Love and Friendship: And Other Early Works

by Jane Austen

Overview

Love and Freindship And Other Early Works A Collection of Juvenile Writings By Jane Austen Love and Freindship [sic] is a juvenile story by Jane Austen, dated 1790. From the age of eleven until she was eighteen, Jane Austen wrote her tales in three notebooks. The notebooks still exist

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781534778085
Publisher:	CreateSpace Publishing
Publication date:	06/20/2016
Series:	Collection of Juvenile Writings
Pages:	68
Product dimensions:	7.01(w) x 10.00(h) x 0.14(d)

About the Author

Jane Austen (1775–1817) was an English author known primarily for her six major novels set among the British landed gentry at the end of the 18th century. Considered defining works of the Regency Era and counted among the best–loved classics of English literature, Austen's books include Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice, Mansfield Park, Emma, Northanger Abbey, and Persuasion. The latter two were published after her death. "I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of any thing than of a book! When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library." – Jane Austen

Date of Birth:

December 16, 1775

Date of Death:

July 18, 1817

Place of Birth:

Village of Steventon in Hampshire, England

Place of Death:

Winchester, Hampshire, England

Education:

Taught at home by her father

Read an Excerpt

Love and Friendship

---

By Jane Austen

Hesperus Press Limited

Copyright © 2003 Fay Weldon
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-84391-060-2

---

CHAPTER 1

Love and Friendship

Deceived in Friendship and Betrayed in Love

To Madame La Comtesse de Feuillide, this novel is inscribed by her obliged humble servant, the author

Letter The First

From Isabel to Laura

How often, in answer to my repeated entreaties that you would give my daughter a regular detail of the misfortunes and adventures of your life, have you said: 'No, my friend, never will I comply with your request till I may be no longer in danger of again experiencing such dreadful ones.'

Surely that time is now at hand. You are this day fifty-five. If a woman may ever be said to be in safety from the determined perseverance of disagreeable lovers and the cruel persecutions of obstinate fathers, surely it must be at such a time of life.

Isabel

Letter The Second

Laura to Isabel

Although I cannot agree with you in supposing that I shall never again be exposed to misfortunes as unmerited as those I have already experienced, yet to avoid the imputation of obstinacy or ill nature, I will gratify the curiosity of your daughter; and may the fortitude with which I have suffered the many afflictions of my past life prove to her a useful lesson for the support of those which may befall her in her own.

Laura

Letter The Third

Laura to Marianne

As the daughter of my most intimate friend, I think you entitled to that knowledge of my unhappy story which your mother has so often solicited me to give you.

My father was a native of Ireland and an inhabitant of Wales; my mother was the natural daughter of a Scotch peer by an Italian opera-girl – I was born in Spain, and received my education at a convent in France.

When I had reached my eighteenth year I was recalled by my parents to my paternal roof in Wales. Our mansion was situated in one of the most romantic parts of the Vale of Usk. Though my charms are now considerably softened and somewhat impaired by the misfortunes I have undergone, I was once beautiful. But lovely as I was, the graces of my person were the least of my perfections. Of every accomplishment accustomary to my sex, I was mistress. When in the convent, my progress had always exceeded my instructions, my acquirements had been wonderful for my age, and I had shortly surpassed my masters.

In my mind, every virtue that could adorn it was centred; it was the rendezvous of every good quality and of every noble sentiment.

A sensibility too tremblingly alive to every affliction of my friends, my acquaintance, and particularly to every affliction of my own, was my only fault, if a fault it could be called. Alas! how altered now! Though indeed my own misfortunes do not make less impression on me than they ever did, yet now I never feel for those of another. My accomplishments too begin to fade – I can neither sing so well nor dance so gracefully as I once did – and I have entirely forgotten the Minuet Dela Cour.

Adieu,

Laura

Letter The Fourth

Laura to Marianne

Our neighbourhood was small, for it consisted only of your mother. She may probably have already told you that, being left by her parents in indigent circumstances, she had retired into Wales on economical motives. There it was our friendship first commenced. Isabel was then one and twenty. Though pleasing both in her person and manners, between ourselves she never possessed the hundredth part of my beauty or accomplishments. Isabel had seen the world. She had passed two years at one of the first boarding-schools in London, had spent a fortnight in Bath, and had supped one night in Southampton.

'Beware, my Laura,' she would often say. 'Beware of the insipid vanities and idle dissipations of the metropolis of England; beware of the unmeaning luxuries of Bath, and of the stinking fish of Southampton.'

'Alas!' exclaimed I. 'How am I to avoid those evils I shall never be exposed to? What probability is there of my ever tasting the dissipations of London, the luxuries of Bath, or the stinking fish of Southampton? I who am doomed to waste my days of youth and beauty in a humble cottage in the Vale of Usk.'

Ah! little did I then think I was ordained so soon to quit that humble cottage for the deceitful pleasures of the world.

Adieu,

Laura

Letter The Fifth

Laura to Marianne

One evening in December as my father, my mother and myself were arranged in social converse round our fireside, we were of a sudden greatly astonished by hearing a violent knocking on the outward door of our rustic cottage.

My father started – 'What noise is that?' said he.

'It sounds like a loud rapping at the door,' replied my mother.

'It does indeed,' cried I.

'I am of your opinion,' said my father. 'It certainly does appear to proceed from some uncommon violence exerted against our unoffending door.'

'Yes,' exclaimed I. 'I cannot help thinking it must be somebody who knocks for admittance.'

'That is another point,' replied he. 'We must not pretend to determine on what motive the person may knock – though that someone does rap at the door, I am partly convinced.'

Here, a second tremendous rap interrupted my father in his speech, and somewhat alarmed my mother and me.

'Had we better not go and see who it is?' said she. 'The servants are out.'

'I think we had,' replied I.

'Certainly,' added my father, 'by all means.'

'Shall we go now?' said my mother.

'The sooner the better,' answered he.

'Oh! let no time be lost,' cried I.

A third more violent rap than ever again assaulted our ears.

'I am certain there is somebody knocking at the door,' said my mother.

'I think there must,' replied my father.

'I fancy the servants are returned,' said I. 'I think I hear Mary going to the door.'

'I'm glad of it,' cried my father, 'for I long to know who it is.'

I was right in my conjecture for Mary, instantly entering the room, informed us that a young gentleman and his servant were at the door, who had lost their way, were very cold, and begged leave to warm themselves by our fire.

'Won't you admit them?' said I.

'You have no objection, my dear?' said my father.

'None in the world,' replied my mother.

Mary, without waiting for any further commands, immediately left the room and quickly returned, introducing the most beauteous and amiable youth I had ever beheld. The servant she kept to herself.

My natural sensibility had already been greatly affected by the sufferings of the unfortunate stranger, and no sooner did I first behold him than I felt that on him the happiness or misery of my future life must depend.

Adieu,

Laura

Letter The Sixth

Laura to Marianne

The noble youth informed us that his name was Lindsay – for particular reasons, however, I shall conceal it under that of Talbot. He told us that he was the son of an English baronet, that his mother had been for many years no more, and that he had a sister of the middle size.

'My father,' he continued, 'is a mean and mercenary wretch – it is only to such particular friends as this dear party that I would thus betray his failings. Your virtues, my amiable Polydore,' – addressing himself to my father – 'yours, dear Claudia, and yours, my charming Laura, call on me to repose in you my confidence.'

We bowed.

'My father, seduced by the false glare of fortune and the deluding pomp of title, insisted on my giving my hand to Lady Dorothea. "No, never!" exclaimed I. "Lady Dorothea is lovely and engaging – I prefer no woman to her – but know, sir, that I scorn to marry her in compliance with your wishes. No! Never shall it be said that I obliged my father."'

We all admired the noble manliness of his reply. He continued:

'Sir Edward was surprised; he had perhaps little expected to meet with so spirited an opposition to his will. "Where, Edward, in the name of wonder," said he, "did you pick up this unmeaning gibberish? You have been studying novels I suspect." I scorned to answer: it would have been beneath my dignity. I mounted my horse and, followed by my faithful William, set forth for my aunt's.

'My father's house is situated in Bedfordshire, my aunt's in Middlesex, and though I flatter myself with being a tolerable proficient in geography, I know not how it happened, but I found myself entering this beautiful vale which I find is in South Wales, when I had expected to have reached my aunt's.

'After having wandered some time on the banks of the Usk without knowing which way to go, I began to lament my cruel destiny in the bitterest and most pathetic manner. It was now perfectly dark, not a single star was there to direct my steps, and I know not what might have befallen me had I not at length discerned through the solemn gloom that surrounded me a distant light, which as I approached it, I discovered to be the cheerful blaze of your fire. Impelled by the combination of misfortunes under which I laboured, namely fear, cold and hunger, I hesitated not to ask admittance which, at length, I have gained. And now, my adorable Laura,' continued he, taking my hand, 'when may I hope to receive that reward of all the painful sufferings I have undergone during the course of my attachment to you, to which I have ever aspired. Oh! when will you reward me with yourself?'

'This instant, dear and amiable Edward,' replied I. We were immediately united by my father who, though he had never taken orders, had been bred to the Church.

Adieu,

Laura

Letter The Seventh

Laura to Marianne

We remained but a few days after our marriage in the Vale of Usk. After taking an affecting farewell of my father, my mother and my Isabel, I accompanied Edward to his aunt's in Middlesex. Philippa received us both with every expression of affectionate love. My arrival was indeed a most agreeable surprise to her as she had not only been totally ignorant of my marriage with her nephew, but had never even had the slightest idea of there being such a person in the world.

Augusta, the sister of Edward, was on a visit to her when we arrived. I found her exactly what her brother had described her to be – of the middle size. She received me with equal surprise, though not with equal cordiality, as Philippa. There was a disagreeable coldness and forbidding reserve in her reception of me which was equally distressing and unexpected: none of that interesting sensibility or amiable sympathy in her manners and address to me when we first met which should have distinguished our introduction to each other. Her language was neither warm, nor affectionate, her expressions of regard were neither animated nor cordial; her arms were not opened to receive me to her heart, though my own were extended to press her to mine.

A short conversation between Augusta and her brother, which I accidentally overheard, increased my dislike of her and convinced me that her heart was no more formed for the soft ties of love than for the endearing intercourse of friendship.

'But do you think that my father will ever be reconciled to this imprudent connection?' said Augusta.

'Augusta,' replied the noble youth, 'I thought you had a better opinion of me than to imagine I would so abjectly degrade myself as to consider my father's concurrence in any of my affairs either of consequence or concern to me. Tell me, Augusta, with sincerity: did you ever know me consult his inclinations or follow his advice in the least trifling particular since the age of fifteen?'

'Edward,' replied she, 'you are surely too diffident in your own praise. Since you were fifteen only! My dear brother, since you were five years old, I entirely acquit you of ever having willingly contributed to the satisfaction of your father. But still I am not without apprehension of your being shortly obliged to degrade yourself in your own eyes by seeking a support for your wife in the generosity of Sir Edward.'

'Never, never, Augusta, will I so demean myself,' said Edward. 'Support! What support will Laura want which she can receive from him?'

'Only those very insignificant ones of victuals and drink,' answered she.

'Victuals and drink!' replied my husband, in a most nobly contemptuous manner. 'And dost thou then imagine that there is no other support for an exalted mind (such as is my Laura's), than the mean and indelicate employment of eating and drinking?'

'None that I know of, so efficacious,' returned Augusta.

'And did you then never feel the pleasing pangs of love, Augusta?' replied my Edward. 'Does it appear impossible to your vile and corrupted palate to exist on love? Can you not conceive the luxury of living in every distress that poverty can inflict, with the object of your tenderest affection?'

'You are too ridiculous,' said Augusta, 'to argue with; perhaps however you may in time be convinced that –'

Here I was prevented from hearing the remainder of her speech by the appearance of a very handsome young woman who was ushered into the room at the door of which I had been listening. On hearing her announced by the name of Lady Dorothea, I instantly quitted my post and followed her into the parlour, for I well remembered that she was the lady proposed as a wife for my Edward by the cruel and unrelenting baronet.

Although Lady Dorothea's visit was nominally to Philippa and Augusta, yet I have some reason to imagine that, acquainted with the marriage and arrival of Edward, to see me was a principal motive to it.

I soon perceived that though lovely and elegant in her person, and though easy and polite in her address, she was of that inferior order of beings with regard to delicate feeling, tender sentiments, and refined sensibility, of which Augusta was one.

She stayed but half an hour, and neither in the course of her visit confided to me any of her secret thoughts, nor requested me to confide in her any of mine. You will easily imagine therefore, my dear Marianne, that I could not feel any ardent affection or very sincere attachment for Lady Dorothea.

Adieu,

Laura

Letter The Eighth

Laura to Marianne, in continuation

Lady Dorothea had not left us long before another visitor, as unexpected a one as her ladyship, was announced. It was Sir Edward who, informed by Augusta of her brother's marriage, came doubtless to reproach him for having dared to unite himself to me without his knowledge. But Edward, foreseeing his design, approached him with heroic fortitude as soon as he entered the room, and addressed him in the following manner:

'Sir Edward, I know the motive of your journey here. You come with the base design of reproaching me for having entered into an indissoluble engagement with my Laura without your consent. But, sir, I glory in the act – it is my greatest boast that I have incurred the displeasure of my father!'

So saying, he took my hand and, whilst Sir Edward, Philippa, and Augusta were doubtless reflecting with admiration on his undaunted bravery, led me from the parlour to his father's carriage which yet remained at the door, and in which we were instantly conveyed from the pursuit of Sir Edward.

The postilions had at first received orders only to take the London road; as soon as we had sufficiently reflected, however, we ordered them to drive to M**, the seat of Edward's most particular friend, which was but a few miles distant.

At M** we arrived in a few hours, and on sending in our names were immediately admitted to Sophia, the wife of Edward's friend. After having been deprived during the course of three weeks of a real friend (for such I term your mother), imagine my transports at beholding one most truly worthy of the name. Sophia was rather above the middle size; most elegantly formed. A soft languor spread over her lovely features, but increased their beauty. It was the characteristic of her mind: she was all sensibility and feeling. We flew into each others arms, and after having exchanged vows of mutual friendship for the rest of our lives, instantly unfolded to each other the most inward secrets of our hearts. We were interrupted in the delightful employment by the entrance of Augustus, Edward's friend, who was just returned from a solitary ramble.

Never did I see such an affecting scene as was the meeting of Edward and Augustus.

'My life! my soul!' exclaimed the former.

'My adorable angel!' replied the latter, as they flew into each other's arms.

It was too pathetic for the feelings of Sophia and myself – we fainted alternately on a sofa.

Adieu,

Laura

Letter The Ninth

From the same to the same

Towards the close of the day we received the following letter from Philippa:

Sir Edward is greatly incensed by your abrupt departure; he has taken back Augusta to Bedfordshire. Much as I wish to enjoy again your charming society, I cannot determine to snatch you from that of such dear and deserving friends. When your visit to them is terminated, I trust you will return to the arms of your

Philippa

We returned a suitable answer to this affectionate note, and after thanking her for her kind invitation, assured her that we would certainly avail ourselves of it whenever we might have no other place to go to. Though certainly nothing could, to any reasonable being, have appeared more satisfactory than so grateful a reply to her invitation, yet I know not how it was, but she was certainly capricious enough to be displeased with our behaviour, and in a few weeks after, either to revenge our conduct or relieve her own solitude, married a young and illiterate fortune-hunter. This imprudent step (though we were sensible that it would probably deprive us of that fortune which Philippa had ever taught us to expect) could not on our own accounts excite from our exalted minds a single sigh; yet fearful lest it might prove a source of endless misery to the deluded bride, our trembling sensibility was greatly affected when we were first informed of the event. The affectionate entreaties of Augustus and Sophia that we would for ever consider their house as our home easily prevailed on us to determine never more to leave them.

(Continues...)

---

Excerpted from Love and Friendship by Jane Austen. Copyright © 2003 Fay Weldon. Excerpted by permission of Hesperus Press Limited.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

---

Table of Contents

	Foreword	vii
	Love and Friendship	1
	The Three Sisters	41
	A Collection of Letters	59
	Notes	85
	Biographical note	87

Editorial Reviews

Those who worship the immortal Jane will seize on these early pieces and read them with love.

Morning Star

In addition to the title piece, this Austen volume includes two epistolary tales, "The Three Sisters" and "A Collection of Letters." Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.

Library Journal