In light of Hamlette's Jane Austen party, I thought I'd throw together another "Moments in Fiction" post, this time entirely made up of Jane Austen snippets. ("Throw together"? Ha! Who am I kidding? My posts are never simply "thrown together." In fact, they always take me much longer to complete than any reasonable post should. *sigh*)
The selections from Northanger Abbey and Mansfield Park were the first two that came to my mind. I've always loved those scenes because of the kindness shown to the heroine by the hero. However, once I got started I figured I might as well go ahead and highlight a scene about each of Jane Austen's heroes because they're all so splendid. And of course I couldn't leave out Mr. Bingley, even though he's not technically a hero, so there will be eight scenes all together.
Be prepared for a lengthy post. (No, no! Wait! Don't go. I know length can be intimidating but...how shall I put it?...nothing ventured, nothing gained? Sometimes you just have to do the hard things in order to reap the rewards. In other words, you're going to miss out on some extreme adorableness if you leave. And you wouldn't want to do that, now would you? *smiles*)
The selections from Northanger Abbey and Mansfield Park were the first two that came to my mind. I've always loved those scenes because of the kindness shown to the heroine by the hero. However, once I got started I figured I might as well go ahead and highlight a scene about each of Jane Austen's heroes because they're all so splendid. And of course I couldn't leave out Mr. Bingley, even though he's not technically a hero, so there will be eight scenes all together.
Be prepared for a lengthy post. (No, no! Wait! Don't go. I know length can be intimidating but...how shall I put it?...nothing ventured, nothing gained? Sometimes you just have to do the hard things in order to reap the rewards. In other words, you're going to miss out on some extreme adorableness if you leave. And you wouldn't want to do that, now would you? *smiles*)
Northanger
Abbey (Henry Tilney)
"If I understand you rightly, you have formed a surmise of such horror as I have hardly words to ---- Dear Miss Morland, consider the dreadful nature of the suspicions you have entertained. What have you been judging from? Remember the country and age in which we live. Remember that we are English, that we are Christians. Consult your own understanding, your own sense of the probable, your own observation of what is passing around you--Does our education prepare us for such atrocities? Do our laws connive at them? Could they be perpetrated without being known, in a country like this, where social and literary intercourse is on such a footing; where every man is surrounded by a neighbourhood of voluntary spies, and where roads and newspapers lay everything open? Dearest Miss Morland, what ideas have you been admitting?"
They had reached the end of the gallery; and with tears of shame she ran off to her own room.
The visions or romance were over. Catherine was completely awakened. Henry's address, short as it had been, had more thoroughly opened her eyes to the extravagance of her late fancies than all their several disappointments had done. Most grievously was she humbled. Most bitterly did she cry. It was not only with herself that she was sunk--but with Henry. Her folly, which now seemed even criminal, was all exposed to him, and he must despise her forever. The liberty which her imagination had dared to take with the character of his father, could he ever forgive it? The absurdity of her curiosity and her fears, could they ever be forgotten? She hated herself more than she could express. He had--she thought he had, once or twice before this fatal morning, shewn something like affection for her.--But now--in short, she made herself as miserable as possible for about half an hour, went down when the clock struck five, with a broken heart, and could scarcely give an intelligible answer to Eleanor's inquiry, if she was well. The formidable Henry soon followed her into the room, and the only difference in his behaviour to her, was that he paid her rather more attention than usual. Catherine had never wanted comfort more and he looked as if he was aware of it.
First off, I love how Henry knows Catherine so well. She barely has to hint at what she was thinking and he's already got a pretty good idea what was going on in her overactive imagination. And the way he says, "Dearest Miss Morland, what ideas have you been admitting?" Eeek, I love it! There's such a tenderness in his address even while he's calling her out on her error of judgment. And then, oh! It just warms my heart the way he cares for her that evening; noticing her need for comfort and treating her with even more kindness than usual. He's a dear.
They had reached the end of the gallery; and with tears of shame she ran off to her own room.
The visions or romance were over. Catherine was completely awakened. Henry's address, short as it had been, had more thoroughly opened her eyes to the extravagance of her late fancies than all their several disappointments had done. Most grievously was she humbled. Most bitterly did she cry. It was not only with herself that she was sunk--but with Henry. Her folly, which now seemed even criminal, was all exposed to him, and he must despise her forever. The liberty which her imagination had dared to take with the character of his father, could he ever forgive it? The absurdity of her curiosity and her fears, could they ever be forgotten? She hated herself more than she could express. He had--she thought he had, once or twice before this fatal morning, shewn something like affection for her.--But now--in short, she made herself as miserable as possible for about half an hour, went down when the clock struck five, with a broken heart, and could scarcely give an intelligible answer to Eleanor's inquiry, if she was well. The formidable Henry soon followed her into the room, and the only difference in his behaviour to her, was that he paid her rather more attention than usual. Catherine had never wanted comfort more and he looked as if he was aware of it.
*****
First off, I love how Henry knows Catherine so well. She barely has to hint at what she was thinking and he's already got a pretty good idea what was going on in her overactive imagination. And the way he says, "Dearest Miss Morland, what ideas have you been admitting?" Eeek, I love it! There's such a tenderness in his address even while he's calling her out on her error of judgment. And then, oh! It just warms my heart the way he cares for her that evening; noticing her need for comfort and treating her with even more kindness than usual. He's a dear.
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| "Because it is my nearest way from the stable-yard to my own chamber; and why should I not come up it?" (Haha. Love that quote.) |
Pride and Prejudice (Mr. Bingley)
As soon as they entered, Bingley looked at her so expressively, and shook hands with such warmth, as left no doubt of his good information; and he soon afterwards said aloud, "Mr. Bennet, have you no more lanes hereabouts in which Lizzy may lose her way again to-day?"
"I advise Mr. Darcy, and Lizzy, and Kitty," said Mrs. Bennet, "to walk to Oakhan Mount this morning. It is a nice long walk, and Mr. Darcy has never seen the view."
"It may do very well for the others," replied Mr. Bingley; "but I am sure it will be too much for Kitty. Won't it, Kitty?"
Kitty owned that she had rather stay at home. Mr. Darcy professed a great curiosity to see the view from the Mount, and Elizabeth silently consented.
*****
Oh! I love this part. I love the picture it gives us of how close a relationship Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley have, and what a close relationship Mr. Bingley and Lizzy are going to have as brother and sister. The fact that Bingley is so happy that Lizzy and Darcy are going to be married is just really sweet. And I love how he maneuvers things in order to give Darcy and Lizzy some time to themselves. I can just see his mischievous smile as he declares such a walk to be too much for Kitty. Oh, sly, Mr. Bingley! Sly! ;)
Persuasion (Captain Wentworth)
The walking party had crossed the lane, and were surmounting an opposite stile, and the Admiral was putting his horse in motion again, when Captain Wentworth cleared the hedge in a moment, to say something to his sister. The something might be guessed by its effects.
"Miss Elliot, I am sure you are tired," cried Mrs. Croft. "Do let us have the pleasure of taking you home. Here is excellent room for three, I assure you. If we were all like you, I believe we might sit four. You must , indeed, you must."
Anne was still in the lane, and though instinctively beginning to decline, she was not allowed to proceed. The Admiral's kind urgency came in support of his wife's: they would not be refused: they compressed themselves into the smallest possible space to leave her a corner, and Captain Wentworth, without saying a word, turned to her, and quietly obliged her to be assisted into the carriage.
Yes; he had done it. She was in the carriage, and felt that he had placed her there, that his will and his hands had done it, that she owed it to his perception of her fatigue, and his resolution to give her rest. She was very much affected by the view of his disposition towards her, which all these things made apparent. This little circumstance seemed the completion of all that had gone before. She understood him. He could not forgive her, but he could not be unfeeling. Though condemning her for the past, and considering it with high and unjust resentment, though perfectly careless of her, and though becoming attached to another, still he could not see her suffer without the desire of giving her relief. It was a remainder of former sentiment; it was an impulse of pure, though unacknowledged, friendship; it was a proof of his own warm and amiable heart, which she could not contemplate without emotions so compounded of pleasure and pain, that she knew not which prevailed.
Talk about loving someone despite your own better judgment. Haha. Here's Captain Wentworth, angry at Anne for rejecting him so many years ago, and yet he can't bear to see her tired and uncomfortable without jumping at the chance to aid her. This is a love that goes much deeper than mere feelings. Because even as he stands to gain nothing for himself from caring for the woman who broke his heart, still he instinctively reaches out to help her. Because he's a gentleman. And because--though neither he nor Anne realizes it yet--no amount of rejection can really make him stop loving her.
*****
Talk about loving someone despite your own better judgment. Haha. Here's Captain Wentworth, angry at Anne for rejecting him so many years ago, and yet he can't bear to see her tired and uncomfortable without jumping at the chance to aid her. This is a love that goes much deeper than mere feelings. Because even as he stands to gain nothing for himself from caring for the woman who broke his heart, still he instinctively reaches out to help her. Because he's a gentleman. And because--though neither he nor Anne realizes it yet--no amount of rejection can really make him stop loving her.
Sense and Sensibility (Colonel Brandon)
It was not time for hesitation. Her fears and her difficulties were immediately before him. her fears, he had no courage, no confidence to attempt the removal of;--he listened to them in silent despondence;-- but her difficulties were instantly obviated, for with a readiness that seemed to speak the occasion, and the service pre-arranged in his mind, he offered himself as the messenger who should fetch Mrs. Dashwood. Elinor made no resistance that was not easily overcome. She thanked him with a brief, though fervent gratitude, and while he went to hurry off his servant with a message to Mr. Harris, and an order for post-horses directly, she wrote a few lines to her mother.
The comfort of such a friend at that moment as Colonel Brandon--of such a companion for her mother, --how gratefully was it felt!--a companion whose judgment would guide, whose attendance must relieve, and whose friendship might sooth her!--as far as the shock of such a summons could be lessened to her, his presence, his manners, his assistance, would lessen it.
He, meanwhile, whatever he might feel, acted with all the firmness of a collected mind, made every necessary arrangement with the utmost dispatch, and calculated with exactness the time in which she might look for his return. Not a moment was lost in delay of any kind. The horses arrived, even before they were expected, and Colonel Brandon only pressing her hand with a look of solemnity, and a few words spoken too low to reach her ear, hurried into the carriage.
*****
I have to admit, Colonel Brandon is the one Jane Austen hero that I have the hardest time connecting to. I'm not sure if it's because of his melancholy nature or what, but for some reason I don't feel for him as much as for some of the others. Still, this passage is really cool because it shows how much he cares for the Dashwood family, and how willing he is to do anything to help them. And also what a kind support he is in times of crisis. He certainly would be a good friend to have with you at such a time. Someone to lean on and gain confidence from. Okay, seriously. He really is a dear. And I'm so glad he was there to be a support and comfort to Mrs. Dashwood.
Mansfield Park (Edmund Bertram)
A
week had passed in this way, and no suspicion of it conveyed by her quiet passive manner, when she was
found one morning by her cousin Edmund, the youngest of the sons, sitting
crying on the attic stairs.
"My dear little cousin," said he, with all the gentleness of an
excellent nature, "what can be the matter?" And sitting down by her, was at great pains
to overcome her shame in being so surprised, and persuade her to speak openly. "Was she ill? or was anybody angry with
her? or had she quarrelled with Maria or Julia? or was she puzzled about
anything in her lesson that he could explain?
Did she, in short want anything he could possibly get her, or do for
her?" For a long while no answer
could be obtained beyond a "no, no--not at all--no, thank you;" but
he still persevered; and no sooner had he begun to revert to her own home, than
her increased sobs explained to him where the grievance lay. He tried to console her.
"You are sorry to leave mamma, my dear little Fanny," said he,
"Which shows you to be a very good girl: but you must remember that you
are with relations and friends, who all love you, and wish to make you
happy. Let us walk out in the park, and
you shall tell me all about your brothers and sisters."
On pursuing the subject, he found that, dear as all these brothers and sisters
generally were, there was on among them who ran more in her thoughts than the
rest. it was William whom she talked of
most, and wanted most to see. William, the eldest, a year older than herself,
her constant companion and friend; her advocate with her mother (of whom he was
the darling) in every distress.
"William did not like she should come away; he had told her he
should miss her very much indeed."--"But William will write to you, I
dare say."--"Yes, he had promised he would, but he had told her to write first."--"And
when shall you do it?" She hung her
head and answered, hesitatingly, "She did not know; she had not any
paper."
"If that be all your difficulty, I will furnish you with paper and every
other material, and you may write your letter whenever you choose. Would it make you happy to write to
William?"
"Yes, very."
"Then let it be done now. Come with
me into the breakfast-room, we shall find everything there, and be sure of
having the room to ourselves."
Isn't Edmund just the sweetest?! I've always loved the picture that comes into my mind when Jane Austen describes him as sitting down beside Fanny on the stairs. There's a friendly, brotherliness in the action which is simply adorable. And then how he talks to her and asks her questions until she finally gets up the courage to tell him what's bothering her. (I can relate to that, because I'm one of those people that needs drawing out. And when someone actually takes the time to sit down and listen to me...that's huge!) But Edmund doesn't stop there. He goes even further; takes her out for a walk, finds the subject she most wishes to speak about, and then allows her to talk about it to her heart's content. And when he realizes she wishes to write a letter to her brother he immediately sets out to make that possible for her. Because he wants to see her happy. Isn't that just the sweetest thing?
*****
Isn't Edmund just the sweetest?! I've always loved the picture that comes into my mind when Jane Austen describes him as sitting down beside Fanny on the stairs. There's a friendly, brotherliness in the action which is simply adorable. And then how he talks to her and asks her questions until she finally gets up the courage to tell him what's bothering her. (I can relate to that, because I'm one of those people that needs drawing out. And when someone actually takes the time to sit down and listen to me...that's huge!) But Edmund doesn't stop there. He goes even further; takes her out for a walk, finds the subject she most wishes to speak about, and then allows her to talk about it to her heart's content. And when he realizes she wishes to write a letter to her brother he immediately sets out to make that possible for her. Because he wants to see her happy. Isn't that just the sweetest thing?
Sense and Sensibility (Edward)
"Perhaps you mean--my brother--you mean Mrs.--Mrs. Robert Ferrars."
"Mrs. Robert Ferrars!"--was repeated by Marianne and her mother in an accent of the utmost amazement;--and though Elinor could not speak, even her eyes were fixed on him with the same impatient wonder. He rose from his seat and walked to the window, apparently from not knowing what to do; took up a pair of scissors that lay there, and while spoiling both them and their sheath by cutting the latter to pieces as he spoke, said, in an hurried voice--
"Perhaps you do not know--you may not have heard that my brother is lately married to--to the youngest--to Miss Lucy Steele."
His words were echoed with unspeakable astonishment by all but Elinor, who sat with her head leaning over her work, in a state of such agitation as made her hardly know where she was.
"Yes," said he, "they were married last week and are now at Dawlish."
Elinor could sit it no longer. She almost ran out of the room, and as soon as the door was closed, burst into tears of joy, which at first she thought would never cease. Edward, who had till then looked anywhere rather than at her, saw her hurry away, and perhaps saw--or even heard--her emotion; for immediately afterwards he fell into a reverie, which no remarks, no inquiries, no affectionate address of Mrs. Dashwood could penetrate, and at last, without saying a word, quitted the room, and walked out towards the village, leaving the others in the greatest astonishment and perplexity on a change in his situation so wonderful and so sudden--a perplexity which they had no means of lessening but by their own conjectures.
*****
Ohh! I feel for Edward in this scene. Like, really. What an awkward situation to find oneself in. The description of him picking up the scissors and spoiling the sheath by snipping it to pieces--simply because he didn't know what else to do with himself--ach! if that doesn't spell awkward I don't know what does! But it's so sweet how he forges ahead and says what he needs to say, and then how he's so overcome by Elinor's emotion that he can't even stay in the house, but has to go off by himself and mull things over. Dear Edward. Someone needs to give him a hug and assure him that everything's going to be okay. (Well, but I reckon Elinor will manage that, and make him super-duper happy when he finally comes back from his walk. ;))
Pride and Prejudice (Mr. Darcy)
In the evening, soon after Mr. Bennet withdrew to the library, she saw Mr. Darcy rise also and follow him, and her agitation on seeing it was extreme. She did not fear her father's opposition, but he was going to be made unhappy, and that it should be through her means that she, his favourite child, should be distressing him by her choice, should be filling him with fears and regrets in disposing of her, was a wretched reflection, and she sat in misery till Mr. Darcy appeared again, when, looking at him, she was a little relieved by his smile. In a few minutes he approached the table where she was sitting with Kitty, and, while pretending to admire her work, said in a whisper, "Go to your father; he wants you in the library." She was gone directly.
*****
I've always liked this part. The simplicity and unobtrusiveness of Darcy's manner is so endearing. The way he quietly smiles to let Lizzy know all is well, and then sits down by her side and nonchalantly passes along the message that her father wishes to speak to her. I just love how happy they both are, and how all of this is going on so quietly in the background while Lizzy's family remains quite oblivious to the grand event taking place.
She hoped they might now become friends again. She thought it was time to make up. Making-up indeed would not do. She certainly had not been in the wrong, and he would never own that he had. Concession must be out of the question; but it was time to appear to forget that they had ever quarrelled; and she hoped it might rather assist the restoration of friendship, that when he came into the room she had one of the children with her--the youngest, a nice little girl about eight months old, who was now making her first visit to Hartfield, and very happy to be danced about in her aunt's arms. It did assist; for though he began with grave looks and short questions, he was soon led to talk of them all in the usual way, and to take the child out of her arms with all the unceremoniousness of perfect amity. Emma felt they were friends again; and the conviction giving her at first great satisfaction, and then a little sauciness, she could not help saying, as he was admiring the baby,
"What a comfort it is, that we think alike about our nephews and nieces. As to men and women, our opinions are sometimes very different; but with regard to these children, I observe we never disagree."
"If you were as much guided by nature in your estimate of men and women, and as little under the power of fancy and whim in your dealings with them, as you are where these children are concerned, we might always think alike."
"To be sure--our discordancies must always arise from my being in the wrong."
"Yes," said he, smiling--"and reason good. I was sixteen years old when you were born."
"A material difference then," she replied; "and no doubt you were much my superior in judgment at that period of our lives; but does not the lapse of one-and-twenty years bring our understandings a good deal nearer?"
"Yes--a good deal nearer."
"But still, not near enough to give me a chance of being right, if we think differently."
"I have still the advantage of you by sixteen years' experience, and by not being a pretty young woman and a spoiled child. Come, my dear Emma, let us be friends and say no more about it. Tell your aunt, little Emma, that she ought to set you a better example than to be renewing old grievances, and that if she were not wrong before, she is now."
"That's true," she cried, "very true. Little Emma, grow up a better woman than your aunt. Be infinitely cleverer and not half so conceited."
*****
This is what I love about Emma and Mr. Knightley's relationship. There's a bond of friendship there so deep that no amount of disagreements and arguments can pull them apart. I like the connection they have with their nieces and nephews and that in this scene you get to see them enjoying the children together, as a brother and sister would. And then how they tease each other and almost get into another argument, before Mr. Knightley finally says, "That's enough. Let's be friends again." And they are. (And he calls her "my dear Emma" and I think that's just so sweet.)
Aren't Jane Austen's heroes just the best?
Do you have a favorite amongst the eight gentleman mentioned in this post?
Was there a selection here that you particularly enjoyed reading?
Well, the party's still going on at Hamlette's blog, so be sure to head over there and check out the other posts which have been written this week.
(And then go and read a Jane Austen novel, because you know you're in the mood for it! ;))
Farewell, my friends!
