A Genteel Profession

"It has been, and is, and probably will always be a heavy misfortune to me that I have had no necessary business to engage me, no profession to give me employment or afford me any thing like independence ... I always preferred the church, as I still do. But that was not smart enough for my family. They recommended the army. That was a great deal too smart for me. The law was allowed to be genteel enough; many young men who had chambers in the Temple, made a very good appearance in the first circles, and drove about town in very knowing gigs." (Edward Ferrars, Sense and Sensibility)

Every Jane Austen novel reminds us of the severe limitations placed on females of genteel birth in her era. Their only honorable profession was becoming some gentleman's wife. Although the men seem to have drawn a far better lot in general, their options were also restricted by social convention. As outlined above, if a young gentleman needed an occupation, he could go into the church, the army, or the law. Those were the three standard choices.

"But," you say, "I thought the mark of a gentleman was having no profession."

Well, not exactly. Younger sons absolutely needed a profession; they had to earn their living. The eldest would, of course, inherit the family estate when his father died, giving him some occupation thereafter. But what was he to do in the meantime? Too much free time got more than one heir presumptive into trouble. Edward, in hindsight, recognized that his foolish involvement with Lucy Steele sprang from his idleness. And Thomas Bertram (Mansfield Park) gambled his father's money away while waiting to come into his property.

Better give that boy something to do. Joining the clergy was acceptable, but not stylish. A military life held more prestige, but also more danger (Napoleon and all). So, perhaps the law? Fine, but then he must be a swanky London barrister, and not (heaven forbid!) a humble country attorney like Lizzy's uncle Phillips in Pride and Prejudice, who was considered one of her "low connections".

To become a lawyer didn't involve the years of intense study and rigorous exams you might imagine. One had to first acquire a standard degree (from Oxford, Cambridge, or Trinity), which hardly required breaking a sweat, before moving on to "study" at one of London's Inns of Court (Temple, as mentioned by Edward, for example). There his progress was measured according to how often he dined on the premises (I'm not kidding) rather than by successfully completing courses. What a student actually learned during his "terms" was largely left up to him. If he paid attention in court and read the recommended books, he might come away with some level of competency to go along with his certificate. If not ... well?

Although I'm no expert, from what I've read, the haphazard education of lawyers seems only a symptom of a much larger malaise afflicting the legal system that existed at the time. Jo Walker (heroine of my book For Myself Alone) has this to say about it:

"The quality of Mr. Gerber's advice notwithstanding, I come away from my first encounter with the legal system scarcely less ignorant than when I began. The little which I could understand, however, appears to contradict the very few notions I had entertained on the matter before. As it turns out, the law has only a nodding acquaintance with justice and an even more tenuous association with common sense."

Though still a flawed institution, I trust we've improved since then.

Rational Creatures

"I hate to hear you talking so ... as if women were all fine ladies instead of rational creatures." (Mrs. Croft to her brother, Frederick Wentworth, in chapter 8 of Persuasion)

Although Jane Austen may not seem progressive to a modern audience, certain aspects of her stories would have been considered downright revolutionary in her day. Nothing more so than her depiction of women as "rational creatures." Not that she didn't also write female characters who little deserved the title. But, by and large, the women who inspired the love of her heroes and earned the devotion of her readers (then and now) are those who were well read, intelligent, and possessed a good deal of common sense.

What's revolutionary about that? In Jane Austen's day, women were not only non-persons legally and socially (except as extensions of their fathers or husbands), they were generally considered vastly inferior creatures unworthy of higher education and incapable of higher thought. So, to call a woman rational was a clear contradiction in terms. To insist that she had the same capacity for reason as a man was a strongly feminist and highly controversial stand.

Jane Austen was no political activist. She didn't protest in front of the Parliament building or burn her corset in the town square. Her novels rarely even alluded to world events or governmental affairs. She instead made her case for recognizing the rationality of women with subtle strokes of her pen. Her strong female characters and her respected body of work speak volumes for her.

Polluted Shades

"Heaven and earth! - of what are you thinking? Are the shades of Pelmberley to be thus polluted?"

Did you know that pollution is not a problem exclusively of the modern era. Lady Catherine de Bourgh, as you see from her statement above (Pride and Prejudice, chapter 56), was concerned about its noxious effects even in the early 1800s, when she "lived." Of course the pollution she railed against was the contamination of noble realms by unworthy personages such as Elizabeth Bennet's low connections. In her eyes, the shortest visit of one of these at Pemberley would have left a stain on its woods that no amount of time could ever erase.

Lady Catherine is one of those delightful villains that we love so much to hate. She's also a writer's dream. Just like actors often report that wicked characters are more fun to play than the nice ones, villains are often more enjoyable to write for too. Even though I avoid confrontation in real life, I love to write that kind of scene. Think about the contest of wits between Lizzy and her ladyship that included the line quoted above. Lady Catherine creates conflict and confrontation wherever she goes, so I was thrilled to give her a prominent role in the Darcys of Pemberley, my sequel to Pride and Prejudice. I began with Jane Austen's final chapter as my jumping-off point, studying it carefully for clues to what she saw in her characters' futures and carefully respecting those ideas. This is what we learn there about Lady Catherine:

Lady Catherine was extremely indignant on the marriage of her nephew; and as she gave way to all the genuine frankness of her character, in her reply to the letter which announced its arrangement, she sent him language so very abusive, especially of Elizabeth, that for some time all intercourse was at an end. But at length, by Elizabeth's persuasion, he was prevailed on to overlook the offence, and seek a reconciliation; and, after a little farther resistance on the part of his aunt, her resentment gave way, either to her affection for him, or her curiosity to see how his wife conducted herself; and she condescended to wait on them at Pemberley, in spite of that pollution which its woods had received ...

I used Jane Austen's own words as the guide for all the characters, contradicting nothing she wrote in her epilogue. She left me plenty of good material to work with while not boxing me in too tight. So, I made the most of Lady Catherine's nasty disposition and aristocratic snobbery before finally humbling her into accepting the new mistress of Pemberley:

News soon spread throughout the neighborhood that there would be nobility coming amongst them, and the watch began for a very fine closed carriage - a barouche with coat of arms it was rumored to be - which would convey Lady Catherine de Bourgh to Pemberley. When the great lady was assured that the place was free of riffraff, she did come, bringing her daughter and son-in-law with her for the event. Her previous visit having been long before the current Mrs. Darcy presided, she keenly anticipated finding a serious decline in the dignity and polish of the grand estate under the new management. However, though she scrutinized the house and grounds down to the minutest detail, all her efforts were frustrated; Pemberley was just as fine as it had ever been when her own sister was its mistress.

I can well imagine how much Jane Austen enjoyed giving Lady Catherine a good set down (by way of Elizabeth's mouth), for I took equal pleasure making sure she got her comeuppance in my story.

The Pump-room

Every morning now brought its regular duties - shops were to be visited; some new part of the town to be looked at; and the Pump-room to be attended, where they paraded up and down for an hour, looking at everybody and speaking to no one.

This passage describes Catherine Morland's early days in Bath (chapter 3 of Northanger Abbey). She was on a grand adventure, leaving her quiet village to sample the delights of a fashionable spa town as the particular guest of the Morlands' wealthy neighbors, the Allens. The only flaw in the pleasure scheme was their lack of acquaintance in Bath. Mrs. Allen, as you may recall, continually bemoans that circumstance. It was no trivial complaint either, since one couldn't talk to (let alone dance with) a person until one had been properly introduced. Hence, the above comment about looking at everybody and speaking to no one.

Because of its place in both Jane Austen's writings (Northanger Abbey and Persuasion) and in her real life (having lived there herself for a time), I couldn't wait to go to Bath when I was in England two years ago. Although my visit was all too brief, I took in as much as I could, particularly wanting to see locations mentioned in her two books and to get a feel for the town, since I was setting my own novel (For Myself Alone) partially there. The Pump-room features prominently in both. At the heart of the community, it was the place to see and been seen, and to discover who else was currently in residence. Whether one was in town for health or holiday, the Pump-room had to be attended.

In For Myself Alone, my heroine, Josephine Walker, gives her impressions of the Pump-room: Crowds of fashionable people pass daily through its portals seeking the healing waters and the company of their peers. Reputedly, so many valuable acquaintances are renewed and favorable alliances formed within its hallowed walls that each visit holds as much promise for social as medicinal advantage. Thus, with high expectations, we joined the throng of pilgrims drawn to the Pump-room. As Papa bathed in the warm, spring-fed pool below, Mama and I filled our time by parading up and down the main room in concert with all the others similarly left with no more-useful employment. The scale of the place gave even this ordinary exercise a feeling of grandeur.

Other than the fact that it's now set up for serving high tea, the room has not changed much since Jane Austen trod the floors two hundred years ago. It was a thrill to walk the same polished hard woods and sample the same foul-smelling water water from the King's Fountain as she did then. So remember, if you get to Bath, you simply must attend the Pump-room too.