Due to adverse weather conditions in the northeast, I spent a significant amount of time the week before last in airports. To help soothe my irritation at all the travel delays, I decided to indulge in a rereading of a Jane Austen novel, and since it had been a number of years since I had last read it, I selected Mansfield Park.

Although all of Jane Austen’s novels are a pleasure to read, Mansfield Park isn’t really one of my favorites, for many of the same reasons, I imagine, why it has never been as well-loved among the population at large as Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, or Emma. The moralism can at times be rather overpowering. One can only suppose that Austen had her tongue in her cheek at times, but even so the long passages about the evils of acting can get to be a bit much. The hero and heroine are both rather dour, humorless figures, and Fanny Price in particular is something of a wallflower – timid, nervous, and almost desparately eager to allow any of her relations to use or take advantage of her. I cannot recall a single instance in the book of her either making a joke or being amused by one, and the tone set by her character puts something of a damper on what is normally one of Austen’s most delightful gifts – her razor-sharp satirical wit.

To most of us, then, Fanny is not so captivating as some of Austen’s other heroines. She has neither the lively vivaciousness of Emma Woodhouse, nor the quiet depth and maturity of Anne Elliot, nor the fiery determination of Elizabeth Bennett. However, as I recognized on this re-reading, Fanny’s addition to the ranks of Austen’s leading women is an important one. As has often been observed in the past, Austen’s novels are studies in Aristotelian virtue. In her characters she reveals things about the moral life, and particularly through her leading characters, she illustrates the kind of wholeness and integrity that are necessary for the virtuous life. Virtue is not confined to people of any particular temperament, and thus it may appear a bit differently in different characters; also, depending on their temperament, each person will be prone to particular sorts of vices. For Emma and Elizabeth, temptations to pride are especially strong. But Fanny Price is a study of the entirely demure and modest woman. Her temptations, therefore, are of a different kind, and in her we see a picture of what you might call the modest or innocent virtuous woman.

Throughout her entire corpus, one of Jane Austen’s favorite themes is the necessity of distinguishing between genuine goodness and that which is merely feigned. Although good manners and a pleasing appearance should be among the attributes of a virtuous person, these can be cultivated by the unworthy as well. In fact, almost any pleasing external character trait can be developed as an affectation, and without the support of other virtuous characteristics, this will only serve to further inflame the vanity of the deceiver. This good Aristotelian insight is thoroughly explored in Mansfield Park, perhaps most especially with respect to the trait of modesty.

The subject of modesty comes up early in the novel in a conversation between Mr. Tom Bertram, the honorable Edmund Bertram, and Miss Mary Crawford, the (somewhat less honorable) young woman to whom Edmund is unfortunately becoming attached. Miss Crawford is puzzled about the social status of Fanny, our heroine, who seems not to fit into either of the primary social categories available for young women, namely out and not out. This was a basic distinction for gentlewomen of the time; a young woman determined to be of marriagable age was “let out” into company, after which time she was permitted to wear flattering dresses, to go to parties and balls, and to dance and flirt with single young men. Before that period, she was expected to stay at home with her parents or her governess. It is not usually difficult to tell whether a young woman is out or not, because, as Miss Crawford explains, “in general, the distinction is so broad. Manners as well as appearance are, generally speaking, so totally different. Till now, I could not have supposed it possible to be mistaken as to a girl’s being out or not. A girl not out, has always the same sort of dress; a close bonnet for instance, looks very demure, and never says a word. You may smile – but it is so I assure you – and except that it is sometimes carried a little too far, it is all very proper. Girls should be quiet and modest.”

But, as Miss Crawford admits, these same modest young women can transform themselves with amazing rapidity when they are first let out. Tom illustrates this point with a story about the sister of a friend of his who, on his first meeting of her, was so quiet and shy that he once sat an hour in her company without managing to get more than a few words from her. A year later, he saw her again, and she was now ‘out’. He could hardly believe the change. “She came up to me, claimed me as an acquaintance, stared at me out of countenance, and talked and laughed till I did not know which way to look. I felt I must be the jest of the room at the time!” Miss Crawford regretfully agrees.

“It is too common a fault. Mothers certainly have not yet got quite the right way of managing their daughters. I do not know where the error lies. I do not pretend to set people right, but do see that they are often wrong.”
“Those who are showing the world what female manners should be,” said Mr. Bertram, gallantly, “are doing a great deal to set them right.”
“The error is plain enough,” said the less courteous Edmund, “such girls are ill brought up. They are given the wrong notion from the beginning. They are always acting on motives of vanity – and there is no more real modesty in their behavior before they appear in public than afterwards.”

If close bonnets and demure manners do not a modest woman make, what does? We get an answer to this in the person of Fanny Price. Fanny does, no doubt, have all the qualities that one would associate with a modest and demure woman. She is immediately ready to comply with almost any request that is made of her. Although sensible, young, and pretty, she consistently rates her own attractions so low that she is never offended when her female relatives embarrass her by making her conscious of her status as the poor cousin. She takes it as a given that she always deserves the least share of everything, and is overwhelmed with gratitute when anyone condescends to be kind to her. Whenever in company, she is relieved if she is permitted to listen more than she talks. Her health is frail, and her nerves extremely excitable, but she will suffer almost any insult or physical trial rather than cause offense or inconvenience to anybody. She loves above all to be guided in her opinions by the men she admires most – her cousin Edmund, and her uncle Sir Thomas.

Fanny’s continual self-abasement can be frustrating, not least because it seems to be unhealthy for her relatives. Because she is so pliable, she allows them to indulge many of their own vices. She enables one aunt’s extreme indolence by constantly attending her, and heightens another aunt’s nasty, petty vanity by accepting her insults without complaint. Her female cousins, already puffed up with self-importance, see in her only another object against which to compare themselves favorably. As the reader knows, Fanny is actually endowed with a considerable share of both sense and judgment, and she often has real insight into the character of her relatives and acquaintances. In more than one instance, she foresees evils that will befall them on account of their own vices. But because of her extreme timidity, her wisdom is of no use to anyone. She never makes any move to correct people, or to alert those who might have the power to do this. Her virtues seem wasted, because she is too shy and nervous to use them for the real advantage of others. In her early years at Mansfield Park, she might almost as well have been one of the pseudo-modest girls spoken of by Miss Crawford; it would have made no serious difference to her foolish relations.

Fanny’s moment does come, however. As so often happens, it is only under pressure that her worth is revealed to the world. This being a Jane Austen novel, the pressure does not come in the form of an invading army or a chance at martyrdom. It comes in the form of an unworthy suitor.

Mr. Crawford, the brother of the aforementioned Miss Crawford, is a wealthy man with charming manners who immediately succeeds in pleasing all of the inhabitants of Mansfield Park. The only exception is Fanny herself, who recognizes his vain and licentious character, as particularly revealed in his rather excessive eagerness to please her cousin Maria, who is already engaged to another man. When Mr. Crawford turns his attentions to Fanny instead, everyone concerned thinks it an amazing match for her. But she, firm in her conviction that he is not suitable husband material, is stalwart in refusing him. In so choosing, she is forced to endure what for her is among the harshest of trials – the anger and disapproval of her relatives, including even her beloved cousin Edmund, and the uncle she deeply respects, who calls her “willful, perverse and ungrateful,” and accuses her of exhibiting “that independence of spirit which prevails so much in modern days, even in young women,and which in young women is offensive and disgusting beyond all common offense.” Fanny is virtually shattered by this attack, but, with as much quiet dignity as she can muster, she holds fast to her resolution. In the end, of course, she is vindicated, and thus, Fanny shows herself to be more than just a wallflower. She is the true picture of the modest and innocent woman.

Like all good qualities, innocence has its counterfeits. It is not terribly difficult for a corrupted mind to appear modest and pure in certain settings. Anyone can wear a close bonnet and display a reluctance to enter into conversation. Anyone can be yielding and gentle, at least for awhile. In fact, this mode of behavior might be particularly appealing for any young woman who is both vain and indolent. In cultures where modesty in females is prized, her vanity will be appeased by the admiration that is heaped upon her on account of her pliableness and apparent sweet nature. And if she is lazy (perhaps in body, but even more so in mind) she may really enjoy deferring to her admirers or guardians in all important matters, and allowing herself to be cared for entirely by others. Modesty can be (ironically) both an affectation and an excuse to avoid inconvenience and effort.

Fanny shows us where the true test lies. She proves herself a truly modest woman by her willingness to hold firm when her integrity requires it. Though generally very pliable in temperament, she is able, when it proves necessary, to defy even those whose good opinion she most values. And where in some instances an “independent spirit” may indeed be a manifestation of some vice, in her it is the proof of her virtue. If her modesty had been false, and merely a pretense adopted in order to please, she would have broken down under the pressure of her male guardians, seeing that this was the best way to secure their approbation and continued support.

The early Christians offer us some delightful examples of this same kind of innocence, or modesty. The virgin martyrs, for instance, exemplify many of the qualities that can be seen in Fanny Price. Though seemingly gentle and sweet-natured, they proved themselves relentlessly tough when someone tried to steal away their virginity. The sweetness of their temper never made them vulnerable to persuasion or vice. Though their mannerisms were presumably very different from St. Ignatius’ or St. Louis’, their devotion was no less firm.

For women like me, who are of a decidedly different temperament from the Fanny Prices of the world, Mansfield Park is a very beneficial book. This sympathetic picture of the demure woman is helpful, and in some ways inspiring. It is good to be reminded of how much strength can underlie appearances of weakness, and to see how much courage and character can be found within people who might initially appear to be cowardly and dull. I confess that I felt mild p