A Most Luxurious State: Men and Music in Jane Austen’s Novels.
(Published as ‘Of Men and Music’ in Jane Austen’s Regency World, September 2015)
Gillian Dooley, Flinders University
In Jane Austen’s novels, musicianship is mainly the preserve of the female sex. Some men sing duets
with ladies, but the main role of the true gentleman, as far as musicianship is concerned, is to be an
appreciative listener. The mark of a hero is listening with enjoyment and attention to the woman
who has attracted his interest. More than once, this is the shortest route to falling in love.
As far as music is concerned, Catherine in Northanger Abbey is a lost cause. She tried to learn music
but ‘could not bear it’ and was allowed to leave off. Thus there is no opportunity to charm Henry
Tilney with her musical accomplishments, and her artless nature and innate honesty have to serve in
their place.
It is a different story in Sense and Sensibility. The older sister, Elinor, is ‘neither musical nor affecting
to be so.’ However, Marianne, all sensibility and romantic fervour, is most definitely musical. She
plays the piano well, and sings. She can’t bear the thought of a lover who doesn’t share her every
taste, complaining that Edward Ferrars, who is in love with Elinor, admires her sister’s drawings ‘as a
lover, not as a connoisseur:’ She tells her mother, ‘I could not be happy with a man whose taste did
not in every point coincide with my own. He must enter into all my feelings; the same books, the
same music must charm us both.’ So the stage is set for the entrance of John Willoughby. The
romantic circumstances of their meeting gives him immediate charm for Marianne:
His person and air were equal to what her fancy had ever drawn for the hero of a favourite
story; and in his carrying her into the house with so little previous formality, there was a
rapidity of thought which particularly recommended the action to her. Every circumstance
belonging to him was interesting.
As they get to know each other, Marianne discovers that ‘his musical talents were considerable.’
What those musical talents are, exactly, is not revealed. We learn, after he leaves, that he had
written out music for her, but that she had played it for him, so it seems that he was a singer, knew
how to read (and write) music, but didn’t play an instrument. But there is another man in the picture
who has earned her approval, at least, for the way he receives her musical offering at the
Middletons’ evening party:
Colonel Brandon alone, of all the party, heard her without being in raptures. He paid her
only the compliment of attention; and she felt a respect for him on the occasion, which the
others had reasonably forfeited by their shameless want of taste.
As we know, Colonel Brandon gets to marry the musical Marianne in the end, once she has
recovered from the heartbreak brought on by Willoughby’s defection. This sets a pattern which will
be followed with minor variations in the novels to follow. Despite the exquisite pleasure of making
music with a congenial friend, sadly, most of the heroines should beware of the man who makes
music with them. They would save time and trouble by paying heed to the man who doesn’t
participate, but listens appreciatively.
Pride and Prejudice doesn’t seem to have any masculine musicians among its characters. Wickham’s
charms seem to consist of looking attractive and being an entertaining conversationalist, but
although it seems that having musical accomplishments usually means a man is a cad, the reverse
isn’t true: it is quite possible to be an unmusical bounder. Colonel Fitzwilliam is an interesting inbetween character: a man of marriageable age who turns out to be neither hero nor villain, even
though ‘Mrs Collins’s pretty friend (Elizabeth) had … caught his fancy very much’. There is a
wonderful scene at Rosings, in which Colonel Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth are conversing ‘with so much
spirit and flow, as to draw the attention of Lady Catherine herself, as well as of Mr Darcy.’ Lady
Catherine can’t help interrupting to boast about her hypothetical musical skills, ‘If I had ever learnt’.
Colonel Fitzwilliam asks Elizabeth to play, and draws his chair near to listen. Lady Catherine ‘listened
to half a song, and then talked, as before, to her other nephew [Darcy]; till the latter walked away
from her, and moving with his usual deliberation toward the piano forte, stationed himself so as to
command a full view of the fair performer’s countenance.’ It almost seems as though Austen is
setting up a love triangle here, but a few days later Colonel Fitzwilliam makes it clear to Elizabeth
that as a younger son he cannot marry where he chooses, and ‘agreeable as he was, she did not
mean to be unhappy about him’. Accordingly she isn’t, and her affections are thus free to be
engaged by Mr Darcy – and the rest is – well, perhaps not history, but the stuff of legend almost.
Music and pianos are hardly mentioned at all in the second half of the novel. They have done their
work, played their part in the courtship, and then give way to the moral and emotional intensity
brought on by Col. Fitzwilliam’s account of Darcy’s intervention in Bingley’s courtship of Jane,
Darcy’s letter to Elizabeth and so on. But it’s worth noting that Darcy encourages his sister’s love for
music – when Elizabeth first visits Pemberley with her aunt and uncle, the housekeeper boasts about
the piano he has just bought for Georgiana, and at Rosings he talks about her proficiency with
‘affectionate praise’.
In Mansfield Park, Fanny, like Catherine in Northanger Abbey and Elinor in Sense and
Sensibility, doesn’t perform, but her rival Mary Crawford, decidedly does – on the harp. Edmund falls
in love with her while she plays. So he falls in love with the wrong girl but for the right reasons. Mary
is possibly at her best when playing the harp and Edmund appreciates the ‘expression and taste’
with which she plays. And she doesn’t play just to show off – though she is perfectly well aware of
the effect she is producing. Fanny shares Edmund’s enjoyment of music. Perhaps when they are
married they will be able to listen together, if it isn’t too sensitive a topic.
Emma’s unconscious jealousy is engaged by the musical prowess of Jane Fairfax. At the
Coles’s dinner party, Emma is asked to perform, having just had an animated discussion with Mrs
Weston about the likelihood of Mr Knightley wanting to marry Jane Fairfax. What follows
encapsulates all the musico-romantic complications in Emma. Emma herself is self-consciously
aware that she is not as good a musician as Jane Fairfax. She thinks Frank Churchill is in love with
her, and just as erroneously thinks she is falling in love with him, and they sing duets together. She
then watches and listens to Frank singing with Jane, and her jealous impulses are aroused not by
Frank’s interest in Jane, which she completely fails to see, but by observing Mr Knightley and
wondering whether Mrs Weston might be right about his interest in Jane. To test him, ‘as a sort of
touchstone’, she mentions the mysterious gift of a piano which has arrived for Jane, and is satisfied
that he had nothing to do with it. But then he alarms her a little by his concern for Jane’s health
when Frank is urging her to sing when she is tired. What she is missing this time is that Mr Knightley
is jealous of Frank’s interest in herself, and is impatient with him for that reason, rather than being
concerned about Jane because he is in love with her.
However, this worry passes quickly when she sees that Mr Knightley doesn’t rush off to ask
Jane to dance – ‘No; he was talking to Mrs Cole – he was looking on unconcerned. … Emma had no
longer any alarm for Henry [her nephew – also Mr Knightley’s nephew and heir]; his interest was
safe’. The biggest joke of all, of course, is that once she realises she wants to marry Mr Knightley, she
forgets about her concern for Henry’s fortune.
True to type, Frank Churchill the deceiver is an able singer – he can sing a second part either
from memory or by ear – and Mr Knightley is an appreciative listener, with a discernment based
more on moral than musical grounds:
You and Miss Fairfax gave us some very good music. I do not know a more luxurious state …
than sitting at one's ease to be entertained a whole evening by two such young women;
sometimes with music and sometimes with conversation. I am sure Miss Fairfax must have
found the evening pleasant, Emma. You left nothing undone. I was glad you made her play
so much, for having no instrument at her grandmother's, it must have been a real
indulgence.
Anne Elliot, in Persuasion, doesn’t have the luxury of an appreciative listener as the novel begins.
She is a misfit in her own family. Her brother-in-law’s family, the Musgroves, includes musical young
ladies with indulgent parents. It is clear that Anne is a far better musician than they are. However,
She knew that when she played she was giving pleasure only to herself; but this was no new
sensation: excepting one short period of her life, she had … never since the loss of her dear
mother, known the happiness of being listened to, or encouraged by any just appreciation or
real taste. In music she had been always used to feel alone in the world.
And when was that ‘one short period of her life’? We have already been told the sad history of her
thwarted romance with Frederick Wentworth. It doesn’t take a genius of literary criticism to see that
he is the appreciative listener she has been doing without. It’s also clear that he doesn’t have a lot of
musical skill or talent himself. There is a painful incident at the Musgroves, when Captain Wentworth
and Anne are still estranged but are ‘repeatedly in the same circle’. Anne has been playing for the
other young people to dance:
She had left the instrument on the dancing being over, and he had sat down to try to make
out an air which he wished to give the Miss Musgroves an idea of.
He retreats ‘with studied politeness’ when she comes back towards the piano. But we can see,
incidentally, that Captain Wentworth is no musical virtuoso. Later, when the long thaw between
them has begun, they both attend a concert – she knew he would be there because ‘It was really
expected to be a good one, and Captain Wentworth was very fond of music.’ He is there – they have
a short conversation – she is monopolised by Mr Elliot – Captain Wentworth leaves in a jealous huff.
Frederick Wentworth is, I think, one of Austen’s best male characters – passionate, hasty, bright,
clever – and a worthy hero with all his faults. And he is a music-lover but not a musician.
I’m not sure how ground-breaking this is in the study of Austen’s novels, but it is an
interesting footnote in the history of music. Female composers and instrumental performers
especially have been routinely discouraged and ignored in the profession of music. I’d like to see it as
a blow struck by Austen against the masculine monopoly of music over the centuries. Sadly, I don’t
think this is a tenable idea. Musical accomplishment then was a bit like cooking is now. Women are
expected to be good at it for domestic purposes but the ‘top professionals’, the ones who get paid
for it, are mainly men. If a man isn’t a professional musician (or cook) he has no business being any
good at it. And I’m afraid Austen is (certainly unconsciously) reinforcing this stereotype with her
villainous male musicians and appreciative, non-musician heroes.