No More Learning

Bates had a bad cold about a month ago. "
"How sorry I am! but colds were never so prevalent as they
have been this autumn. Mr. Wingfield told me that he had
never known them more general or heavy, except when it has
been quite an influenza. "
"That has been a good deal the case, my dear, but not to the
degree you mention. Perry says that colds have been very gen-
eral, but not so heavy as he has very often known them in No-
vember. Perry does not call it altogether a sickly season. "
"No, I do not know that Mr. Wingfield considers it very
sickly, except—”
"Ah, my poor, dear child, the truth is, that in London it is
always a sickly season. Nobody is healthy in London, nobody
can be. It is a dreadful thing to have you forced to live there;-
so far off! -and the air so bad! "
Our part of
must not con-
The neighbor-
"No, indeed, we are not at all in a bad air.
London is so very superior to most others. You
found us with London in general, my dear sir.
hood of Brunswick Square is very different from almost all the
rest. We are so very airy! I should be unwilling, I own, to
live in any other part of the town; there is hardly any other that
I could be satisfied to have my children in: but we are SO
remarkably airy! Mr. Wingfield thinks the vicinity of Brunswick
Square decidedly the most favorable as to air. "
-


## p. 1067 (#493) ###########################################

JANE AUSTEN
1067
You make the best
"Ah, my dear, it is not like Hartfield.
of it—but after you have been a week at Hartfield, you are all
of you different creatures; you do not look like the same. Now,
I cannot say that I think you are any of you looking well at
present. "
"I am sorry to hear you say so, sir; but I assure you, except-
ing those little nervous headaches and palpitations which I am
never entirely free from anywhere, I am quite well myself; and
if the children were rather pale before they went to bed, it was
only because they were a little more tired than usual from their
journey and the happiness of coming. I hope you will think
better of their looks to-morrow; for I assure you Mr. Wingfield
told me that he did not believe he had ever sent us off, alto-
gether, in such good case. I trust at least that you do not think
Mr. Knightley looking ill," turning her eyes with affectionate
anxiety toward her husband.
“Middling, my dear; I cannot compliment you. I think Mr.
John Knightley very far from looking well. "
"What is the matter, sir? Did you speak to me? " cried Mr.
John Knightley, hearing his own name.
"I am sorry to find, my love, that my father does not think
you looking well; but I hope it is only from being a little
fatigued. I could have wished, however, as you know, that you
had seen Mr. Wingfield before you left home. "
"My dear Isabella," exclaimed he hastily, "pray do not con-
cern yourself about my looks. Be satisfied with doctoring and
coddling yourself and the children, and let me look as I choose. "
"I did not thoroughly understand what you were telling your
brother," cried Emma, "about your friend Mr. Graham's intend-
ing to have a bailiff from Scotland to look after his new estate.
But will it answer? Will not the old prejudice be too strong? >>>>
And she talked in this way so long and successfully that,
when forced to give her attention again to her father and sister,
she had nothing worse to hear than Isabella's kind inquiry after
Jane Fairfax; and Jane Fairfax, though no great favorite with
her in general, she was at that moment very happy to assist in
praising.
"That sweet, amiable Jane Fairfax! " said Mrs. John Knight-
ley. "It is so long since I have seen her, except now and then
for a moment accidentally in town. What happiness it must be
to her good old grandmother and excellent aunt when she comes


## p. 1068 (#494) ###########################################

1068
JANE AUSTEN
to visit them! I always regret excessively, on dear Emma's
account, that she cannot be more at Highbury; but now their
daughter is married I suppose Colonel and Mrs. Campbell will
not be able to part with her at all. She would be such a de-
lightful companion for Emma. "
Mr. Woodhouse agreed to it all, but added:-
"Our little friend Harriet Smith, however, is just such another
pretty kind of young person. You will like Harriet. Emma
could not have a better companion than Harriet. "
"I am most happy to hear it; but only Jane Fairfax one
knows to be so very accomplished and superior, and exactly
Emma's age. "
>>
This topic was discussed very happily, and others succeeded
of similar moment, and passed away with similar harmony; but
the evening did not close without a little return of agitation.
The gruel came and supplied a great deal to be said — much
praise and many comments- undoubting decision of its whole-
someness for every constitution, and pretty severe philippics upon
the many houses where it was never met with tolerably; but
unfortunately, among the failures which the daughter had to
instance, the most recent and therefore most prominent was
in her own cook at South End, a young woman hired for the
time, who never had been able to understand what she meant by
a basin of nice smooth gruel, thin, but not too thin. Often as
she had wished for and ordered it, she had never been able to
get anything tolerable. Here was a dangerous opening.
"Ah,” said Mr. Woodhouse, shaking his head, and fixing his
eyes on her with tender concern. The ejaculation in Emma's
ear expressed, "Ah, there is no end of the sad consequences of
your going to South End. It does not bear talking of. " And
for a little while she hoped he would not talk of it, and that a
silent rumination might suffice to restore him to the relish of
his own smooth gruel. After an interval of some minutes, how-
ever, he began with
"I shall always be very sorry that you went to the sea this
autumn, instead of coming here. "
"But why should you be sorry, sir? I assure you it did the
children a great deal of good. ”
"And moreover, if you must go to the sea, it had better not
have been to South End. South End is an unhealthy place.
Perry was surprised to hear you had fixed upon South End. "


## p. 1069 (#495) ###########################################

JANE AUSTEN
1069
"I know there is such an idea with many people, but indeed
it is quite a mistake, sir. We all had our health perfectly well
there, never found the least inconvenience from the mud, and
Mr. Wingfield says it is entirely a mistake to suppose the place
unhealthy; and I am sure he may be depended on, for he thor-
oughly understands the nature of the air, and his own brother
and family have been there repeatedly. "
"You should have gone to Cromer, my dear, if you went any-
where. Perry was a week at Cromer once, and he holds it to be
the best of all the sea-bathing places. A fine open sea, he says,
and very pure air. And by what I understand, you might have
had lodgings there quite away from the sea—a quarter of a mile
off very comfortable. You should have consulted Perry. "
"But my dear sir, the difference of the journey: only con-
sider how great it would have been. A hundred miles, perhaps,
instead of forty. "
"Ah, my dear, as Perry says, where health is at stake, noth-
ing else should be considered; and if one is to travel, there is
not much to choose between forty miles and a hundred. Better
not move at all, better stay in London altogether than travel
forty miles to get into a worse air. This is just what Perry
said. It seemed to him a very ill-judged measure. "
Emma's attempts to stop her father had been vain; and when
he had reached such a point as this, she could not wonder at her
brother-in-law's breaking out.
I
"Mr. Perry," said he, in a voice of very strong displeasure,
"would do as well to keep his opinion till it is asked for. Why
does he make it any business of his to wonder at what I do? -
at my taking my family to one part of the coast or another?
may be allowed, I hope, the use of my judgment as well as Mr.
Perry. I want his directions no more than his drugs. " He
paused, and growing cooler in a moment, added, with only sar-
castic dryness, "If Mr. Perry can tell me how to convey a wife
and five children a distance of a hundred and thirty miles with
no greater expense or inconvenience than a distance of forty, I
should be as willing to prefer Cromer to South End as he could
himself. "
-
"True, true," cried Mr. Knightley, with most ready interposi-
tion, "very true. That's a consideration, indeed. But, John, as
to what I was telling you of my idea of moving the path to
Langham, of turning it more to the right that it may not cut


## p. 1070 (#496) ###########################################

1070
JANE AUSTEN
through the home meadows, I cannot conceive any difficulty. I
should not attempt it, if it were to be the means of inconvenience
to the Highbury people, but if you call to mind exactly the pres-
ent light of the path- The only way of proving it, however,
will be to turn to our maps. I shall see you at the Abbey
to-morrow morning, I hope, and then we will look them over,
and you shall give me your opinion. "
Mr. Woodhouse was rather agitated by such harsh reflections
on his friend Perry, to whom he had in fact, though uncon-
sciously, been attributing many of his own feelings and expres-
sions; but the soothing attentions of his daughters gradually
removed the present evil, and the immediate alertness of one
brother, and better recollections of the other, prevented any
renewal of it.
-
FAMILY TRAINING
From Mansfield Park'
A$
S HER [Fanny Price's] appearance and spirits improved, Sir
Thomas and Mrs. Norris thought with greater satisfaction
of their benevolent plan; and it was pretty soon decided
between them, that though far from clever, she showed a tract-
able disposition, and seemed likely to give them little trouble.
A mean opinion of her abilities was not confined to them. Fanny
could read, work, and write, but she had been taught nothing
more; and as her cousins found her ignorant of many things
with which they had been long familiar, they thought her prodi-
giously stupid, and for the first two or three weeks were con-
tinually bringing some fresh report of it into the drawing-room.
"Dear mamma, only think, my cousin cannot put the map of
Europe together" or "my cousin cannot tell the principal riv-
ers in Russia". or "she never heard of Asia Minor".
or "she
does not know the difference between water-colors and crayons!
How strange! Did you ever hear anything so stupid? "
"My dear," their aunt would reply, "it is very bad, but you
must not expect everybody to be as quick at learning as your-
self. "
-
-
"But, aunt, she is really so very ignorant! Do you know, we
asked her last night which way she would go to get to Ireland;
and she said she should cross to the Isle of Wight. She thinks
of nothing but the Isle of Wight, and she calls it the Island, as


## p. 1071 (#497) ###########################################

JANE AUSTEN
1071
I am sure I should
if there were no other island in the world.
have been ashamed of myself, if I had not known better long
before I was so old as she is. I cannot remember the time
when I did not know a great deal that she has not the least
notion of yet. How long ago it is, aunt, since we used to
repeat the chronological order of the kings of England, with the
dates of their accession, and most of the principal events of their
reigns! "
"Yes," added the other; "and of the Roman emperors as
low as Severus; besides a great deal of the heathen mythology,
and all the metals, semi-metals, planets, and distinguished phi-
losophers. "
"Very true, indeed, my dears, but you are blessed with won-
derful memories, and your poor cousin has probably none at all.
There is a vast deal of difference in memories, as well as in
everything else; and therefore you must make allowance for
your cousin, and pity her deficiency. And remember that if
you are ever so forward and clever yourselves, you should
always be modest, for, much as you know already, there is a
great deal more for you to learn. "
"Yes, I know there is, till I am seventeen. But I must tell
you another thing of Fanny, so odd and so stupid.
Do you
know, she says she does not want to learn either music or
drawing? "
"To be sure, my dear, that is very stupid indeed, and shows
a great want of genius and emulation. But, all things consid-
ered, I do not know whether it is not as well that it should be
SO: for though you know (owing to me) your papa and mamma
are so good as to bring her up with you, it is not at all neces-
sary that she should be as accomplished as you are; on the
contrary, it is much more desirable that there should be a
difference. "
Such were the counsels by which Mrs. Norris assisted to form
her nieces' minds; and it is not very wonderful that, with all
their promising talents and early information, they should be
entirely deficient in the less common acquirements of self-knowl-
edge, generosity, and humility. In everything but disposition,
they were admirably taught. Sir Thomas did not know what
was wanting, because, though a truly anxious father, he was not
outwardly affectionate, and the reserve of his manner repressed
all the flow of their spirits before him.


## p. 1072 (#498) ###########################################

1072
JANE AUSTEN
PRIVATE THEATRICALS
From Mansfield Park'
F₁
ANNY looked on and listened, not unamused to observe the
selfishness which, more or less disguised, seemed to govern
them all, and wondering how it would end.
Three of the characters were now cast, besides Mr. Rush-
worth, who was always answered for by Maria as willing to do
anything; when Julia, meaning, like her sister, to be Agatha,
began to be scrupulous on Miss Crawford's account.
"This is not behaving well by the absent," said she. "Here
are not women enough. Amelia and Agatha may do for Maria
and me, but here is nothing for your sister, Mr. Crawford. "
Mr. Crawford desired that might not be thought of; he was
very sure his sister had no wish of acting but as she might be
useful, and that she would not allow herself to be considered in
the present case. But this was immediately opposed by Tom
Bertram, who asserted the part of Amelia to be in every respect
the property of Miss Crawford, if she would accept it. "It falls
as naturally as necessarily to her," said he, "as Agatha does to
one or other of my sisters. It can be no sacrifice on their side,
for it is highly comic. "
A short silence followed. Each sister looked anxious; for
each felt the best claim to Agatha, and was hoping to have it
pressed on her by the rest. Henry Crawford, who meanwhile
had taken up the play, and with seeming carelessness was turn-
ing over the first act, soon settled the business.
"I must entreat Miss Julia Bertram," said he, "not to engage
in the part of Agatha, or it will be the ruin of all my solem-
nity. You must not, indeed you must not [turning to her].
I could not stand your countenance dressed up in woe and pale-
ness. The many laughs we have had together would infal-
libly come across me, and Frederick and his knapsack would be
obliged to run away. "
Pleasantly, courteously, it was spoken; but the manner was
lost in the matter to Julia's feelings. She saw a glance at Maria,
which confirmed the injury to herself: it was a scheme, a trick;
she was slighted, Maria was preferred; the smile of triumph
which Maria was trying to suppress showed how well it was
understood and before Julia could command herself enough to


## p. 1073 (#499) ###########################################

JANE AUSTEN
1073
speak, her brother gave his weight against her too, by saying,
"Oh yes! Maria must be Agatha. Maria will be the best Agatha.
Though Julia fancies she prefers tragedy, I would not trust her
in it. There is nothing of tragedy about her. She has not the
look of it. Her features are not tragic features, and she walks
too quick, and speaks too quick, and would not keep her coun-
tenance. She had better do the old countrywoman - the Cot-
tager's wife; you had, indeed, Julia. Cottager's wife is a very
pretty part, I assure you. The old lady relieves the high-flown
benevolence of her husband with a good deal of spirit. You
shall be the Cottager's wife. "
"Cottager's wife! " cried Mr. Yates. "What are you talking
of? The most trivial, paltry, insignificant part; the merest com-
monplace; not a tolerable speech in the whole. Your sister do
that! It is an insult to propose it. At Ecclesford the governess
was to have done it. We all agreed that it could not be offered
to anybody else. A little more justice, Mr. Manager, if you
please. You do not deserve the office if you cannot appreciate
the talents of your company a little better. "
"Why, as to that, my good friends, till I and my company
have really acted, there must be some guesswork; but I mean
no disparagement to Julia. We cannot have two Agathas, and
we must have one Cottager's wife; and I am sure I set her the
example of moderation myself in being satisfied with the old
Butler. If the part is trifling she will have more credit in mak-
ing something of it: and if she is so desperately bent against
everything humorous, let her take Cottager's speeches instead of
Cottager's wife's, and so change the parts all through; he is sol-
emn and pathetic enough, I am sure. It could make no differ-
ence in the play; and as for Cottager himself, when he has
got his wife's speeches, I would undertake him with all my
heart. "
"With all your partiality for Cottager's wife," said Henry
Crawford, "it will be impossible to make anything of it fit for
your sister, and we must not suffer her good nature to be im-
posed on. We must not allow her to accept the part. She must
not be left to her own complaisance. Her talents will be wanted
in Amelia. Amelia is a character more difficult to be well rep-
resented than even Agatha. I consider Amelia as the most diffi-
cult character in the whole piece. It requires great powers,
great nicety, to give her playfulness and simplicity without
11-68


## p. 1074 (#500) ###########################################

1074
JANE AUSTEN
not.
extravagance. I have seen good actresses fail in the part. Sim-
plicity, indeed, is beyond the reach of almost every actress by
profession.
It requires a delicacy of feeling which they have
It requires a gentlewoman-a Julia Bertram. You will
undertake it, I hope? " turning to her with a look of anxious
entreaty, which softened her a little; but while she hesitated
what to say, her brother again interposed with Miss Crawford's
better claim.
"No, no, Julia must not be Amelia. It is not at all the part
for her. She would not like it. She would not do well. She is
too tall and robust. Amelia should be a small, light, girlish,
skipping figure. It is fit for Miss Crawford, and Miss Crawford
only. She looks the part, and I am persuaded will do it ad-
mirably. "
Without attending to this, Henry Crawford continued his sup-
plication. "You must oblige us," said he, "indeed you must.
When you have studied the character I am sure you will feel it
suits you. Tragedy may be your choice, but it will certainly
appear that comedy chooses you. You will have to visit me in
prison with a basket of provisions; you will not refuse to visit
me in prison? I think I see you coming in with your basket. "
The influence of his voice was felt. Julia wavered; but was
he only trying to soothe and pacify her, and make her overlook
the previous affront? She distrusted him. The slight had been
most determined. He was, perhaps, but at treacherous play
with her. She looked suspiciously at her sister; Maria's coun-
tenance was to decide it; if she were vexed and alarmed — but
Maria looked all serenity and satisfaction, and Julia well knew
that on this ground Maria could not be happy but at her expense.
With hasty indignation, therefore, and a tremulous voice, she said
to him, "You do not seem afraid of not keeping your coun-
tenance when I come in with a basket of provisions-though one
might have supposed—but it is only as Agatha that I was to be
so overpowering! " She stopped, Henry Crawford looked rather
foolish, and as if he did not know what to say. Tom Bertram
began again:-
She will be an excellent
"Miss Crawford must be Amelia.
Amelia. "
"Do not be afraid of my wanting the character," cried Julia,
with angry quickness: "I am not to be Agatha, and I am sure I
will do nothing else; and as to Amelia, it is of all parts in the


## p. 1075 (#501) ###########################################

JANE AUSTEN
1075
world the most disgusting to me. I quite detest her. An odious
little, pert, unnatural, impudent girl. I have always protested
against comedy, and this is comedy in its worst form. " And so
saying, she walked hastily out of the room, leaving awkward
feelings to more than one, but exciting small compassion in any
except Fanny, who had been a quiet auditor of the whole, and
who could not think of her as under the agitations of jealousy
without great pity.
•
The inattention of the two brothers and the aunt to Julia's
discomposure, and their blindness to its true cause, must be im-
puted to the fullness of their own minds. They were totally
preoccupied. Tom was engrossed by the concerns of his theatre,
and saw nothing that did not immediately relate to it. Edmund,
between his theatrical and his real part-between Miss Craw-
ford's claims and his own conduct-between love and consistency,
was equally unobservant: and Mrs. Norris was too busy in con-
triving and directing the general little matters of the company,
superintending their various dresses with economical expedients,
for which nobody thanked her, and saving, with delighted integ-
rity, half-a-crown here and there to the absent Sir Thomas, to
have leisure for watching the behavior, or guarding the happi-
ness, of his daughters.
FRUITLESS REGRETS AND APPLES OF SODOM
From Mansfield Park'
THE
HESE were the circumstances and the hopes which gradu-
ally brought their alleviation to Sir Thomas, deadening his
sense of what was lost, and in part reconciling him to
himself; though the anguish arising from the conviction of his
own errors in the education of his daughters was never to be
entirely done away.
Too late he became aware how unfavorable to the character
of any young people must be the totally opposite treatment
which Maria and Julia had been always experiencing at home,
where the excessive indulgence and flattery of their aunt had
been continually contrasted with his own severity. He saw how
ill he had judged, in expecting to counteract what was wrong.
in Mrs. Norris by its reverse in himself, clearly saw that he had
but increased the evil, by teaching them to repress their spirits


## p. 1076 (#502) ###########################################

1076
JANE AUSTEN
in his presence so as to make their real disposition unknown
to him, and sending them for all their indulgences to a person
who had been able to attach them only by the blindness of her
affection and the excess of her praise.
Here had been grievous mismanagement; but, bad as it was,
he gradually grew to feel that it had not been the most direful
mistake in his plan of education. Something must have been
wanting within, or time would have worn away much of its ill
effect. He feared that principle, active principle, had been want-
ing; that they had never been properly taught to govern their
inclinations and tempers, by that sense of duty which can alone
suffice. They had been instructed theoretically in their religion,
but never required to bring it into daily practice. To be distin-
guished for elegance and accomplishments-the authorized object
of their youth—could have had no useful influence that way, no
moral effect on the mind. He had meant them to be good, but
his cares had been directed to the understanding and manners,
not the disposition; and of the necessity of self-denial and humil
ity, he feared they had never heard from any lips that could
profit them.
Bitterly did he deplore a deficiency which now he could
scarcely comprehend to have been possible. Wretchedly did he
feel, that with all the cost and care of an anxious and expensive
education, he had brought up his daughters without their under-
standing their first duties, or his being acquainted with their
character and temper.
The high spirit and strong passions of Mrs. Rushworth espe-
cially were made known to him only in their sad result. She
was not to be prevailed on to leave Mr. Crawford.
She hoped
to marry him, and they continued together till she was obliged
to be convinced that such hope was vain, and till the disappoint-
ment and wretchedness arising from the conviction rendered her
temper so bad, and her feelings for him so like hatred, as to
make them for a while each other's punishment, and then induce
a voluntary separation.
She had lived with him to be reproached as the ruin of all
his happiness in Fanny, and carried away no better consolation
in leaving him, than that she had divided them. What can
exceed the misery of such a mind in such a situation!
Mr. Rushworth had no difficulty in procuring a divorce; and
so ended a marriage contracted under such circumstances as to


## p. 1077 (#503) ###########################################

JANE AUSTEN
1077
make any better end the effect of good luck, not to be reckoned
on. She had despised him, and loved another-and he had been
very much aware that it was so. The indignities of stupidity,
and the disappointments of selfish passion, can excite little pity.
His punishment followed his conduct, as did a deeper punish-
ment the deeper guilt of his wife. He was released from the
engagement, to be mortified and unhappy till some other pretty
girl could attract him into matrimony again, and he might set
forward on a second, and it is to be hoped more prosperous
trial of the state-if duped, to be duped at least with good
humor and good luck; while she must withdraw with infinitely
stronger feelings, to a retirement and reproach which could allow
no second spring of hope or character.
Where she could be placed, became a subject of most melan-
choly and momentous consultation. Mrs. Norris, whose attach-
ment seemed to augment with the demerits of her niece, would
have had her received at home and countenanced by them all.
Sir Thomas would not hear of it; and Mrs. Norris's anger
against Fanny was so much the greater, from considering her
residence there as the motive. She persisted in placing his
scruples to her account, though Sir Thomas very solemnly
assured her that had there been no young woman in question,
had there been no young person of either sex belonging to him,
to be endangered by the society or hurt by the character of
Mrs. Rushworth, he would never have offered so great an insult
to the neighborhood as to expect it to notice her. As a daugh-
ter he hoped a penitent one-she should be protected by him,
and secured in every comfort and supported by every encourage-
ment to do right which their relative situations admitted; but
farther than that he would not go. Maria had destroyed her
own character; and he would not, by a vain attempt to restore
what never could be restored, be affording his sanction to vice,
or, in seeking to lessen its disgrace, be anywise accessory to
introducing such misery in another man's family as he had
known himself.
-
Henry Crawford, ruined by early independence and bad
domestic example, indulged in the freaks of a cold-blooded
vanity a little too long. Once it had, by an opening undesigned
and unmerited, led him into the way of happiness. Could he
have been satisfied with the conquest of one amiable woman's
affections, could he have found sufficient exultation in overcom-


## p. 1078 (#504) ###########################################

1078
JANE AUSTEN
ing the reluctance, in working himself into the esteem and
tenderness of Fanny Price, there would have been every proba-
bility of success and felicity for him. His affection had already
done something. Her influence over him had already given him.
some influence over her. Would he have deserved more, there
can be no doubt that more would have been obtained; especially
when that marriage had taken place, which would have given
him the assistance of her conscience in subduing her first incli-
nation, and brought them very often together. Would he have
persevered, and uprightly, Fanny must have been his reward-
and a reward very voluntarily bestowed-within a reasonable
period from Edmund's marrying Mary. Had he done as he
intended, and as he knew he ought, by going down to Evering-
ham after his return from Portsmouth, he might have been
deciding his own happy destiny. But he was pressed to stay for
Mrs. Fraser's party: his staying was made of flattering conse-
quence, and he was to meet Mrs. Rushworth there. Curiosity
and vanity were both engaged, and the temptation of immediate
pleasure was too strong for a mind unused to make any sacrifice
to right; he resolved to defer his Norfolk journey, resolved that
writing should answer the purpose of it, or that its purpose was
unimportant—and staid. He saw Mrs. Rushworth, was received
by her with a coldness which ought to have been repulsive, and
have established apparent indifference between them for ever:
but he was mortified, he could not bear to be thrown off by the
woman whose smiles had been so wholly at his command; he
must exert himself to subdue so proud a display of resentment:
it was anger on Fanny's account; he must get the better of it,
and make Mrs. Rushworth Maria Bertram again in her treatment
of himself.
In this spirit he began the attack; and by animated persever-
ance had soon re-established the sort of familiar intercourse
of gallantry-of flirtation-which bounded his views: but in
triumphing over the discretion, which, though beginning in
anger, might have saved them both, he had put himself in the
power of feelings on her side more strong than he had sup-
posed. She loved him; there was no withdrawing attentions
avowedly dear to her. He was entangled by his own vanity,
with as little excuse of love as possible, and without the smallest
inconstancy of mind towards her cousin. To keep Fanny and
the Bertrams from a knowledge of what was passing became his
-


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AVERROËS
1079
first object. Secrecy could not have been more desirable for
Mrs. Rushworth's credit than he felt it for his own. When he
returned from Richmond, he would have been glad to see Mrs.
Rushworth no more. All that followed was the result of her
imprudence; and he went off with her at last because he could
not help it, regretting Fanny even at the moment, but regret-
ting her infinitely more when all the bustle of the intrigue was
over, and a very few months had taught him, by the force of
contrast, to place a yet higher value on the sweetness of her
temper, the purity of her mind, and the excellence of her
principles.
That punishment, the public punishment of disgrace, should
in a just measure attend his share of the offense, is, we know,
not one of the barriers which society gives to virtue. In this
world, the penalty is less equal than could be wished; but with-
out presuming to look forward to a juster appointment hereafter,
we may fairly consider a man of sense, like Henry Crawford,
to be providing for himself no small portion of vexation and
regret - vexation that must rise sometimes to self-reproach, and
regret to wretchedness-in having so requited hospitality, so
injured family peace, so forfeited his best, most estimable, and
endeared acquaintance, and so lost the woman whom he had
rationally as well as passionately loved.
AVERROES
(1126-1198)
VERROËS (Abu 'l Walid Muhammad, ibn Achmad, ibn Muham-
mad, IBN RUSHD; or more in English, Abu 'l Walid Muham-
med, the son of Achmet, the son of Muhammed, the son
of Rushd) was born in 1126 at Cordova, Spain. His father and
grandfather, the latter a celebrated jurist and canonist, had been
judges in that city. He first studied theology and canon law, and
later medicine and philosophy; thus, like Faust, covering the whole
field of mediæval science. His life was cast in the most brilliant
period of Western Muslim culture, in the splendor of that rationalism
which preceded the great darkness of religious fanaticism.
As a
young man, he was introduced by Ibn Tufail (Abubacer), author of


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1080
AVERROËS
the famous 'Hayy al-Yukdhan,' a philosophical 'Robinson Crusoe,' to
the enlightened Khalif Abu Ya'kub Yusuf (1163-84), as a fit expounder
of the then popular philosophy of Aristotle. This position he filled.
with so much success as to become a favorite with the Prince, and
finally his private physician. He likewise filled the important office
of judge, first at Seville, later at Cordova.
He enjoyed even greater consideration under the next Khalif,
Ya'kub al-Mansur, until the year 1195, when the jealousy of his
rivals and the fanaticism of the Berbers led to his being accused of
championing philosophy to the detriment of religion. Though Aver-
roës always professed great respect for religion, and especially for
Islâm, as a valuable popular substitute for science and philosophy,
the charge could hardly be rebutted (as will be shown later), and
the Amir of the Faithful could scarcely afford openly to favor a
heretic. Averroës was accordingly deprived of his honors, and ban-
ished to Lacena, a Jewish settlement near Cordova-a fact which
gives coloring to the belief that he was of Jewish descent. To
satisfy his fanatical subjects for the moment, the Khalif published
severe edicts not only against Averroës, but against all learned men
and all learning as hostile to religion. For a time the poor philoso-
pher could not appear in public without being mobbed; but after
two years, a less fanatical party having come into power, the Prince
revoked his edicts, and Averroës was restored to favor. This event he
did not long survive. He died on 10th December 1198, in Marocco.
Here too he was buried; but his body was afterward transported to
Cordova, and laid in the tomb of his fathers. He left several sons,
more than one of whom came to occupy important positions.
Averroes was the last great Muslim thinker, summing up and
carrying to its conclusions the thought of four hundred years. The
philosophy of Islâm, which flourished first in the East, in Basra and
Bagdad (800-1100), and then in the West, Cordova, Toledo, etc. (1100–
1200), was a mixture of Aristotelianism and Neo-Platonism, borrowed,
under the earlier Persianizing Khalifs, from the Christian (mainly
Nestorian) monks of Syria and Mesopotamia, being consequently a nat-
uralistic system. In it God was acknowledged only as the supreme
abstraction; while eternal matter, law, and impersonal intelligence
played the principal part. It was necessarily irreconcilable with
Muslim orthodoxy, in which a crudely conceived, intensely personal
God is all in all. While Persian influence was potent, philosophy
flourished, produced some really great scholars and thinkers, made
considerable headway against Muslim fatalism and predestination,
and seemed in a fair way to bring about a free and rational civiliza-
tion, eminent in science and art. But no sooner did the fanatical or
scholastic element get the upper hand than philosophy vanished,


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AVERROËS
1081
and with it all hope of a great Muslim civilization in the East.
This change was marked by Al-Ghazzali, and his book The Destruc-
tion of the Philosophers. ' He died in A. D. 1111, and then the works
of Al-Farabi, Ibn-Sina, and the "Brothers of Purity," wandered out to
the far West, to seek for appreciation among the Muslim, Jews, and
Christians of Spain. And for a brief time they found it there, and in
the twelfth century found also eloquent expounders at the mosque-
schools of Cordova, Toledo, Seville, and Saragossa. Of these the
most famous were Ibn Baja, Ibn Tufail, and Ibn Rushd (Averroës).
During its progress, Muslim philosophy had gradually been elimi-
nating the Neo-Platonic, mystic element, and returning to pure Aris-
totelianism. In Averroës, who professed to be merely a commentator
on Aristotle, this tendency reached its climax; and though he still
regarded the pseudo-Aristotelian works as genuine, and did not en-
tirely escape their influence, he is by far the least mystic of Muslim
thinkers. The two fundamental doctrines upon which he always
insisted, and which long made his name famous, not to say notori-
ous, the eternity of matter and of the world (involving a denial of
the doctrine of creation), and the oneness of the active intellect in
all men (involving the mortality of the individual soul and the impos-
sibility of resurrection and judgment), are both of Aristotelian origin.
It was no wonder that he came into conflict with the orthodox Muslim;
for in the warfare between Arab prophetism, with its shallow apolo-
getic scholasticism, and Greek philosophy, with its earnest endeavor
to find truth, and its belief in reason as the sole revealer thereof, he
unhesitatingly took the side of the latter. He held that man is made
to discover truth, and that the serious study of God and his works is
the noblest form of worship.
However little one may agree with his chief tenets, there can be
no doubt that he was the most enlightened man of the entire Middle
Age, in Europe at least; and if his spirit and work had been con-
tinued, Western Islâm might have become a great permanent civiliz-
ing power. But here again, after a brief period of extraordinary
philosophic brilliancy, fanaticism got the upper hand. With the
death of Averroës the last hope of a beneficent Muslim civilization
came to an end. Since then, Islâm has been a synonym for blind
fanaticism and cruel bigotry. In many parts of the Muslim world,
"philosopher" is a term of reproach, like "miscreant. "
But though Islâm rejected its philosopher, Averroës's work was by
no means without its effect. It was through his commentaries on
Aristotle that the thought of that greatest of ancient thinkers became
known to the western world, both Jewish and Christian. Among the
Jews, his writings soon acquired almost canonical authority. His
system found expression in the works of the best known of Hebrew


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1082
AVERROËS
thinkers, Maimonides (1135-1204), "the second Moses"; works which,
despite all orthodox opposition, dominated Jewish thought for nearly
three hundred years, and made the Jews during that time the chief
promoters of rationalism. When Muslim persecution forced a large
number of Jews to leave Spain and settle in Southern France, the
works of Averroes and Maimonides were translated into Hebrew,
which thenceforth became the vehicle of Jewish thought; and thus
Muslim Aristotelianism came into direct contact with Christianity.
Among the Christians, the works of Averroës, translated by
Michael Scott, "wizard of dreaded fame," Hermann the German, and
others, acted at once like a mighty solvent. Heresy followed in their
track, and shook the Church to her very foundations. Recognizing
that her existence was at stake, she put forth all her power to crush
the intruder. The Order of Preachers, initiated by St. Dominic of
Calahorra (1170-1221), was founded; the Inquisition was legalized
(about 1220). The writings of Aristotle and his Arab commentators
were condemned to the flames (1209, 1215, 1231). Later, when all
this proved unavailing, the best intellects in Christendom, such as
Albertus Magnus (1193-1280), and Thomas Aquinas (1227-74), under-
took to repel the new doctrine with its own weapons; that is, by
submitting the thought of Aristotle and his Arab commentators to
rational discussion. Thus was introduced the second or palmy period
of Christian Scholasticism, whose chief industry, we may fairly say,
was directed to the refutation of the two leading doctrines of Aver-
roës. Aiming at this, Thomas Aquinas threw the whole dogmatic
system of the Church into the forms of Aristotle, and thus produced
that colossal system of theology which still prevails in the Roman
Catholic world; witness the Encyclical Æterni Patris of Leo XIII. ,
issued in 1879.
By the great thinkers of the thirteenth century, Averroës, though
regarded as heretical and dangerous in religion, was looked up to as
an able thinker, and the commentator par excellence; so much so that
St. Thomas borrowed from him the very form of his own Comment-
aries, and Dante assigned him a distinguished place, beside Plato and
Aristotle, in the limbo of ancient sages ('Inferno,' iv. 143). But in the
following century—mainly, no doubt, because he was chosen as the
patron of certain strongly heretical movements, such as those insti-
gated by the arch-rationalist Frederic II. - he came to be regarded
as the precursor of Antichrist, if not that personage himself: being
credited with the awful blasphemy of having spoken of the founders
of the three current religions-Moses, Jesus, and Muhammad — as
"the three impostors. " Whatever truth there may be in this, so much
is certain, that infidelity, in the sense of an utter disbelief in Christ-
ianity as a revealed religion, or in any sense specially true, dates


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1083
from the thirteenth century, and is due in large measure to the influ-
ence of Averroës. Yet he was a great favorite with the Franciscans,
and for a time exercised a profound influence on the universities of
Paris and Oxford, finding a strong admirer even in Roger Bacon.
His thought was also a powerful element in the mysticism of Meister
Eckhart and his followers; a mysticism which incurred the censure
of the Church.
Thus both the leading forms of heresy which characterized the
thirteenth century-naturalism with its tendency to magic, astrology,
alchemy, etc. , etc. , and mysticism with its dreams of beatific visions,
its self-torture and its lawlessness (see Görres, 'Die Christliche Mys-·
tik') were due largely to Averroës. In spite of this, his com-
mentaries on Aristotle maintained their credit, their influence being
greatest in the fourteenth century, when his doctrines were openly
professed. After the invention of printing, they appeared in number-
less editions, several times in connection with the text of Aristotle.
As the age of the Renaissance and of Protestantism approached, they
gradually lost their prestige. The chief humanists, like Petrarch, as
well as the chief reformers, were bitterly hostile to them. Never-
theless, they contributed important elements to both movements.
Averroism survived longest in Northern Italy, especially in the
University of Padua, where it was professed until the seventeenth
century, and where, as a doctrine hostile to supernaturalism, it paved
the way for the study of nature and the rise of modern science.
Thus Averroës may fairly be said to have had a share in every
movement toward freedom, wise and unwise, for the last seven hun-
dred years. In truth, free thought in Europe owes more to him than
to any other man except Abélard. His last declared follower was
the impetuous Lucilio Vanini, who was burned for atheism at Tou-
louse in 1619.
The best work on Averroes is Renan's Averröes et l'Averroïsme >
(fourth edition, Paris, 1893). This contains, on pages 58-79, a com-
plete list both of his commentaries and his original writings.


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1084
THE AVESTA
(From about B. C. Sixth Century)
BY A. V. WILLIAMS JACKSON
VESTA, or Zend-Avesta, an interesting monument of antiquity,
is the Bible of Zoroaster, the sacred book of ancient Iran,
and holy scripture of the modern Parsis. The exact mean-
ing of the name "Avesta" is not certain; it may perhaps signify
"law," "text," or, more doubtfully, "wisdom," "revelation. "
The
modern familiar designation of the book as Zend-Avesta is not strictly
accurate; if used at all, it should rather be Avesta-Zend, like "Bible
and Commentary," as zand signifies "explanation," "commentary,"
and Avesta u Zand is employed in some Persian allusions to the Zoro-
astrian scriptures as a designation denoting the text of the Avesta
accompanied by the Pahlavi version or interpretation.
The story of the recovery of the Avesta, or rather the discovery
of the Avesta, by the enthusiastic young French scholar Anquetil du
Perron, who was the first to open to the western world the ancient
records of Zoroastrianism, reads almost like a romance. Du Perron's
own account of his departure for India in 1754, of his experiences
with the dasturs (or priests) during a seven years' residence among
them, of his various difficulties and annoyances, setbacks and suc-
cesses, is entertainingly presented in the introductory volume of his
work 'Zend-Avesta, Ouvrage de Zoroastre (3 Vols. , Paris, 1771).
This was the first translation of the ancient Persian books published
in a European language. Its appearance formed one of those epochs
which are marked by an addition to the literary, religious, or philo-
sophical wealth of our time; a new contribution was added to the
riches of the West from the treasures of the East. The field thus
thrown open, although worked imperfectly at first, has yielded abund-
ant harvests to the hands of later gleaners.
With the growth of our knowledge of the language of the sacred
texts, we have now a clear idea also of the history of Zoroastrian
literature and of the changes and chances through which with vary-
ing fortunes the scriptures have passed. The original Zoroastrian
Avesta, according to tradition, was in itself a literature of vast dimen-
sions.