scrutiny, for "according 

to the standards of our society, a man makes a successful marriage 

when he hooks a pretty g i r l . And a woman has made a good match i f she 
k 

marries a successful man." The old society i s s t i l l very much with us. 

Mary Crawford, discussing marriage with Mrs. Grant, remarks: 

". . . there i s not one i n a hundred of either sex who i s not taken i n 
when they m a r r y . . . . i t i s , of all„transactions, the one i n which 
people expect most from others, and are least honest themselves. . . . 
I know so many who have married i n the f u l l expectation and confidence 
of some one p a r t i c u l a r advantage i n the connection, or accomplishment, 
or good quality i n the person, who have found themselves e n t i r e l y 
deceived, and been obliged to put up with exactly the reverse. What 
i s t h i s but a take i n ? " (MP, 4-95-̂ 96) 

In case we may be s l i g h t l y misled by the i n c l u s i o n of one "'good 

q u a l i t y i n the person,'" we must remember that Mary says elsewhere, 

"'A large income i s the best recipe for happiness I ever heard o f " 

(MP, 598). When marriage i s the r e s u l t of a bartering process based 

on appearances, i t i s not s u r p r i s i n g that the participants are hood-

winked. It would be strange i f they were not. For each seeks i n the 

other only what i t i s to his material advantage to f i n d , and shows 

only what i t p r o f i t s him to disclose, disguising a l l the r e s t . Only 

when the choice of both partners i s determined by "that higher species 

of self-command, that just consideration of others, that knowledge of 



128 

[ t h e i r j own heart [s], that p r i n c i p l e of r i g h t " (MP, 524) which consti-

tute the e s s e n t i a l core of Jane Austen's value system, can i t be said 

that happiness i n marriage does not depend e n t i r e l y on chance. 

In the marriages which herald, the new society, i t i s the i n t r i n -

s i c worth of the partners which i s all-important. Wealth and status, 

for instance, are never decisive factors i n the choice of the comic 

heroines. Catherine Morland gives no thought to money. Elinor Dash-

wood marries Edward Ferrars i n the f u l l knowledge of his disinheritance. 

Although Elizabeth Bennet p l a y f u l l y t e l l s Jane that her love for Darcy 

began when she f i r s t saw Pemberley, we know that his wealth and p o s i -

t i o n could not even s l i g h t l y modify her o r i g i n a l d i s l i k e of him. For 

Emma Woodhouse, who i s wealthy i n her own r i g h t , the question of money 

does not a r i s e . Anne E l l i o t might come under f i r e because of her re-

f u s a l , as a young g i r l , to marry Frederick Wentworth, but we already 

know her reasons and we must remember that she l a t e r disclaims vehem-

ently against the sort of prudence which sets f i n a n c i a l security at 

too high a premium. Indeed, a l l the comic heroines would seem to 

agree with Fanny Price who—not i n the least tempted by Henry Craw-

ford's wealth and p o s i t i o n — n e v e r sways from her conviction as to "how 

wretched, and how unpardonable, how hopeless, and how wicked i t was, 

to marry without a f f e c t i o n " (MP, 665). 

Even more s i g n i f i c a n t , perhaps, the heroes are not unduly at-

tracted by the beauty of the heroines—only one of whom, Marianne 

Dashwood, seems to have a legitimate claim to great beauty. Catherine 

Morland, E l i n o r Dashwood and Fanny Price are pretty g i r l s but do not 

evoke any memorable comment on their appearance from t h e i r respective 

s u i t o r s . At f i r s t , Darcy finds Elizabeth only " ' t o l e r a b l e ' " and not 

u n t i l he begins to admire her as a person does he notice her "'fine 



129 

eyes.'" Mr. Knightley r e a d i l y admits that Emma i s handsome—"'. . . 

I confess that I have seldom seen a face or figure more pleasing to 

me than hers*" (E, 784)—but i s interested i n her primarily because 

she promises r a t i o n a l companionship. At the time of Frederick Went-

worth's return, Anne i s "faded and t h i n " (P, 1213), to such an extent 

that he remarks upon her changed appearance to her s i s t e r Mary; not 

u n t i l he r e a l i z e s that he s t i l l loves her can he say, "*. . . to my 

eye you could never a l t e r ' " (P, 1359). In marriages based on such 

values as these, i t would be highly improbable i f happiness were only 

a matter of chance. 

. . . there i s a spot the size of a s h i l l i n g at the back of 
the head which one can never see for oneself. It i s one of the good 
o f f i c e s that sex can discharge for s e x — t o describe that spot the 
s i z e of a s h i l l i n g at the back of the head. . . . Be t r u t h f u l , one 
would say, and the r e s u l t i s bound to be amazingly i n t e r e s t i n g . 
Comedy i s bound to be enriched.5 

Such "good o f f i c e s " are not performed i n the " i l l - a s s o r t e d matches" 

of the old, r i g i d society. S i r Thomas, for instance, might have r e -

directed some of Lady Bertram's attitudes; released from i t s bonds of 

selfishness, her e s s e n t i a l l y gentle nature might have softened his 

own harsh manners. Mr. Bennet, by strengthening his wife's weak 

understanding and correcting her i l l i b e r a l views, might have trans-

muted some of her undeniable s o c i a b i l i t y into a measure of s o c i a l 

awareness. Both women, perhaps, had they been treated more l i k e 

people, could have become l e s s l i k e objects. According to M i l l , t h i s 

neglect on the part of husbands i s deliberate: 

I believe that t h e i r C w o m e n's} d i s a b i l i t i e s elsewhere are only clung 
to i n order to maintain t h e i r subordination i n domestic l i f e ; because 
the generality of the male sex cannot yet tolerate the idea of l i v i n g 
with an equal.6 



130 

Charlotte Lucas makes no attempt to modify but chooses to ignore Mr. 

C o l l i n s 1 s t u p i d i t y . The Eltons, by r e i n f o r c i n g each other's snobbery 

and egoism, only enlarge the size of their respective s h i l l i n g - s p o t s . 

On the other hand, the partners i n the marriages based on "harmony i n 

d i v e r s i t y " do much to help and complement each other. Through Henry 

Tilney*s understanding and sophistication, Catherine loses much of her 

naivete. Fanny Price's clear-sightedness helps r i d Edmund of his 

i l l u s i o n s . Anne E l l i o t i s the cause of Frederick Wentworth's r e l i n -

quishing his pride. Mr. Knightley redeems Emma from her over-active 

fancy and her dangerous flippancy; i n turn, her playfulness w i l l 

modify his seriousness. When Elizabeth f e e l s she has l o s t Darcy, she 

r e f l e c t s : 

It was an union that must have been to the advantage of both: by her 
ease and l i v e l i n e s s , his mind might have been softened, his manners 
improved; and from his judgment, information, and knowledge of the 
world, she must have received benefit of greater importance. (PP, 4l?) 

Darcy admits, "'You taught me a lesson . . . . by you I was properly 

humbled*" (PP, ^53). That t h i s mutual give-and-take w i l l continue 

i s suggested by Elizabeth's checking her temptation to tease Darcy 

about Bingley's p l i a b i l i t y because "she remembered that he had yet to 

learn to be laughed at, and i t was rather too early to begin'" (PP, 

455), and evidenced by his becoming, a f t e r their marriage, "the object 

of open pleasantry" (PP, 465). And so the v i r t u a l i s o l a t i o n i n which 

the partners i n the marriages condoned by the old society exist i s 

superseded by "the perfect union, the perfect communication,"'' between 

the marriage partners who meet each other on terms of equality i n 

the new society: 



131 
What marriage may be i n the case of two persons of c u l t i v a t e d f a c u l -
t i e s , i d e n t i c a l i n opinions and purposes, between whom there exists 
that best kind of equality, s i m i l a r i t y of powers and capacities with 
r e c i p r o c a l s u p e r i o r i t y i n them—so that each can enjoy the luxury of 
looking up to the other, and can have alternately the pleasure of lead-
ing and of being led i n the path of development—I w i l l not attempt to 
describe. . . . But I maintain, with the profoundest^conviction, that 
t h i s , and t h i s only, i s the i d e a l of marriage . . . . 

Comedy, always concerned with what benefits society, i s indeed enrich-

ed, because the a n t i - s o c i a l has been supplanted by the t r u l y s o c i a l . 

By now i t must be obvious that the most remarkable phenomenon 

i n the marriage around which the new society forms i s the quality of 

the husband chosen by the comic heroine. Too l i t t l e has been said 

about him: his r e a l worth must be assessed. That Jane Austen's men 

are usually seen only i n r e l a t i o n to her women9is generally true, but 

t h i s does not i n any way diminish t h e i r status. Neither i s i t strange 

or unusual. In many comic novels, the heroine i s seen only i n r e l a -

t i o n to the male protagonist: she waits passively, symbolizing a l l 

the virtues of hearth and home, while he overcomes the impediments to 

t h e i r union. In Jane Austen's novels, i n which the protagonist i s a 

woman, the hero must stand by u n t i l she overcomes her obstacles. But 

he i s r a r e l y passive; on the contrary, by consistently aligning him-

s e l f with her cause, he helps to lead her out of her impasse. In 

i t s e l f , his assistance i s not unusual but, under the circumstances, 

i t becomes highly s i g n i f i c a n t because i t places him, too, i n opposition 

to the obstructing characters. Unlike most of his sex, he i s neither 

an egoist nor a sentimentalist; he prefers a r a t i o n a l woman to a d o l l 

on a pedestal, and he pays a l l women the compliment of refusing to 

i d e a l i z e them. Consequently, he w i l l see his wife not as an object, 

a puppet who continues to play her mechanical role i n a d i f f e r e n t 



132 

environment, but as an i n d i v i d u a l i n her own right whose claim for 

recognition i s v a l i d and whose opportunity to r e a l i z e herself f u l l y i s 

long overdue. Furthermore, he has helped to prepare her for that 

opportunity. Henry Tilney, for instance, commends Catherine's "teach-

ableness of d i s p o s i t i o n " (NA, 1160). Edmund Bertram, "loving, guiding, 

protecting" Fanny since she was ten years old (MP, 757), and always 

eager "to direct her thoughts or f i x her p r i n c i p l e s " (MP, 712) i s 

responsible for the taste and c u l t i v a t i o n of her adult mind. Mr. 

Knightley has "watched over her [Emma} from a g i r l , with an endeavour 

to improve her, and an anxiety for her doing r i g h t , which no other 

creature had at a l l shared" (E, 1017). That Darcy w i l l perform the 

same service for Elizabeth at a more advanced l e v e l i s almost certain; 

as Mr. Bennet remarks: 

"I know that you could be neither happy nor respectable unless you 
t r u l y esteemed your husband—unless you looked up to him as a superior. 
Your l i v e l y talents would place you i n the greatest danger i n an 
unequal marriage. You could scarcely escape d i s c r e d i t and misery." 
(PP, 458. My i t a l i c s ) 

These men are, of course, i n t e l l e c t u a l l y superior to the women they 

marry. And perhaps t h i s i s why they are so often considered father 

f i g u r e s — a s indeed they are. Edward Ferrars and Frederick Wentworth, 

who marry i n t e l l e c t u a l equals, are not father figures i n t h i s p a r t i c -

ular sense, although they are i n another and equally important sense. 

For a l l the comic heroines—and we must include even E l i n o r Dashwood 

and Anne E l l i o t — h a v e been relegated by their society to a position 

of i n f e r i o r i t y ; they are not yet ready to assume the r e s p o n s i b i l i t y 

inherent i n f u l l equality with the male. E s s e n t i a l l y , they are i n the 

same p o s i t i o n as subjects i n a former dictatorship who must be care-

f u l l y prepared to undertake the obligations central to democratic 



133 
freedom. And so the comic heroine must be trained for her new posi-

t i o n , and by a man who treats her as a unique, r a t i o n a l human being 

with a very r e a l potential of her own—by a man who, i n e f f e c t , 

abjures the whole concept of female i n f e r i o r i t y . By so doing, these 

men are acting against what the old society would consider t h e i r own 

i n t e r e s t s for, i f their actions were to become a universal law, the 

r e s u l t i n g equality of the sexes would destroy the whole myth of male 

s u p e r i o r i t y . It i s p l a i n , therefore, why we must never underestimate 

Jane Austen's heroes. Above a l l , as co-founders of the new, free 

society, they serve as the c r i t e r i o n for i d e a l c i t i z e n s h i p i n that 

they are prepared to s a c r i f i c e private interest for the common good. 

Since "the tendency of comedy i s to include as many people as 

possible i n i t s f i n a l society; the blocking characters are more often 

reconciled or converted than simply repudiated,""^ the s o c i a l expan-

siveness of Jane Austen's new society i s not l i m i t e d to the r e l a t i o n -

ship between husband and wife. Most of the obstructing characters 

who have, i n one way or another, denied the comic heroines' claim for 

recognition, are reconciled and admitted. Although people l i k e the 

Eltons, S i r Walter E l l i o t and Colonel Tilney are permitted to exist 

only on the periphery of the new society, none but Mrs. Norris and 

Mr. Wickham are c a t e g o r i c a l l y repudiated. S i r Thomas Bertram, Mrs. 

Dashwood and Lady Hussell, eager to renounce the old society, are 

welcomed into the new. 

With i t s e x p l i c i t promise of a better l i f e for the children 

of the coming generation, Jane Austen's new society i s even more s o c i -

a l l y i n c l u s i v e than the comic pattern demands. Not only are the 

heroes shown as i d e a l father figures; the major comic heroines (with 

the exception of Catherine M o r iand and Marianne Dashwood) are also 



134 
c a r e f u l l y displayed as p o t e n t i a l l y i d e a l parents at some point of the 

action. As Mr. Knightley watches Emma play with her s i s t e r ' s children, 

he remarks on her a b i l i t y to handle them: 

" I f you were as much guided by nature i n your estimate of men and 
women, and as l i t t l e under the power of fancy and whim i n your dealings 
with them, as you are where these children are concerned, we might 
always think a l i k e . " (E, 822) 

"New as anything l i k e an o f f i c e of authority was to Fanny, new as i t 

was to imagine herself capable of guiding or informing anyone" (MP, 

711), she i s , while i n Portsmouth, a tremendous influence for good 

on her s i s t e r Susan: 

She gave advice, advice too sound to be r e s i s t e d by a good understand-
ing, and given so mildly and considerately as not to i r r i t a t e an 
imperfect temper, and she had the happiness of observing i t s good 
e f f e c t s not unfrequently. (MP, 712) 

Anne E l l i o t i s very attached to her s i s t e r ' s children, "who loved her 

nearly as well, and respected her a great deal more than t h e i r mother" 

(P, 1 2 3 5 ) ; as Mary herself indicates, Anne can control them much 

more e f f e c t i v e l y than she: "'You can make l i t t l e Charles do anything; 

he always minds you at a word'" (P, 1 2 4 4 ) . E l i n o r Dashwood's 

"strength of understanding, and coolness of judgment, which q u a l i f i e d 

her, though only nineteen, to be the counsellor of her mother" (SS, 3 ) , 

and the "'common sense, common care, common prudence'" (SS, 51) which 

are native to her a nd which she t r i e s to persuade her mother to exer-

cise on Marianne's behalf, unquestionably give her the stature of an 

i d e a l parent f i g u r e . I f anything, Elizabeth Bennet q u a l i f i e s for an 

even more impressive stature. Not only does she frequently j o i n with 

Jane " i n an endeavour to check the imprudence of Catherine and Lydia" 

(PP, 3 5 9 ) i n her attempt to compensate for the d e f i c i e n c i e s of her 



135 
parents; as we have already seen (in Chapter II) she openly c r i t i c i z e s 

her father for his neglect and implores him to accept his responsibil-

i t y . Furthermore, she i s deeply conscious of the unfortunate effects 

of mismatched parents on their children: 

. . . she had never f e l t so strongly as now [after her parents have 
permitted Lydia to go to Brighton] the disadvantages which must attend 
the children of so unsuitable a marriage, nor ever been so f u l l y aware 
of the evils arising from so ill-judged a direction of talents . . . . 
(PP, 373) 

And eventually she i s able to help right the wrong of which she i s so 

keenly aware; Catherine, who shares many of the faults common to her 

mother and Lydia, divides most of her time between Elizabeth and Jane 

after they are married, and "in society so superior to what she had 

generally known, her improvement was great. . . . she became, by 

proper attention and management, less i r r i t a b l e , less ignorant, and 

less insipid" (PP, 463). It becomes obvious that, while Jane Austen's 

heroes are already father figures in a very special sense, her comic 

heroines, far from child-like themselves, are potentially ideal 

mothers who w i l l gain in stature as their independence as individuals 

i s increased and encouraged by their husbands: 

To be a good mother—a woman must haye sense, and that independence  
of mind which few women possess who are taught to depend entirely 
on their husbands. Meek wives are, in general, foolish 
mothers . . . (my i t a l i c s ) 

We cannot help but contrast the fate of the "young olive-branch" 

expected by the Collinses (PP, 4-50) and who w i l l have to face a l l the 

prejudices and problems of the old society which checkmated his 

mother, with that of the child of the new society, the ideals of which 

both his parents are capable of upholding. 



136 

As the social and moral significance of Jane Austen's comedy-

becomes increasingly manifest, i t would seem that her work l i e s even 

further beyond the charge of t r i v i a l i t y than previously indicated 

(in Chapter I), particularly that implicit in such a criticism as 

levelled by Mr. E. N. Hayes: 

. . . the objection i s not to her having confined her attention to 
the nineteenth century gentry of England and the problems of court-
ship, but to her having neither the depth of mind nor the fullness of 
passion to extend these subjects beyond the particulars of her time 
to the eternal problems of mankind. 

By illuminating the many facets of the age-old problem of the subjuga-

tion of women, Jane Austen has certainly extended her subject to "the 

eternal problems" of at least one-half of mankind. And by focussing 

the light of the comic s p i r i t on the resulting "basic insincerity of 

the relations between the sexes" which could indeed by "the canker at 

the very heart of our c i v i l i z a t i o n . . . . . spreading] a blight of 

frustration and distrust through a l l human a c t i v i t i e s , " ^ she would 

seem not only to deal with timeless problems of great importance to 

a l l men but also to demonstrate the very "depth of mind" and "fullness 

of passion" which Mr. Hayes accuses her of lacking. He would seem, in 

the f i r s t place, to be deceived by her lack of didacticism, by the 
Ik 

"charming display of good manners" with which she conducts her 

comic attack; and, in the second place, to so underestimate the power 

and the purpose of the comic form that he does not realize that "the 

eternal problems of mankind" are the very substance of comedy. In his 

rather half-hearted rebuttal, Mr. William Frost suggests this oversight: 
What her best works . . . deal with i s humanity in i t s domestic 
r e l a t i o n s — a topic l i k e l y to be of continuing interest and importance 



137 

at least as long as human beings go on l i v i n g together i n s o c i a l con-
texts of one sort or another • . . .^5 

His r e l a t i v e l y weak defence of the comic form, however, suggests that 

he too tends to undervalue i t s s i g n i f i c a n c e . The e s s e n t i a l d i s t i n c -

tions between comedy and tragedy have already been discussed (in 

Chapter I ) , but i t i s well to remember the existence of "a comic road 

to wisdom" and a comic control of l i f e which "may be more usable, more 

relevant ^than the tragic control] to the human condition i n a l l i t s 

normalcy and confusion, i t s many unreconciled d i r e c t i o n s . " " ^ That 

"the comic action touches experience at more points than the tragic 
17 

action" would seem to be true almost by d e f i n i t i o n , yet we tend to 

ignore the implications as to the r e l a t i v e importance of the two art 

forms: 
. . . which of Shakespeare's plays r e a l l y shows a more profound know-
ledge of the hearts of fathers and children: Lear, or Henry IV, 1 and 
2, and Henry V? Is not the c r i s i s l u r i d l y overstated i n Lear and met 
with greater insight i n the figures of Henry IV, Hal, Hotspur, and 
F a l s t a f f ? Can we honestly claim that Shakespeare reveals more about 
l i f e i n the tragedy of Lear than i n the c o n f l i c t s between Henry and 
h i s wild son? Are not many of the problems raised i n the great 
tragedies solved i n the great comedies? 

With i t s concentration on "one aim, one passion, one c o n f l i c t and 
19 

ultimate defeat," tragedy has nothing whatever to do with the wel-
2< 

fare of the group. On the other hand, "the idea of good c i t i z e n s h i p " 

consistently underlies the great comedies—those of Jane Austen no 

l e s s than those of Aristophanes. To Jane Austen, "the idea of good 

c i t i z e n s h i p " i s i n e x t r i c a b l y intertwined with the p r i n c i p l e of the 

p o t e n t i a l equality of men and women which, i f generally accepted, 

would replace the old estrangement with a new freedom of communication 

between husband and wife, between parent and c h i l d — a freedom which 



138 

would gradually extend to a l l members of the community, supplanting 

the old a n t i - s o c i a l i s o l a t i o n with a new s o c i a l inclusiveness. And 

so, because of her deep concern with the establishment of a "moral 

norm," a "pragmatically free society,"—which, she suggests, can only 

r e s u l t when the cornerstone of the group i s a marriage i n which both 

partners meet on equal footing—she aligns herself with such figures 
o 

as Meredith and Bergson who firmly believe that "comedy i s a premise 
21 

to c i v i l i z a t i o n . " Consequently, i n the l i g h t of her undeniable 

mastery of the comic form and the high purpose to which she directs 

i t , any a l l e g a t i o n of t r i v i a l i t y would indeed seem myopic i f not 

e n t i r e l y i n v a l i d . For, by following the "movement from i l l u s i o n to 
22 

r e a l i t y , " the e s s e n t i a l movement of comedy, the "thoughtful 

laughter" Jane Austen evokes i n e v i t a b l y leads to the recognition of 

a universal truth: 
The moral regeneration of mankind w i l l only r e a l l y commence, when 
the most fundamental of the s o c i a l r e l a t i o n s i s placed under the rule 
of equal j u s t i c e , and when human beings learn to c u l t i v a t e their 
strongest sympathy with an equal i n r i g h t s and i n c u l t i v a t i o n . ^ * 



139 

NOTES 

''"Frye, Anatomy of C r i t i c i s m , p. I 6 9 . 
2 
Jane Austen: F a c t s and Problems (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 

194.9), ?. lBir; 

^ M o l l F l a n d e r s , p. 65. 

John A r n e t t , D i s c u s s i o n of a Paper, " C l a s s M o b i l i t y and 
Emotional H e a l t h i n Some Canadian F a m i l i e s , " r e a d to the Canadian 
P o l i t i c a l Science A s s o c i a t i o n , June, 1965, by W i l l i a m A. Morley, 
Vancouver Sun, June 12, 1965, p. 5, c o l . 3 . 

5 
-n/foolf, A Room of One's Own, p. 136. 

The S u b j e c t i o n of Women, p. 77. 
7 
'S. C. B u r c h e l l , "Jane Austen: The Theme o f I s o l a t i o n , " NCF, X 

(1954), 148. 
g 
M i l l , The S u b j e c t i o n of Women, p. 123. 

g 

'Kumar, "Jane A u s t e n — T h e F e m i n i s t S e n s i b i l i t y , " 135-136. 

1 0 F r y e , p. I65• 1 X W c 

"Emma: A D i s s e n t i n g O p i n i o n , " NCF, IV (1949), 8 - 9 . 

follstonecraft, R i g h t s of Woman, p. 227. 
12 

"^Stevenson, " I n t r o d u c t i o n " to The E g o i s t , p. i x . 
14 

Kumar, 139. 

15"Emma: A Defense," NCF, IV (1949), 325-328. 

"^Sypher, "Appendix" to Comedy, p. 254. 

1 7 I b i d . , p. 206. 
-1 o 

I b i d . , p. 207. 
19 
'Langer, F e e l i n g a n d Form, p. 357. 

20 
Meredith, "An Essay on Comedy," p. 3 8 . 

21 
Sypher, " I n t r o d u c t i o n " to Comedy, p. x v i . 

22 

Frye, p. 169. 

2 3 M i l l , p. 123. 



i4o 

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