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Chapter One
Our Early Years
How soon did you know her special qualities? That is the question I have always been asked ever since her fame spread beyond the family.
The fact is that I somehow always knew that she was different and the memories I have of her in our childhood are about those times when it was clear that she behaved in some way which was unusual or unexpected. As a child, and as an adult, she could be difficult and cause discomfort to me and to others.
They always told me that I could not possible remember the first time I saw her. After all, I was not quite three and it was too much to expect that my memory was accurate. I knew what others told me about that first meeting in 1775 and had assumed that the memories were my own. But I know that is not true, I have a very clear memory of that very snowy day when Mrs. Littledown, my village mother, brought me to Steventon to meet my new sister.
The snow was very deep, too deep for me to walk, and Mother Littledown carried me all the way. I was so well wrapped up that I could scarcely see out from all the shawls and scarves but I caught a glimpse of the oak tree in the driveway, its branches so weighed with snow that they almost touched the ground. I laughed as my head touched the branches and flurries of snow fell on to my village mother's head. Though so cold, it was very sunny and the glare of the sun on the snow hurt my eyes so that it was a relief to pass into the darkness of the passage and be set down.
My mother was in the bed, her cap crooked on her head, and held her hand out to me as I approached.
"Dear little Cassy—we have a sister for you to play with at last—come and look at her."
There was a fire in the grate and the room was warm but still Jane was swaddled tightly as I bent over her. She lay in the wicker cradle that we later used for Charles and her eyes were open. They were the same light brown that I later drew and sparkled even then.
I can remember no more, but I have since been told that, shortly afterwards, Jane took my place with the village family and I returned to live at Steventon Rectory with my parents and four brothers.
My mother's way of raising her brood caused some disquiet in the rest of the family, though I did not learn this until much later. She nursed us herself until we were able to be weaned. I was later to be most embarrassed by this practice, as it was more usual to employ a wet nurse.
All her life, my mother was to act rather strangely in some matters and this was certainly one. Normally, when a child was weaned, it would be brought back from its wet nurse and take its place with the family. In the Austen household, the babies were sent off after they were on to the spoon and only returned when they were what Mama called civilised. This happened to us all and I did not therefore see Jane for a long while after that first glimpse in the bedroom. She was sent to Cheesedown Farm after her christening, I later learned, and came home after Charles, the last baby, was born.
The next memory I have is of a very hot day when we all went to see my brother George. George was almost as old as James, my eldest brother, and I could not understand why he had not come back home to live with the rest of us. When I asked, Mama would reply, "George is different, my love, as you will see when you meet him."
It must have been a Sunday I suppose, that first visit, as all the others were, after my father had finished his services. James was there and Edward and Henry too, but I cannot recall Frank.
When we reached Monk Sherborne, George came running out to meet us and he looked just like James, except that he was much smaller; he walked awkwardly, dragging one leg behind him. An older man was with him and I was told that this was my uncle Thomas, Mama's brother. He seemed more like a small boy himself. How long we stayed, I cannot rightly remember but, as we were to leave, I was very frightened to see George fall upon the ground and twitch in a most terrible manner, foaming at the mouth.
As we got back into the cart to be conveyed home, I saw that my mother was crying.
My father took her hand. "We are fortunate my dear that we have other, many other, healthy children. And we have this comfort, that he cannot be a bad or wicked child."
I knew that we should not respond to this but this was the first time I saw Jane show that determined, bold approach that I was to learn to expect of her.
"Why can he not be bad or wicked, Papa? Are other children bad or wicked?"
"Children are bad or wicked when they question their parents too much, Jenny."
"But why, Papa . . . ?"
I grasped her hand and squeezed it so she would stop. I had seen the sadness on my mother's face turn to anger and she folded her lips tightly as she looked at Jane.
"Hush my dear," said my father, "the child is naturally curious, that is all."
"She is too concerned for herself, with not enough consideration for others. Her high opinion of herself is not fitting for a girl child."
That was I think the first time I was aware that my mother did not like Jane much. There was something in each of their characters that made them at odds with each other. Jane put her own interpretation on it in later years, but in these childhood days it was a sadness I could not explain and led me to be even more protective of Jane than I would have been as an elder sister.
Excerpted from Cassandra and Jane by Jill Pitkeathley All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
