Spring and Mansfield Park

“[T]he trees, though not fully clothed, were in that delightful state when farther beauty is known to be at hand, and when, while much is actually given to the sight, more yet remains for the imagination” (Mansfield Park, Ch. 46)

Autumn is considered to be a theme in Jane Austen’s Persuasion — the last book she completed before her death. When its heroine Anne Elliot thinks she will have to leave for Bath in September, she grieves, thinking she will have “to forego all the influence so sweet and so sad of the autumnal months in the country” (ch. 5). Thankfully, she is called to stay with her sister Mary instead. Thus she is able to enjoy autumn in the country — and meet again Captain Wentworth, the man she had broken with eight years before, but still loves. She finds him still angry with her and courting another young woman. One day, walking out with them, her sister, and a few others, she thinks,

Her pleasure in the walk must arise from the exercise and the day, from the view of the last smiles of the year upon the tawny leaves, and withered hedges, and from repeating to herself some few of the thousand poetical descriptions extant of autumn, that season of peculiar and inexhaustible influence on the mind of taste and tenderness, that season which had drawn from every poet, worthy of being read, some attempt at description, or some lines of feeling. (Ch. 10)

Her meditations are suspended while listening to a conversation between Captain Wentworth and the other young woman. “The sweet scenes of autumn were for a while put by, unless some tender sonnet, fraught with the apt analogy of the declining year, with declining happiness, and the images of youth and hope, and spring, all gone together, blessed her memory.” Eventually, of course, misunderstandings are overcome and Anne finds that her enduring love for Captain Wentworth is reciprocated.

I find it appropriate that Mansfield Park was published in the spring, for, if Persuasion is Jane Austen’s autumnal novel, it is Mansfield Park that most reminds me of spring. Like autumn, spring is a poetic season, and Fanny Price is one of Jane Austen’s most romantic heroines, with her true love for poetry and nature. When she is sent to Portsmouth to visit her family, she realizes that she is sacrificing the delight of watching the advance of spring in the country.

It was sad to Fanny to lose all the pleasures of spring. She had not known before what pleasures she had to lose in passing March and April in a town. She had not known before how much the beginnings and progress of vegetation had delighted her. What animation, both of body and mind, she had derived from watching the advance of that season which cannot, in spite of its capriciousness, be unlovely, and seeing its increasing beauties from the earliest flowers in the warmest divisions of her aunt’s garden, to the opening of leaves of her uncle’s plantations, and the glory of his woods. To be losing such pleasures was no trifle; to be losing them, because she was in the midst of closeness and noise, to have confinement, bad air, bad smells, substituted for liberty, freshness, fragrance, and verdure, was infinitely worse (Ch. 45)

In May, she joyfully returns to Mansfield Park.

Fanny had been everywhere awake to the difference of the country since February; but when they entered the Park her perceptions and her pleasures were of the keenest sort. It was three months, full three months, since her quitting it, and the change was from winter to summer. Her eye fell everywhere on lawns and plantations of the freshest green; and the trees, though not fully clothed, were in that delightful state when farther beauty is known to be at hand, and when, while much is actually given to the sight, more yet remains for the imagination. (Ch. 46)

  

Spring is a time of freshness and new beginnings, a time of beauty and of change. At Mansfield Park, Henry and Mary Crawford are offered a chance at a new life, the opportunity to change for the better. Mary falls in love with Edmund Bertram.

[W]ithout his being a man of the world or an elder brother, without any of the arts of flattery or the gaieties of small talk, he began to be agreeable to her. She felt it to be so, though she had not foreseen, and could hardly understand it; for he was not pleasant by any common rule: he talked no nonsense; he paid no compliments; his opinions were unbending, his attentions tranquil and simple. There was a charm, perhaps, in his sincerity, his steadiness, his integrity, which Miss Crawford might be equal to feel, though not equal to discuss with herself. (Ch. 7)

When Miss Crawford returns to London, she tells Fanny, “You have all so much more heart among you than one finds in the world at large. You all give me a feeling of being able to trust and confide in you, which in common intercourse one knows nothing of.” (Ch. 36). Like her brother, Mary feels the attractiveness and security of virtue and goodness. Henry Crawford falls in love with Fanny Price.

Henry Crawford had too much sense not to feel the worth of good principles in a wife, though he was too little accustomed to serious reflection to know them by their proper name; but when he talked of her having such a steadiness and regularity of conduct, such a high notion of honour, and such an observance of decorum as might warrant any man in the fullest dependence on her faith and integrity, he expressed what was inspired by the knowledge of her being well principled and religious. (Ch. 30)

While courting Fanny, Henry becomes more and more gentle, more considerate. Sadly, however, neither Henry nor Mary are ultimately willing to make the sacrifices needed to obtain this happiness. Mary alienates Edmund by her worldliness and inconsiderateness and Henry loses his chance to win Fanny by indulging his vanity in an attempt to win the smiles of another man’s wife, Maria Rushworth. He runs away with Maria, although they eventually separate. Both Henry and Mary long suffer regret, while Maria “must withdraw … to a retirement and reproach which could allow no second spring of hope or character.” (Ch. 48).

Anne Elliot and Fanny Price

Originally Posted by Miss Sneyd on January 9, 2010, 8:43 AM

“I think that in her last three works are to be found a greater refinement of taste, a more nice sense of propriety, and a deeper insight into the delicate anatomy of the human heart, marking the difference between the brilliant girl and the mature woman.”

from Chapter X of Memoir of Jane Austen by James Edward Austen-Leigh

In reading, I noticed two similar passages, one in Mansfield Park and one in Persuasion. In each passage the heroine listens to complaints from most of the people around her. During the play at Mansfield Park, Fanny Price “being always a very courteous listener, and often the only listener at hand, came in for the complaints and the distresses of most” of the company. Anne Elliot finds that, when she removes from Kellynch to Uppercross, one of “the least agreeable circumstances of her residence there was her being treated with too much confidence by all parties, and being too much in the secret of the complaints of each house.”

So, Fanny and Anne both have to listen to everyone’s grievances. Fanny’s compassion is all that is wanted from her in these cases, however, while Anne is actually desired to fix everything for the complainer. Each of these passages is closely followed by the heroines being useful to those around them in a practical way, Fanny by sewing, and Anne by playing the piano for dancing.

Fanny Price

‘Fanny, being always a very courteous listener, and often the only listener at hand, came in for the complaints and the distresses of most of them. She knew that Mr. Yates was in general thought to rant dreadfully; that Mr. Yates was disappointed in Henry Crawford; that Tom Bertram spoke so quick he would be unintelligible; that Mrs. Grant spoiled everything by laughing; that Edmund was behindhand with his part, and that it was misery to have anything to do with Mr. Rushworth, who was wanting a prompter through every speech. She knew, also, that poor Mr. Rushworth could seldom get anybody to rehearse with him: his complaint came before her as well as the rest; and so decided to her eye was her cousin Maria’s avoidance of him, and so needlessly often the rehearsal of the first scene between her and Mr. Crawford, that she had soon all the terror of other complaints from him. So far from being all satisfied and all enjoying, she found everybody requiring something they had not, and giving occasion of discontent to the others. Everybody had a part either too long or too short; nobody would attend as they ought; nobody would remember on which side they were to come in; nobody but the complainer would observe any directions. ….

‘Many uncomfortable, anxious, apprehensive feelings she certainly had; but with all these, and other claims on her time and attention, she was as far from finding herself without employment or utility amongst them, as without a companion in uneasiness; quite as far from having no demand on her leisure as on her compassion. The gloom of her first anticipations was proved to have been unfounded. She was occasionally useful to all; she was perhaps as much at peace as any.

‘There was a great deal of needlework to be done, moreover, in which her help was wanted; and that Mrs. Norris thought her quite as well off as the rest, was evident by the manner in which she claimed it—”Come, Fanny,” she cried, “these are fine times for you, but you must not be always walking from one room to the other, and doing the lookings-on at your ease, in this way; I want you here. I have been slaving myself till I can hardly stand, to contrive Mr. Rushworth’s cloak without sending for any more satin; and now I think you may give me your help in putting it together. There are but three seams; you may do them in a trice. It would be lucky for me if I had nothing but the executive part to do. You are best off, I can tell you: but if nobody did more than you, we should not get on very fast.” ’ (Mansfield Park, Chapter XVIII)

Anne Elliot

‘One of the least agreeable circumstances of her residence there was her being treated with too much confidence by all parties, and being too much in the secret of the complaints of each house. Known to have some influence with her sister, she was continually requested, or at least receiving hints to exert it, beyond what was practicable. “I wish you could persuade Mary not to be always fancying herself ill,” was Charles’s language; and, in an unhappy mood, thus spoke Mary: “I do believe if Charles were to see me dying, he would not think there was anything the matter with me. I am sure, Anne, if you would, you might persuade him that I really am very ill–a great deal worse than I ever own.”

‘Mary’s declaration was, “I hate sending the children to the Great House, though their grandmamma is always wanting to see them, for she humours and indulges them to such a degree, and gives them so much trash and sweet things, that they are sure to come back sick and cross for the rest of the day.” And Mrs Musgrove took the first opportunity of being alone with Anne, to say, “Oh! Miss Anne, I cannot help wishing Mrs Charles had a little of your method with those children. They are quite different creatures with you! But to be sure, in general they are so spoilt! It is a pity you cannot put your sister in the way of managing them. They are as fine healthy children as ever were seen, poor little dears! without partiality; but Mrs Charles knows no more how they should be treated–! Bless me! how troublesome they are sometimes. I assure you, Miss Anne, it prevents my wishing to see them at our house so often as I otherwise should. I believe Mrs Charles is not quite pleased with my not inviting them oftener; but you know it is very bad to have children with one that one is obligated to be checking every moment; “don’t do this,” and “don’t do that;” or that one can only keep in tolerable order by more cake than is good for them.”

‘She had this communication, moreover, from Mary. “Mrs Musgrove thinks all her servants so steady, that it would be high treason to call it in question; but I am sure, without exaggeration, that her upper house-maid and laundry-maid, instead of being in their business, are gadding about the village, all day long. I meet them wherever I go; and I declare, I never go twice into my nursery without seeing something of them. If Jemima were not the trustiest, steadiest creature in the world, it would be enough to spoil her; for she tells me, they are always tempting her to take a walk with them.” And on Mrs Musgrove’s side, it was, “I make a rule of never interfering in any of my daughter-in-law’s concerns, for I know it would not do; but I shall tell you, Miss Anne, because you may be able to set things to rights, that I have no very good opinion of Mrs Charles’s nursery-maid: I hear strange stories of her; she is always upon the gad; and from my own knowledge, I can declare, she is such a fine-dressing lady, that she is enough to ruin any servants she comes near. Mrs Charles quite swears by her, I know; but I just give you this hint, that you may be upon the watch; because, if you see anything amiss, you need not be afraid of mentioning it.”

‘Again, it was Mary’s complaint, that Mrs Musgrove was very apt not to give her the precedence that was her due, when they dined at the Great House with other families; and she did not see any reason why she was to be considered so much at home as to lose her place. And one day when Anne was walking with only the Musgroves, one of them after talking of rank, people of rank, and jealousy of rank, said, “I have no scruple of observing to you, how nonsensical some persons are about their place, because all the world knows how easy and indifferent you are about it; but I wish anybody could give Mary a hint that it would be a great deal better if she were not so very tenacious, especially if she would not be always putting herself forward to take place of mamma. Nobody doubts her right to have precedence of mamma, but it would be more becoming in her not to be always insisting on it. It is not that mamma cares about it the least in the world, but I know it is taken notice of by many persons.”

‘How was Anne to set all these matters to rights? She could do little more than listen patiently, soften every grievance, and excuse each to the other; give them all hints of the forbearance necessary between such near neighbours, and make those hints broadest which were meant for her sister’s benefit. ….

‘She played a great deal better than either of the Miss Musgroves, but having no voice, no knowledge of the harp, and no fond parents, to sit by and fancy themselves delighted, her performance was little thought of, only out of civility, or to refresh the others, as she was well aware. She knew that when she played she was giving pleasure only to herself; but this was no new sensation. Excepting one short period of her life, she had never, since the age of fourteen, never since the loss of her dear mother, known the happiness of being listened to, or encouraged by any just appreciation or real taste. In music she had been always used to feel alone in the world; and Mr and Mrs Musgrove’s fond partiality for their own daughters’ performance, and total indifference to any other person’s, gave her much more pleasure for their sakes, than mortification for her own.

‘The party at the Great House was sometimes increased by other company. The neighbourhood was not large, but the Musgroves were visited by everybody, and had more dinner-parties, and more callers, more visitors by invitation and by chance, than any other family. There were more completely popular.

‘The girls were wild for dancing; and the evenings ended, occasionally, in an unpremeditated little ball. There was a family of cousins within a walk of Uppercross, in less affluent circumstances, who depended on the Musgroves for all their pleasures: they would come at any time, and help play at anything, or dance anywhere; and Anne, very much preferring the office of musician to a more active post, played country dances to them by the hour together; a kindness which always recommended her musical powers to the notice of Mr and Mrs Musgrove more than anything else, and often drew this compliment;–“Well done, Miss Anne! very well done indeed! Lord bless me! how those little fingers of yours fly about!” ’ (Persuasion, Chapter VI)

About Jane Austen & this Website

Originally Posted by Miss Sneyd on October 10, 2009, 12:00 PM

Jane Austen was born on December 16, 1775 in Steventon, Hampshire, England. Mansfield Park was published in July 1814, the third of four novels that she published before her death in Winchester on July 18, 1817, at the age of 41. The others are Sense and Sensibility (1811), Pride and Prejudice (1813), and Emma (1815). Two more novels, Northanger Abbey and Persuasion, were published together posthumously in December 1817. Jane Austen has become one of the most widely read writers in English literature.

I am an admirer of Jane Austen’s works, and my favorite of these is Mansfield Park. My plan for this website is to post information related to the book, various quotes and links, as well as short compositions about the book—not necessarily finished essays, but simply my thoughts on the book—about once or twice a month.