o0o
The journey to Portsmouth was agreeable. We talked and laughed the entire way, which shortened the distance by at least a hundred miles.
Besides the Crewfyrds, the party included the Austen parents, Jane, Charles, Henry, and Eliza—who had no interest in returning to the continent, where so many she knew had been beheaded ten years before. But the way Henry’s roving eye had landed on the fair Miss Crewfyrd decided her that the time had come to call on her extended relations.
Mr. Evelyn could not be got to leave his phaeton and four, but Miss Evelyn had declared (with a cant of the head in the direction of the handsome Dr. Eldon Crewfyrd) that an artistic Grand Tour would be something worth doing, and her cousin Mr. Thomas Evelyn (his gaze stayed on Miss Maria Crewfyrd) offered to go as her escort.
The Crewfyrds had to exert their considerable charms once the party was on board the Endymion. Mrs. Austen took an immediate dislike to the motion of the ship upon the water, and to the evil smells below the decks, despite the neatness of the arrangements. In spite of her list of alarming symptoms (punctuating a stream of messages to the captain to steady the boat, messages which Charles wisely offered to carry, so that the captain never heard them), they arrived without mishap on the continent. Here a magnificent array of hired voitures awaited them, ordered by Dr. Crewfyrd.
Jane Austen was so pleased with new sights and sounds—everywhere people in curious dress speaking other tongues—and she found their new acquaintances so agreeable, that she accepted the Crewfyrds’ generosity toward their entire party as part of their enormous charm. She had no apprehension of any purpose beyond the subtle social minuet of courtship.
Rotterdam pleased the entire party. Mrs. Austen’s spirits rose at the sight of flower-boxes everywhere, and streets so swept and scoured that she declared she might walk abroad in her slippers and return without carrying one spot of dirt.
They set out for Cologne. The pleasantly undulating countryside was tidy, from the rows of the farms to the canals full of boats, but they had to stop frequently for Mrs. Austen.
They began their tour of antiquities at the Cathedral in Cologne, where they viewed the Golden Sarcophagus containing the Bones of the Magi. By the time they had heard the details of the martyrdom of Saint Ursula and the 11,000 virgins, Mrs. Austen was speaking of palpitations and nervous disorders again.
At this point the party split up. Mrs. Austen insisted upon a stay in Holland, which she might enjoy at leisure while awaiting the others. Jane and Charles were surprised when their father also elected to remain behind, saying something unintelligible about being old—one is decided in one’s tastes—clergymen today—it’s the fashion to be familiar with Fordyce, but where Donne and the great Milton are forgotten, the old must make way for the new.
The Austens were a fond family. Jane was troubled on her father’s behalf, but felt it was not her place to inquire into his reasons. Surely her father could not have found fault with Dr. Crewfyrd, so witty, elegant, and fascinating! She decided her father sought an excuse to stay by Mrs. Austen.
Charles would have pursued this matter, but Maria Crewfyrd laughingly linked her arm within his as she claimed his protection on a walk about the town, and when they returned, in the bustle of parting he forgot to ask.
The next day, the party that set out was much reduced. The Crewfyrds contrived to have Charles and Jane in their voiture; in the second carriage, Eliza was pleased to keep Henry beside her, with no more distracting company than Miss Evelyn (who hid her disappointment of Dr. Crewfyrd in talking determinedly of antiquities, and the proper use of the pencil in the making of shadows), and her disappointed cousin (who felt that Charles Austen had unfairly stolen a march by his walk about town with Miss Crewfyrd).
As the carriage rolled alongside the river, Eldon Crewfyrd offered to read poetry to the company. He read aloud well, pleasing Jane with his expressive interpretations of Cowper, and for a while they conversed on the spark of poetic genius. Was it inherited? Shakespeare’s progeny was not famed. Was it taught? Socrates to Plato to Aristotle to Alexander the Great were the most obvious examples.
“But beyond that, I can’t name many,” Charles said.
“One might have to define greatness,” Jane murmured.
Maria looked amused. “Do you claim that Alexander of Macedonia was not great, then, Miss Austen?”
Jane had not thought she was heard. She blushed. “I make no claims to scholarship.”
But Eldon said, “We’re not examined by the minatory eye of a master or scholar. We are a private and informal company, with little to do besides conversation. I believe I speak for us all when I say, we may safely put forward opinions without the demand of academic proficiency.”
Jane said, “Well, despite all we’re told, what did Alexander accomplish, besides conquering a lot of people who probably would as lief been left alone, had they been asked? It is true he built the library at Alexandria, but anyone may build a library without being thought wise.”
Eldon laughed. “You are not the first to make that claim against the Macedonian, and I find I must concur, unless one is given to admiring battles. We had a debate on this very subject when I was at school in Germany. One of my poetical friends made a case exactly like yours.”
“Madame de Staël said much the same,” Maria put in. “Though I believe some of her discourse was aimed at the First Consul.”
“Madame de Staël,” Charles repeated, sending an uneasy glance his sister’s way.
Maria touched his wrist. “Oh, surely you are not going to exhibit tiresome country-town attitudes. Who is here to be impressed? We are quite alone, you a world traveler as is myself and my brother, and your sister the author of Lady Susan.”
Jane reddened, and Maria mistook her blush of shame for bridling at a compliment. She privately thought Jane Austen affected, but went on in soothing tones, “Some say that to geniuses must be applied a different rule; Madam de Staël’s recent publication on literature is very widely regarded, you know.”
Eldon smiled. “Widely regarded from Scotland to America, where Thomas Jefferson has written in its praise. So much good will transcending national boundaries can only be considered a fine thing, after so many years of war.”
Jane found herself in an uncomfortable dilemma. This was not the first time Maria Crewfyrd had scorned country-town attitudes, which in Jane’s view might better be characterized as scrupulous.
Maria took her silence for capitulation. “The Count whom we are to visit—he is actually a prince, you must understand, but we English translated his title as Count. He remarked about Madame de Staël that faces age, but wit never does.”
Eldon laughed. “My sister would have both if she could.”
A warning glance flashed between brother and sister.
Charles was frowning in thought. “You have mentioned the Count before,” he said. “What can you tell us about him?”
Eldon replied, “He collects books representing all branches of knowledge, from many countries. He says it would require several lifetimes to read them all. Something, perhaps, all artists wish they could have.” He turned to Jane. “Would not you, Miss Austen?”
“Everyone would like to possess youthful beauty and wit for ever,” Jane said to him, glad to have bypassed the uncomfortable subject of Madame de Staël, and her irregular life. “Some never have either, which they regard as tragic. Some only think they do—”
“—which we regard as comic, when they are exposed,” Charles said. “How I love Jane’s pompous windbags! Anyone would take Mr. Collins for my old headmaster.”
Miss Crewfyrd pressed Jane’s hand. “That is part of your great gift, Miss Austen, to expose falsity in all guises.”
Eldon offered to read from Pope, and Jane’s uneasiness subsided. She realized that, by degrees, she had relinquished the idea of marriage to Dr. Crewfyrd, handsome as he was. Friendship was altogether more comfortable; she was content that he might become a brother if Charle
s and Maria wed.
o0o
Saturday, June 29, 1801. Hotel König von Ungarn, Vienna.
At Ratisbon we were able to join up with the Danube as this river, unlike the Rhine, is polite enough to flow in the proper direction.
I found it impossible to write aboard the boat, so you are spared my description of the wild forests and ruins and monasteries perched on cliffs, enough for a thousand Otrantos. You may apply to me for details, as I see my future self hovering beside your chair, helping your reading along with such questions as “What page are you on? Have you reached the boat yet?”
Charles was distraught when Miss Crewfyrd went walking with Mr. Thomas Evelyn. He paced about in a manner to satisfy any Young Werther. At least he did not rant verses of Klopstock at us, hindered as he is by not speaking German.
Dr. Crewfyrd once again brought forward the subjects of artistic creation, and of genius, until I began to suspect that some cause lay behind it. I can only suppose that either he or his sister think to commence author. I am minded to say that people who talk forever of writing without ever squaring to their page probably will never do it from some cause or other. But I might be mistaken.
It is Sunday afternoon. We had to apply at the Embassy to discover a Protestant Church, with the result we attended Divine Service with a great many Diplomats. This will, I feel sure, constitute my own brush with Greatness, so I record it for your benefit, Cassandra, as well as mine.
Speaking of which, we have paraded along the Prater with the grand and the chimney-sweeps alike, and we have obtained diplomatic passes to be conducted on the morrow through Schönbrunn, which Miss Crewfyrd assures us shall appear as a Cleaner Versailles.
Miss Evelyn has bought new crayons for just this purpose. If someone hints at faults in her drawings—which are as flat as eve—she punishes them with medieval masonry and baroque styles until they agree with her sense of her own Genius, or run out of the room.
After hearing music wherever we go, I am almost sorry to depart on Tuesday for Buda-Pesht.
o0o
With some deft handling on the part of the Crewfyrds, the party that left Vienna was reduced yet again.
Charles would go at any cost, and the Crewfyrds were determined that Jane would go with her brother.
Maria flattered and smiled Mr. Thomas Evelyn into bringing himself to the point, then turned him down. Disappointed, and having no interest in old castles or book-collecting counts who claimed to speak at least twenty languages, he remained in Vienna to seek the source of the horses he had seen exhibiting their skills at the Spanish Riding School.
Eldon did his best to disengage Miss Evelyn from the group, but she was as oblivious to hints as she was to criticism. She had determined that the fabulous castle of Count Dracula would aid her in achieving fame when she returned to England with her book of sketches, and she disclaimed any hardship.
Henry and Eliza did not have to be disengaged. She felt that Henry had had enough of Maria’s bewitching conversation, and swept him off to a castle nearby, to which her own relations had fled after the French Revolution.
So it was just one carriage that left Vienna, and rolled into the vast woods to begin the long journey eastward.
And now, the Crewfyrds began to approach their purpose.
o0o
“You will discover,” Maria said one morning as the carriage rolled across a bridge, “that the Count is fascinated with the latest theories of scientific discovery. If you have any interest, you will find the latest publications at the castle, far as it is from any modern city.”
She smiled on Charles, who smiled back, hopelessly besotted. To be so beautiful, and so well-informed about the world!
“Just last year I attended a lecture on electricity by a fellow who spoke before the Royal Society,” Charles exclaimed, not including the fact that a fellow lieutenant had all but dragged him and his fellow officers in order to fill chairs for his father, a learned man but no public speaker.
“I attended a similar lecture in Paris,” Eldon said. “You have probably observed how scientists will travel between nations, or at the very least correspond with one another, quite ignoring the struggles of governments. The most exciting discovery of late has been the principle of the galvanic spark.”
Charles had been bored into lockjaw by his friend’s father, but now was glad he’d been forced to listen. With a glance toward Maria, he said with tolerable ease, “Galvani’s theory of animal magnetism is quite exploded. Alessandro Volta proved that there was a magnetic spark not in the dissected musculature, but in the metals used to mount them.”
Miss Crewfyrd said, smiling, “The Count sent a message to my brother while we were in Paris, requesting him to procure the newest publications on that very subject. Did you read the latest theory, putting forward the notion the spark of life can be imbued in living organisms?”
Charles shook his head, having to give up his pretense of scientific expertise. “My duties have kept me out at sea.”
Maria patted his hand. “Of course. While you sailors labor so admirably to protect our borders against invaders, ideas cross quite freely. They are there to be met with when you gain liberty.”
They stopped at an ancient inn that night, and had the drawing room to themselves. They agreed to eat in company, without the ladies separating off. Maria had a capital idea—they would read Lady Susan, the men taking turns with the male characters’ letters, and Maria and Jane the women’s, as Miss Evelyn said she preferred to listen as she worked on the Ostrogothic ruin she had taken in swift sketches that morning.
The laughter this time was pointed, the Crewfyrds enjoying how Lady Susan had succeeded in fooling the fools, Charles laughing because Maria laughed, and Jane swinging between pride and pain. When she retired, she wondered if all authors found their opinions mistaken for those of their creations. Perhaps this explained why so many books were published in anonymity.
o0o
Bistritz—uncertain date.
It is very odd, Cassandra. I pride myself on being a rational creature. But as we traveled east, the land around us not only got wilder, it seemed somehow older, the darkness darker, the light more fitful, and Night full of noises that make one sit closer to the fire. I told myself that particular area had long been controlled by the Turks, until scarcely a century ago, so the marks of our Civilization would seem the rarer, and signs of Eastern Civilization strange.
That does not reason away the constant howling of wolves.
But it is not our surroundings that disturb my thoughts so much as my company.
I see you looking satirical, and in truth, so should I, if I were sitting in my room at the Paragon, with the noise of Bath outside the window. Perhaps I ought to review Elinor & Marianne, not just to correct the manifold errors I detected in my reading, but to remind myself of what my heroines learnt about the conflict between Reason and Passion.
Miss Evelyn only speaks to insist we stop for a short time at every castle or ruin so that she may sketch it. The rest of us use the opportunity to walk about, and breathe air that is not enclos’d in a Carriage.
Charles pines if Miss Crewfyrd is not by. She is as bewitching as ever when she is among us, always ready with a fund of easy conversation and wit. She speaks constantly of the power of Youth and Beauty, as if there is nothing of importance in life but these. Am I rational to own to these Misgivings? Cassandra, I hardly know what I write; the candle is already guttering (I was in a reverie between every sentence) and the wolves howling abominably.
The Crewfyrds promise that they have saved the best for last—that we shall love Castle Dracula, and that its Count is so honored to receive us as guests, that he will meet us to conduct us the rest of the way.
Wolves! There goes the candle, I can scarcely see to write.
If I hear chains, or a shriek, I believe I will change my name to Clorinda.
Jane had just written the above when the maid, a thin young girl, brought hot water. Jane than
ked her in French as she handed her a vail.
The girl’s mob cap trembled with her nervous effort, but she darted forward and thrust into Jane’s hand—a rosary! Then she darted out again, the remains of the water in her pitcher sloshing.
Jane did not know whether to regard this scene as comical or pitiful. Hearing a commotion in the shared parlor, she went out, and found the Crewfyrds and Charles.
When she opened her hand to disclose the rosary—and a homely, rough thing it was, the beads carved from wood by no delicate hand, the crucifix also made of wood—Miss Crewfyrd drew her skirts aside and made a noise of disgust. “Fling it out of the window!” she exclaimed.
Dr. Crewfyrd protested with a laugh. “My dear sister, it is merely a peasant icon, and a rough one at that.”
Miss Crewfyrd turned away in disgust. “I have a distaste for peasant superstitions.” She added with meaning, “And you know the Count has a worse.”
The clergyman said, “Miss Austen, surely you do not intend to collect idolatrous objects. You know what the church leaders have to say upon the subject of false pieties.”
Jane realized it was the first time he had made reference to Church teachings in all their travels, clergyman though he was. Everything else—literature, science, history and famous people, especially people of genius—had been canvassed, but nothing about religious principle.
Here was part of the reason she could not consider him seriously as a mate. There was no time to consider this further, as a commotion in the outer room heralded an arrival.
I promised to lay everything out as exactly as I can describe. I had thought on meeting him that Dr. Crewfyrd the handsomest man of my acquaintance, but he was nothing compared to Count Dracula.