The John Singer Sargent portrait of another Master…who may have been more than just a reader of Austen.
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During the Sotherton escapade, the novel's chapters are organized like a play, with the action divided into specific scenes. I made this observation myself in my own reading of Chapters 8 through 11. Psychologically, they are already a masterstroke. Edmund Bertram, the smart, serious would-be clergyman, has a natural affinity with his best friend Fanny Price, but is unexpectedly attracted to his complete opposite, Mary Crawford. How many times do we find ourselves illogically lovestruck by someone we never expected? Austen built her career, and the careers of so many writers in the future, on exploring this idea, from Elizabeth and Darcy to people beyond. But in the lead-up to Sotherton, primarily through the "horse theme" as Nabokov calls it, Edmund vacillates between his "girls," favoring one and then the other. Enchanted by Mary's conversation and skills at the harp, he convinces Fanny to lend Mary her pony, and Edmund grows closer to Mary in their rides. But when he realizes Fanny has had to exert herself without a pony, he becomes guilt-ridden, and thus speaks up to persuade the others to have Fanny join them in Sotherton. (Mrs. Norris objects almost entirely because it upsets her carefully set scheme (in a novel focused on schemes) for the visit…her personal neutrality towards Fanny has nothing to do with it.)
Once in Sotherton's "wilderness," a deliberately overgrown area, the nine people on the escapade are divided into three Structural trios: the three I have already mentioned, the secondary triangle of Maria, her intended Mr. Rushworth, and her object of desire Henry, and a triumvirate of pure schemers, the matrimonial meddlers Mrs. Norris and Mrs. Rushworth and sulky Julia, upset that Henry has matched himself with Maria. There are then ten conversations between them, conversations where sometimes members of the unique groups interact with each other, or Fanny, who remains at the bench near the locked gate which is the locus for the first eight conversations, talks to those who pass her or listens to the other groups. The flow of these dialogues is as perfectly organized as the rhythmic and thematic flow of stage drama, and the conclusion both Nabokov and I reach leads me to ask a particular question.
One of the more momentous decisions in literary history was Henry James's temporary giving up of fiction in the 1890s to move to London and try his hand at playwriting. Five years of effort produced a "happy-ending" adaptation of his second major novel, The American, which was a moderate hit, and Guy Domville, a complete original and complete flop. But during this period, James worked on short stories which felt "dramatic," akin to an individual scene from a serious drama. Eventually he hit on the idea of writing "a novel in scenes," returning to long fiction but structuring his stories in long, single-set chapters with careful, nuanced dialogue and enough stream-of-consciousness for a reader to understand the entire setting and the way the characters looked and acted. In other words, trying to fully describe in words what it is like to watch the action happen right in front of you in all its living, breathing humanity. The ultimate result was three novels which many still say are James's greatest and which influenced the entire 20th Century: The Wings of the Dove,
The Ambassadors, and The Golden Bowl.
But here, almost another full century beforehand, is Jane Austen writing pivotal chapters as if they were scenes in a play, then going on to mingle the two in a crucial section of the novel based around theatre and the mingling of acting and real life. Which makes me wonder: during those five almost fruitless years in London theatrical society, was Henry James reading Jane Austen and getting a few ideas in his head? If it hasn't been done already, a literary student wanting to make a name for himself or herself should pick through James's papers of that period and see if references to Austen, Mansfield Park in particular, turn up. There's a hint for the day…
A clergyman is "a position {Mary} cannot contemplate in a future husband." This is a warning sign which will be a center of immense frustration for both the reader and Fanny. For the rest of the book, Mary will treat Edmund's personal goal in life with light disdain, and occasionally a half-hearted effort at understanding. Since Fanny can be a bit of a simp, this frustration allows we the readers to be on her side as she watches Edmund try to glance off these insults as he pursues Mary, and we think, "Doesn't he get it?" This lesson would be well-utilized by Hollywood, as from the screwball comedies onward (It Happened One Night and Bringing Up Baby come to mind) a major plot point is how he's with exactly the wrong woman, and/or vice versa. (Trollope used this device as well, to best effect in The Prime Minister.)
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When Mr. Rushworth leaves to find the key to the gate, following the "starling" conversation, Maria and Henry climb around the gate and continue onward. Both Julia and Mr. Rushworth, though separately, pass by next as Fanny remains on the bench. Very symbolic. Maria and Henry choose not to go out the way they came in (i.e. with no formal connection) but leave the wilderness behind for civilization and society TOGETHER, and do so by surmounting a locked gate. Not only do they lightly dodge an obstacle, but they go against conventional rules (you are supposed to go through a gate, and if locked and not on your property, wait for someone to open it up). The contremps of the play sequence and the eventual outcome of Part III are thus presciently foreshadowed. Austen also uses her descriptive powers to create a mutual sympathy (mostly ignored by those concerned) between Fanny, Julia, and Mr. Rushworth, all people with longings in their hearts who find themselves alone.
At the end of Chapter 11 and the Sotherton escapade, Fanny is again left alone—at the window when Edmund, who was stargazing with her, joins Mary and the others around the piano. This immediately follows more sardonic comments from Mary about a clergyman's income and some very meaningful dialogue between Fanny and Edmund…who, as with the "horse theme," is enchanted by Mary's musical talents. The action has come full circle. And again, we are left to wonder: "Doesn't he get it yet?!"
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