Article II April 20, 2007

Jane Austen vs Fanny Burney, Part II

By the editor

Every writer re-invents the wheel, in a sense, as it is rarely satisfying to exactly duplicate the method of our favourite writers, nor are we usually suited for it. As a fan of Fanny Burney, whose first novel Evelina had come out approximately 20 or 30 years before, in her own work Jane Austen altered the style and setting to suit her tastes and abilities. Great writers who have come before us show us how to do what we could not, and thus allow us to expand the genre by adding the gift of our own tastes and abilities. The world of literature may be seen as a maze or trails each new writer walks, till at last he feels prepared to forge his own for others. In the case of Jane Austen, the trail she forged was different in setting and subject.

To us the setting and subject of either author is synonymous with their time period, the 18th century and women respectively. Considering that neither woman would have regarded her time period as her setting, it is clear that Jane Austen’s setting and subject revolved around country life and the family, while Fanny Burney’s dealt with the world at large, and the many hazardous and unusual situations and characters a young girl might encounter without the protection of family, etc… A typical Jane Austen novel begins with an introduction of the heroine and her family and small circle of nearest connections, typically disrupted by some new circumstance which has introduced a new family or person into their lives.

From Emma: Mr. Knightley, a sensible man about seven or eight-and-thirty, was not only a very old and intimate friend of the family, but particularly connected with it, as the elder brother of Isabella’s husband. He lived about a mile from Highbury, was a frequent visitor, and always welcome, and at this time more welcome than usual, as coming directly from their mutual connexions in London. He had returned to a late dinner, after some days’ absence, and now walked up to Hartfield to say that all were well in Brunswick Square. It was a happy circumstance, and animated Mr. Woodhouse for some time. Mr. Knightley had a cheerful manner, which always did him good; and his many inquiries after “poor Isabella” and her children were answered most satisfactorily. When this was over, Mr. Woodhouse gratefully observed, “It is very kind of you, Mr. Knightley, to come out at this late hour to call upon us. I am afraid you must have had a shocking walk.”

“Not at all, sir. It is a beautiful moonlight night; and so mild that I must draw back from your great fire.”

“But you must have found it very damp and dirty. I wish you may not catch cold.”

“Dirty, sir! Look at my shoes. Not a speck on them.”

“Well! that is quite surprising, for we have had a vast deal of rain here. It rained dreadfully hard for half an hour while we were at breakfast. I wanted them to put off the wedding.”

“By the bye—I have not wished you joy. Being pretty well aware of what sort of joy you must both be feeling, I have been in no hurry with my congratulations; but I hope it all went off tolerably well. How did you all behave? Who cried most?”

“Ah! poor Miss Taylor! ‘Tis a sad business.”

“Poor Mr. and Miss Woodhouse, if you please; but I cannot possibly

say `poor Miss Taylor.’ I have a great regard for you and Emma;

but when it comes to the question of dependence or independence!—At

any rate, it must be better to have only one to please than two.”

“Especially when one of those two is such a fanciful, troublesome creature!” said Emma playfully. “That is what you have in your head, I know—and what you would certainly say if my father were not by.”

“I believe it is very true, my dear, indeed,” said Mr. Woodhouse,

with a sigh. “I am afraid I am sometimes very fanciful and troublesome.”

Each of Fanny Burney’s novels, excepting Camilla, sees the heroine entering alone and largely unprotected, into the wide world.

Miss Mirvan was soon engaged; and presently after a very fashionable gay looking man, who seemed about thirty years of age, addressed himself to me, and begged to have the honour of dancing with me. Now Maria’s partner was a gentleman of Mrs. Mirvan’s acquaintance; for she had told us it was highly improper for young women to dance with strangers at any public assembly. Indeed it was by no means my wish so to do: yet I did not like to confine myself from dancing at all; neither did I dare refuse this gentleman as I had done Mr. Lovel, and then, if any acquaintance should offer, accept him: and so, all these reasons combining, induced me to tell him-yet I blush to write it to you!-that I was already engaged; by which I meant to keep myself at liberty to a dance, or not, as matters should fall out.

I suppose my consciousness betrayed my artifice, for he looked at me as if incredulous; and, instead of being satisfied with my answer and leaving me, according to my expectation, he walked at my side, and, with the greatest ease imaginable, began a conversation in the free style which only belongs to old and intimate acquaintance. But, what was most provoking, he asked me a thousand questions concerning the partner to whom I was engaged. And at last he said, “Is it really possible that a man whom you have honoured with your acceptance can fail to be at hand to profit from your goodness?”

I felt extremely foolish; and begged Mrs. Mirvan to lead to a seat; which she very obligingly did. The Captain sat next her; and to my great surprise, this gentleman thought proper to follow, and seat himself next to me.

“What an insensible!” continued he; “why, Madam, you are missing the most delightful dance in the world!-The man must be either mad or a fool-Which do you incline to think him yourself?”

“Neither, Sir,” answered I, in some confusion.

He begged my pardon for the freedom of his supposition, saying, “I really was off my guard, from astonishment that any man can be so much and so unaccountably his own enemy. But where, Madam, can he possibly be!-has he left the room!-or has not he been in it?”

“Indeed, Sir,” said I peevishly, “I know nothing of him.”

“I don’t wonder that you are disconcerted, Madam; it is really very provoking. The best part of the evening will be absolutely lost. He deserves not that you should wait for him.”

“I do not, Sir,” said I, “and I beg you not to-”

“Mortifying, indeed, Madam,” interrupted he, “a lady to wait for a gentleman!-O fie!-careless fellow!-What can detain him?-Will you give me leave to seek him?”

“If you please, Sir,” answered I; quite terrified lest Mrs. Mirvan should attend to him; for she looked very much surprised at seeing me enter into conversation with a stranger.

“With all my heart,” cried he; “pray, what coat has he on?”

“Indeed I never looked at it.”

“Out upon him!” cried he; “What! did he address you in a coat not worth looking at?-What a shabby wretch!”

How ridiculous! I really could not help laughing, which I fear encouraged him, for he went on.

“Charming creature! -and can you really bear ill usage with so much sweetness? Can you, like patience on a monument, smile in the midst of disappointment? For my part, though I am not the offended person, my indignation is so great, that I long to kick the fellow round the room! -unless, indeed, -(hesitating and looking earnestly at me,) unless, indeed, -it is a partner of your own creating?”

I was dreadfully abashed, and could not make an answer.

“But no!” cried he (again, and with warmth,) “It cannot be that you are so cruel! Softness itself is painted in your eyes.-You could not, surely, have the barbarity so wantonly to trifle with my misery.”

I turned away from this nonsense with real disgust, Mrs. Mirvan saw my confusion, but was perplexed what to think of it, and I could not explain to her the cause, lest the Captain should hear me. I therefore proposed to walk; she consented, and we all rose; but, would you believe it? this man had the assurance to rise too, and walk close by my side, as if of my party!

“Now,” cried he, “I hope we shall see this ingrate.-Is that he?”-pointing to an old man who was lame, “or that?” And in this manner he asked me of whoever was old or ugly in the room. I made no sort of answer: and when he found that I was resolutely silent, and walked on as much as I could without observing him, he suddenly stamped his foot, and cried out in a passion, “Fool! idiot! booby!”

I turned hastily toward him: “O, Madam,” continued he, “forgive my vehemence; but I am distracted to think there should exist a wretch who can slight a blessing for which I would forfeit my life!-O that I could but meet him, I would soon-But I grow angry: pardon me, Madam, my passions are violent, and your injuries affect me!”

Writers work from their strengths. Jane Austen lived a retired life in the country and her books invariably reflect this. Pages and pages of her work are filled with the lively and humourous descriptions of a relatively small circle of characters, which the reader has been gradually introduced to. Fanny Burney lived mostly in London, and as a result of her father’s positon and acquaintances, she was a quiet observer of the more cosmopolitan aspects of 18th century life. Her novels (again excepting Camilla, her 3rd and sometimes thought her worst novel, which took place almost entirely in a country setting) depict encounters with a broad range of people, more likely to harrass or amaze the heroine, than to form a long-standing connection with her.

Reading Jane Austen, one feels ‘closer’ to her secondary characters. The conclusion has therefore been that they are drawn with more skill, or are somehow more true to life, than those found in the works of Fanny Burney. There is, however, an entirely different kind of skill involved in painting characters whose connections to the main character are close and sustained, than in painting those who have only a passing encounter with them, and who are less likely to expose deeper aspects of their personalities. Simply put, Jane Austen specialized in drawing characters known to the heroine, and Fanny Burney in drawing those unknown to her. Each, in my own opinion, was superior at what she did.

In the words of Mrs. Bennent, the society drawn by Jane Austen was ‘confined and unvarying’ in contrast with that of Fanny Burney, and therefore the individual characters were more in-depth.

In regard to setting and subject, Jane Austen also benifits by appealing to the modern taste. While expressions and customs can change dramaticalling in 200 years, basic family relationships do not, and for the reader form a bridge of understanding from one time to the next. It is easier for a 21st century reader to relate to and understand the 18th century character at home, or in small circles, for there they are less stiff, less formal, less fashionable, and more able to reflect universal human traits. Whenever time or culture differences separate a writer from their readers, the intimate portrayal of home life, where conduct is more honest, comes across any century.

Part III next week…

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