| This blog explores social attitudes in Jane Austen's time, discusses her novels, reviews forgotten 18th century novels, and throws some occasional shade at the modern academy. The introductory post is here. My "six simple questions for academics" post is here. Spoilers abound in my discussion of these forgotten novels, and I discuss 18th-century attitudes which I do not necessarily endorse. |
CMP#232 An (almost) 100 year-old review of Mansfield Park
I was doing some research into how the reception of Mansfield Park has changed since it was first published. It is now generally regarded as her least popular novel, and some say, her least successful novel artistically. It's a favourite of mine, obviously, since I wrote an Austenesque trilogy based on it. In my own books, I had to come to terms with the slave trade and the fact that Sir Thomas owns a plantation (called an "estate" in the book) in Antigua. The issue of slavery was not an issue for a critic writing 100 years ago, even though they were not as far removed from the time of slavery.
I also had to deal with the widespread perception of the heroine Fanny Price as a prim little prig, or a timid little mouse. The anonymous author of this 1927 review, reproduced below, doesn't like Fanny, Edmund, or the book, but his opinions and the way he phrased them amused me. I think other Janeites would like this too, even Mansfield Park fans. But if you haven't read Mansfield Park, be advised, this review contains spoilers.
I also had to deal with the widespread perception of the heroine Fanny Price as a prim little prig, or a timid little mouse. The anonymous author of this 1927 review, reproduced below, doesn't like Fanny, Edmund, or the book, but his opinions and the way he phrased them amused me. I think other Janeites would like this too, even Mansfield Park fans. But if you haven't read Mansfield Park, be advised, this review contains spoilers.
Sir Thomas and Mrs. Norris after his return from Antigua MANSFIELD PARK—JANE AUSTEN’S WORST NOVEL
Sheffield Daily Telegraph, Jan. 20, 1927
When new books fail to charm—and there comes a time when they do, and when all one’s favourite modern authors seem to be writing tiresome rubbish—there is no cure so good for the soul as to re-read old ones. We suspect that advancing age has much to do with this failure to find a new book to our taste.
To anyone suffering from this sad fate, whatever his age and literary preferences, we unhesitatingly recommend a course of Disraeli novels or those of Jane Austen.
To write of Jane Austen in general is like trying to find something new to say about the weather… Yet there remains, we think, something to be said of Mansfield Park. Perhaps it was because we read it last of all, of perhaps because it really is not so good as the others, that we must admit to finding it a very mediocre performance. Compared with the charming simplicity of Catherine Morland, the robust sense of Elinor Dashwood, the quiet intelligence of Anne Eliot or the satirical wit of Emma Woodhouse, Fanny Price is a dull and extraordinarily priggish heroine. As for Edmund Bertram, he is a prince of prigs indeed.
Sheffield Daily Telegraph, Jan. 20, 1927
When new books fail to charm—and there comes a time when they do, and when all one’s favourite modern authors seem to be writing tiresome rubbish—there is no cure so good for the soul as to re-read old ones. We suspect that advancing age has much to do with this failure to find a new book to our taste.
To anyone suffering from this sad fate, whatever his age and literary preferences, we unhesitatingly recommend a course of Disraeli novels or those of Jane Austen.
To write of Jane Austen in general is like trying to find something new to say about the weather… Yet there remains, we think, something to be said of Mansfield Park. Perhaps it was because we read it last of all, of perhaps because it really is not so good as the others, that we must admit to finding it a very mediocre performance. Compared with the charming simplicity of Catherine Morland, the robust sense of Elinor Dashwood, the quiet intelligence of Anne Eliot or the satirical wit of Emma Woodhouse, Fanny Price is a dull and extraordinarily priggish heroine. As for Edmund Bertram, he is a prince of prigs indeed.
Writers on this book have said that it is [mediocre] because in it Jane Austen tried to paint a moral lesson based on a wrong view of life, that she failed to hold the attention. If this is so we must concede that its morality (to our modern eyes amazingly overdone) is not only above question but also swamps everything in the way of humour in its overwhelming flood.
Henry and Mary Crawford are the only bright spots, and lest we should be dazzled by their charms to the extent of becoming bored with Fanny and Edmund, we are not allowed to admire them. Jane Austen is determined to be on the side of the angels, and she will not have us against her, so she makes them charming but frail. Henry is a flirt whose intentions are never honourable (save when he falls in love for a short time with Fanny) and Mary is presumed to be a monster of heartlessness because she will not marry the prim Edmund, and settle down to comparative poverty as a country parson’s wife at Thornton Lacey.
Henry and Mary Crawford are the only bright spots, and lest we should be dazzled by their charms to the extent of becoming bored with Fanny and Edmund, we are not allowed to admire them. Jane Austen is determined to be on the side of the angels, and she will not have us against her, so she makes them charming but frail. Henry is a flirt whose intentions are never honourable (save when he falls in love for a short time with Fanny) and Mary is presumed to be a monster of heartlessness because she will not marry the prim Edmund, and settle down to comparative poverty as a country parson’s wife at Thornton Lacey.
The Critic on the Hearth
We could never blame her. Edmund repelled us from the first. He is a well-meaning moral snob of the first quality. From the beginning, though captivated by her beauty, he criticises her conversation, behaviour, and view of life. Had Mary married him she would have had to live with the critic on the hearth to the end of her existence. But we do not believe she would have borne it so long, she must have left him, and there would have been another awful family skeleton in the Bertram cupboard.
But it is not only the behaviour of Fanny and Edmund that rouses our surprise and incredulity. The whole Bertram family are odd in their ways. When Sir Thomas is absent in Antigua a little gaiety manages to creep in (much to the horror of the two cousins) chiefly through the agency of Mr. Yates and the Crawfords. The young people proceed to erect a theatre in the billiard room, Mrs. Norris buys yards of green baize for a curtain, and private theatricals are in active rehearsal; when the sudden return of Sir Thomas at least a week before he was expected, throws them all into a fright, and the whole scheme is immediately abandoned.
We could never blame her. Edmund repelled us from the first. He is a well-meaning moral snob of the first quality. From the beginning, though captivated by her beauty, he criticises her conversation, behaviour, and view of life. Had Mary married him she would have had to live with the critic on the hearth to the end of her existence. But we do not believe she would have borne it so long, she must have left him, and there would have been another awful family skeleton in the Bertram cupboard.
But it is not only the behaviour of Fanny and Edmund that rouses our surprise and incredulity. The whole Bertram family are odd in their ways. When Sir Thomas is absent in Antigua a little gaiety manages to creep in (much to the horror of the two cousins) chiefly through the agency of Mr. Yates and the Crawfords. The young people proceed to erect a theatre in the billiard room, Mrs. Norris buys yards of green baize for a curtain, and private theatricals are in active rehearsal; when the sudden return of Sir Thomas at least a week before he was expected, throws them all into a fright, and the whole scheme is immediately abandoned.
Private theatricals, 1983 version There are many things in this episode that seem not a little absurd to modern minds. First the fuss and preparation that attended the event. Present-day “young people” would not have gone about it so elaborately. They would not have needed a scene painter from London, a real stage, a baize curtain, and the rest. The play would have been got up in a week or less, and with little fuss, though doubtless with a good deal of untidiness. But it is the manifestly guilty conscience of the Mansfield Park amateurs in [the] face of their father’s return, and their prompt realisation that the whole scheme must be abandoned questioningly, that surprise us most.
We have learnt how parents should be brought up since then, and though a modern Sir Thomas might be pardonably vexed at finding his own study about to be used as a green room, his billiard room in a mess, and his daughter (engaged to another man) endlessly rehearing passionate love scenes with a stranger [actually, they portrayed mother and son, but Maria’s character is a “fallen woman” and hence it was indelicate for her to play the part, and it gave Henry and Maria the chance to embrace and hold hands] all these things could be got over now a-days. And in the book these are not the things which seem to upset him. It is the impropriety of such a scheme among such a party and at such a time” that he deplores, and remarks about “delicacy of her situation” follow. The said delicacy being merely due to the fact that Maria is engaged to be married and that he has been away from home, does not seem to us to put such a very dreadful complexion on the proceedings. But we have the uneasy feeling that Sir Thomas expected to find his family so stricken by his long absence as to be capable of nothing but earnest prayers for his safe return.
We have learnt how parents should be brought up since then, and though a modern Sir Thomas might be pardonably vexed at finding his own study about to be used as a green room, his billiard room in a mess, and his daughter (engaged to another man) endlessly rehearing passionate love scenes with a stranger [actually, they portrayed mother and son, but Maria’s character is a “fallen woman” and hence it was indelicate for her to play the part, and it gave Henry and Maria the chance to embrace and hold hands] all these things could be got over now a-days. And in the book these are not the things which seem to upset him. It is the impropriety of such a scheme among such a party and at such a time” that he deplores, and remarks about “delicacy of her situation” follow. The said delicacy being merely due to the fact that Maria is engaged to be married and that he has been away from home, does not seem to us to put such a very dreadful complexion on the proceedings. But we have the uneasy feeling that Sir Thomas expected to find his family so stricken by his long absence as to be capable of nothing but earnest prayers for his safe return.
A Bore and a Prig
He says—“I have come home to happy and indulgent,” but does not bear out this sentiment in his actions. In short we do not have to wait long to find out just what sort of a worthy old bore he is. It is Fanny who gives him away a few pages later:--“I suppose I am graver than other people… the evenings do not appear long to me. I love to hear my uncle talk of the West Indies. I could listen to him for an hour together. It entertains me more than many things I have done; but then I am unlike other people I dare say.”
This is one of the most illuminating passages in the book, showing up Sir Thomas with his “talk of the West Indies” and Fanny, the prig, with her certainty of being unlike other people—a type we all know, and avoid when we can.
We can only rejoice in her unlikeneness to Jane Austen’s other heroines, and hope that the absolute rectitude of their impeccable characters allowed them leisure for occasional relaxation. Perhaps the strain of two prigs in one house led her (or Edmund) to rebel and seek a little healthy entertainment before it was too late. But we fear it did not, and that Fanny bore him a large family of well-behaved children, all strictly brought up, and each more perfectly prim and proper than the last.
--(article signed) R.A.G.
He says—“I have come home to happy and indulgent,” but does not bear out this sentiment in his actions. In short we do not have to wait long to find out just what sort of a worthy old bore he is. It is Fanny who gives him away a few pages later:--“I suppose I am graver than other people… the evenings do not appear long to me. I love to hear my uncle talk of the West Indies. I could listen to him for an hour together. It entertains me more than many things I have done; but then I am unlike other people I dare say.”
This is one of the most illuminating passages in the book, showing up Sir Thomas with his “talk of the West Indies” and Fanny, the prig, with her certainty of being unlike other people—a type we all know, and avoid when we can.
We can only rejoice in her unlikeneness to Jane Austen’s other heroines, and hope that the absolute rectitude of their impeccable characters allowed them leisure for occasional relaxation. Perhaps the strain of two prigs in one house led her (or Edmund) to rebel and seek a little healthy entertainment before it was too late. But we fear it did not, and that Fanny bore him a large family of well-behaved children, all strictly brought up, and each more perfectly prim and proper than the last.
--(article signed) R.A.G.
| For more, much more, on Mansfield Park, read my series on Symbolism (and slavery) in Mansfield Park, Female education in Mansfield Park, and Lord Mansfield in Mansfield Park. See here for my Mansfield trilogy. |
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