In my last post in Austen-L…..http://lists.mcgill.ca/scripts/wa.exe?A2=AUSTEN-L;d2ec3583.1703d
…I vigorously rebutted Ellen Moody’s unjustifiably
confident assertion that Janine Barchas had engaged in over-historicism in her
2010 Persuasions article “The Real Bluebeard of Bath: A Historical Model
for Northanger Abbey”. In that
article, which Barchas subsequently included in her excellent book Matters
of Fact in Jane Austen, Barchas brilliantly and persuasively argued that
Austen had the Castle at Farleigh Hungerford, a real life Gothic horror located
near Bath, and its most evil resident, Walter, Lord Hungerford, specifically in
mind as a prototype for General Tilney.
Today I return to focus on one small section of Barchas’s
article, which years ago provided me with an extraordinary clue, which Barchas
did not notice, in the pun of the word “fairly” on “Farleigh”. As you’ll see
below, I was able to follow that clue all the way to the heart of the
overarching “death in childbirth” theme I ‘ve seen and argued for in Northanger Abbey since 2009 ---- an
original interpretation of mine, which, by the way, was recently lifted
practically lock, stock, and barrel from my public writings and speeches on
that topic by Helena Kelly for her recent book about Austen, as I explained
here:
That overarching theme is embodied by the ghost of
Mrs. Tilney, who, I claim is, Austen’s symbol for the ghost of all the multitude
of anonymous English wives who died in childbirth over centuries--- a ghost who
hovers over the entirety of Northanger
Abbey like the ghost of King Hamlet does in Shakespeare’s play, crying for
remembrance and justice. Conversely, I claim that General Tilney is the symbol of the hypocrisy and domestic
horror of the ordinary English gentleman husband, who blithely and righteously “poisoned”
and “imprisoned” his wife to death, or at least physical ruin and drudgery, via
serial pregnancy (“confinement”), all the while believing he was doing what God
and country expected of him.
With that brief background, here is the relevant
section of Barchas’s article that gave me my clue:
“Even more uncanny is the manner in which the “ruined
chapel” of Catherine’s imagination, where she hopes to find evidence of “some
traditional legends” and further “awful memorials” at Northanger, resembles the
spooky and crumbling crypt under the ruined chapel at Farleigh Castle as
described
by Reverend Warner in this same guidebook on the
Austens’ shelves:
“The crypt, or vault, under this chapel, exhibits a
very extraordinary family party, the pickled remains of eight of the
Hungerfords, ranged by the side of each other, cased in leaden coffins, and assuming the forms of
Egyptian mummies, the faces prominent, the shoulders swelling out into their
natural shape, and the body gradually tapering towards the feet.”
Most of these curious family coffins, what one 1816 visitor termed
“the cold relics of an ancient clan,” still remain on view today for visitors
who similarly descend the stairs into the lower crypt (Weekly Entertainer 56: 220). After identifying the Hungerford
family members thus on display, guidebook veteran Warner recommends one macabre
activity:
“The Chapel at Farley Castle near Bath (early 19th c)…One of the full-sized
leaden coffins
has a perforation on the right shoulder, through which a stick may be
introduced, and the embalming matter extracted; this appears to be a thick
viscous liquid, of a brown colour, and resinous smell and consistence; the
flesh is decomposed by the admission of the air, but the bones still retain their
soundness.”
Catherine also imagines inspecting the coffin of Mrs. Tilney, which she
conjectures may be occupied by a mere “waxen figure”. She demands the physical
proof of death that, according to Warner, awaited visitors to Farleigh Hungerford:
“Were she even to descend into the family vault where
her ashes were supposed to slumber, were she to behold the coffin in which they were said to be
enclosed—what could it avail in such a case?
Catherine had read too much not to be perfectly aware of the ease with
which a waxen figure might be introduced, and a supposititious funeral carried
on.”
Is Catherine following the directive in Warner’s book
when she thinks of descending, with determined step, into the Tilney vault to
put her suspicions to the test? Thankfully, there is no proof that Austen
herself poked the decomposing Hungerford remains with a stick during any visit
to Farleigh Castle, but her signature and marginalia in the family copy of
Warner’s guidebook suggest she surely knew of this “choice” sight for any fan
of the gothic, located about seven miles from Bath. Austen’s satire of the
gothic resonates therefore with genuine history. Catherine’s gothic fantasies
may not be, after all, utter nonsense. Instead, their resemblance to actual
historical events and relics at Farleigh Castle may expose Austen’s ironic
project, elevating the ambitions of her early fiction. Resemblances to these
real situations would also add to the humor of her story. If Austen bests the
fantasy of a Radcliffe
novel with her own characteristic brand of hyper-realism, she may be showing
readers that the choicest truths make for the strangest fictions….”
All the
evidence presented by Barchas in her article in general, and in that section in
particular, in aggregate strongly supports the interpretation that Jane Austen
did indeed mean to allude to Farleigh Hungerford in Northanger Abbey. Today, I want to expand on one sentence in that
quoted excerpt:
“Thankfully,
there is no proof that Austen herself poked the decomposing Hungerford remains
with a stick during any visit to Farleigh Castle…”
While Barchas
is correct, there’s no proof that Austen went corpse-poking, nor would I have
guessed she did. But I am quite certain that she knew of that specific gruesome
practice, and she chose those grotesquely exploited, decomposing corpses at
Farleigh Hungerford as the perfect metaphor for the gentlewives of England, who
were so worn-out from serial pregnancies that their bodies practically fell
apart at a touch (a turn of phrase used in the Austen quotation in my Subject
Line, as you’ll see, below).
And it
just so happens that the adverb “fairly” is subtly linked to seemingly
unrelated passages in Northanger Abbey which
have to do with deterioration due to excessive wear. The idea of English wives
as Regency Era zombies, whose bodies were slowly decomposing (as it were) due
to up to two decades of serial
pregnancies, punctuated by a dozen or more harrowing childbirths, over each of
which hung the threat of excruciatingly painful death, has the kind of macabre
wit that I believe Jane Austen particularly relished, when she was in “Avenging
Angel” mode.
I’ll
now walk you through the relevant passages in the novel, with this theme in
mind:
Chapter
1: She had reached the age of
seventeen, without having seen one amiable youth who could call forth her
sensibility, without having inspired one real passion, and without having
excited even any admiration but what was very moderate and very transient. This
was strange indeed! But strange things may be generally accounted for if their
cause be FAIRLY searched out. There was not one lord in the neighbourhood;
no—not even a BARONET.
Of
course, during the course of the novel, the “strange things” which will inspire
Catherine Morland’s real passion and curiosity are the Gothic horrors she
believes have been perpetrated by General Tilney against his late wife –
fanciful horrors which I claim are actually representative of the true Gothic
horror of the scourge of death in childbirth ignored by all the powers that
were in England. Austen is winking in those last two sentences that Catherine
will “fairly search out” the causes of that scourge at a modern day Farleigh
Hungerford, and the reference “a baronet’ is another clue, because it turns out
that at Farleigh Hungerford there was
a baronet whom Jane Austen would have known about, because he was connected
biologically both to the Bluebeard Walter, Lord Hungerford, and also to Jane
Austen herself!
In
2010, Derrick Leigh wrote the following in Janeites: "Jane Austen's great grandparents on the
Leigh side were Theophilus Leigh and Mary Brydges. Their daughter Mary Leigh
married the 4th BARONET, Sir HUNGERFORD Hoskyns in 1720." I pointed out at
my 2010 AGM presentation that one of the several personal connections of NA’s
death-in-childbirth theme was to that same Mary Leigh (nee Brydges)----the wife
of Theophilus, and great grandmother of JA herself---who died in childbirth
after bearing her twelfth child! And
Bluebeard, Walter, Lord Hungerford, had a descendant, Jane Law, who was the
mother of the same Sir Hungerford Hoskyns, 4th bart., who married Mary Leigh,
as Derrick stated, above –so you see that there was indeed a “baronet”, who
provides a key clue to Jane Austen’s deeper theme!
Now
for the next relevant textual quotation:
Chapter
3: “But then you know, madam, muslin always turns to some
account or other; Miss Morland will get enough out of it for a handkerchief, or
a cap, or a cloak. Muslin can never be said to be wasted. I have heard my
sister say so forty times, when she has been extravagant in buying more than
she wanted, or careless in CUTTING IT TO PIECES.”
“Bath
is a charming place, sir; there are so many good shops here. We are sadly off
in the country; not but what we have very good shops in Salisbury, but it is so
far to go—eight miles is a long way; Mr. Allen says it is nine, measured nine;
but I am sure it cannot be more than eight; and it is such a fag—I come back
tired to death. Now, here one can step out of doors and get a thing in five
minutes.”
… “I
should no more lay it down as a general rule that women write better letters
than men, than that they sing better duets, or draw better landscapes. In every
power, of which taste is the foundation, excellence is pretty FAIRLY divided
between the sexes.”
They were interrupted by Mrs. Allen:
“My dear Catherine,” said she, “do take this pin out of my sleeve; I am afraid
it has TORN A HOLE already; I shall be quite sorry if it has, for this is a
favourite gown, though it cost but nine shillings a yard.”
“That is exactly what I should have
guessed it, madam,” said Mr. Tilney, looking at the muslin.
“Do you understand muslins, sir?”
In a
nutshell, I suggest to you that the above passage, which all Janeites enjoy for
the wit and atypical expertise that Henry Tilney displays, serves a second,
darker purpose. If one reads “muslins” (which of course were a staple of
women’s clothing in Regency Era England) as a metaphor for women in general,
and pregnant wives in particular, there is a very very sharp and bitter irony
masked just beneath the witty surface—i.e., the bodies of English wives were
literally being cut to pieces, with holes torn, to (literally please their
husbands! And there, again, tucked away in this passage, is “FAIRLY divided”,
to remind the knowing reader of Farleigh Hungerford, where Walter, Lord Hungerford
repeatedly (but thankfully unsuccessfully) attempted to murder his wife.
And
now, yet another punny metaphor for the serially pregnant female body, the
carriage, courtesy of John Thorpe:
Chapter
9: “Break down! Oh! Lord! Did you ever see such a little tittuppy thing in your
life? There is not a sound piece of iron about it. The wheels have been FAIRLY
worn out these ten years at least—and as for THE BODY! Upon my soul, you might SHAKE
IT TO PIECES YOURSELF WITH A TOUCH. It is the most devilish little rickety
business I ever beheld! Thank God! we have got a better. I would not be bound
to go two miles in it for fifty thousand pounds.”
“Good
heavens!” cried Catherine, quite frightened. “Then pray let us turn back; they WILL
CERTAINLY MEET WITH AN ACCIDENT if we go on. Do let us turn back, Mr. Thorpe;
stop and speak to my brother, and tell him HOW VERY UNSAFE IT IS.”
“Unsafe!
Oh, lord! What is there in that? They will only get a roll if it does break
down; and there is PLENTY OF DIRT; it will be EXCELLENT FALLING. Oh, curse it!
The CARRIAGE is safe enough, if A MAN KNOWS HOW TO DRIVE IT; A THING OF THAT
SORT IN GOOD HANDS WILL LAST ABOVE TWENTY YEARS AFTER IT IS FAIRLY WORN OUT.
Lord bless you! I would undertake for five pounds to drive it to York and back
again, without losing a nail.”
How
many words in that passage point to the pregnant female body? You count the
ways, with an assist from my ALL CAPS alterations. Could it be more obvious,
once you’re thinking about it, that this is an extended riff on serial
pregnancy wearing out women’s bodies?
In
addition to that, it has been well recognized by other Austen scholars that
Thorpe speaks about horses and carriages in a highly sexualized manner- he
sounds, actually, like one of those typical English gentleman husbands (Edward
Austen Knight for one) who kept their wives barefoot and pregnant, so to speak,
for “above twenty years” before she would be “fairly worn out”.
And,
as I’ve previously pointed out many times, it’s a well established biographical
fact, derived from explicit verbiage in JA’s letters over a period of twenty
years, that Jane Austen was appalled at the serial pregnancy that afflicted so
many of English gentlewomen/wives. Most personal was JA’s anguish for niece
(and psychological daughter) Anna Austen a few years after Anna’s marriage,
expressed in Letter 155, less than four months before JA’s death:
“Anna
has not a chance of escape…Poor Animal, she will be worn out before she is
thirty.”
Ironically,
what saved Anna was an unusual escape for an English wife of that era- it was her
husband who died in 1829 after fifteen years of marriage, having first sired
seven children on her, when Anna was 35. Thereafter, Anna, without a
“Bluebeard” in her home (and more important, bed), wound up never remarrying,
never having another child, and living a relatively long and healthy life for
another 43 years. But JA died before she could rest easy about Anna’s survival,
let alone survival in good health.
And
finally, I tie together with the above quotes from NA the following excerpt
from JA’s own Letter 57 (written when her sister in law Elizabeth Austen was
soon to die in childbirth in 1808), which I assert is a kind of companion to
the above quoted passage about muslins in NA. It’s not just the punnily named
made-up persons Mr. FLOOR and Mr. CHAMBERS, ---it’s the “pelisse” which “falls
apart at a touch” which stands for the “injured body” of the “poor animal”
“dying” English wife:
Letter
57: “My mother is preparing mourning for Mrs. E. K.; she has picked her
old silk pelisse TO PIECES, and means to have it DYED black for a gown -- a
very interesting scheme, though just now A LITTLE INJURED by finding that it
must be placed in Mr. Wren's hands, for Mr. CHAMBERS is gone. As for
Mr. FLOOR, he is at present rather LOW in our estimation. How is your blue
gown? Mine is ALL TO PIECES. I think there must have been something wrong in
the DYE, for in places IT DIVIDED WITH A TOUCH. There was four shillings thrown
away, to be added to my subjects of never-failing regret.”
So,
I hope you’ll now agree that the above provides still further evidence to
support Barchas’s claims, and to rebut Ellen Moody’s claim of “over-historicism”.
Cheers,
ARNIE
@JaneAustenCode
on Twitter
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