Flights of Fancy in Jane Austen by Diana Birchall

New York flowers on the Upper West Side

“Flights of Fancy” is our theme this month, so let us take a flight into seeing how Jane Austen used the concept of fancy in her novels. The meaning of the word itself is not so much changed since her day as many words are; we might still say that we fancy something (or someone!) and be understood by others. Perhaps surprisingly we may almost rule out fancy in the sense of handiwork or in describing something elaborate and pretty; for I haven’t found an example of this usage in Jane Austen’s novels. She certainly describes all manner of fancy work, such as the famous description in Pride and Prejudice of how netting purses and covering screens can be considered “accomplishments,” but she does not use the phrase, though fancy work, defined as “decorative needlework” has been in use as early as 1791.

Yet the word fancy does appear dozens of times in Austen’s novels, in all sorts of contexts. Sometimes it is used in variations of the expression “I fancy,” simply meaning “I think” or “I imagine.” In Emma, curiously, at least three of these examples come from the mouth of Mrs. Elton, which may be a clue to indicate that the excessive use of saying “I fancy” about anything and everything, might be seen as affected, or something of a cliché, even a vulgarism, like most of Mrs. Elton’s speeches! Here is Mrs. Elton using the expression:

“I fancy I am rather a favourite; he took notice of my gown,” (says Mrs. Elton.)

“I fancy Mr. E. and Knightley have every thing their own way.” (Again Mrs. Elton.)

And this bit of dialogue:

Emma: “Many counties, I believe, are called the garden of England, as well as Surrey.”

“No, I fancy not,” replied Mrs. Elton, with a most satisfied smile. “I never heard any county but Surrey called so.”

New York flowers on Little Island

Fancy in Jane Austen’s novels is most often used speficially to denote imagination. Emma is perhaps the novel whose theme is more about the subject of imagination than any other, though Catherine Morland has a fanciful imagination as well as Emma. Catherine’s, though, is inspired by her Gothic literary pleasures, the “horrid novels” which lead her to picture horrid scenarios. Emma’s imaginings are much more probable and realistic, and concern the men and women around her, whom she knows. She likes to imagine and manipulate events in their lives, though she (like Catherine) learns the error of her ways in the end. Emma is the only character in Austen who is described as an imaginist, however, and here are her thoughts, containing possibly one of the first usages of the word:

“Such an adventure as this, — a fine young man and a lovely young woman thrown together in such a way, could hardly fail of suggesting certain ideas to the coldest heart and the steadiest brain. So Emma thought, at least. Could a linguist, could a grammarian, could even a mathematician have seen what she did, have witnessed their appearance together, and heard their history of it, without feeling that circumstances had been at work to make them peculiarly interesting to each other? How much more must an imaginist, like herself, be on fire with speculation and foresight!”

Emma is pleased with her own imaginings, which she does not hesitate to describe as her talent, and is given to self satisfied reflections, such as this one on manipulating Harriet’s fancy:

“Emma could not feel a doubt of having given Harriet’s fancy a proper direction and raised the gratitude of her young vanity to a very good purpose.”

And here we see her engaged in the act of creative fancy, with examples showing the workings of Emma’s mind, and her fancy:

Here she thinks of Frank Churchill, “as she sat drawing or working, forming a thousand amusing schemes for the progress and close of their attachment, fancying interesting dialogues, and inventing elegant letters…”

Or in imagining what some bad news Mr. Weston hints about, she leaps to conclusions in her fancy: “She asked no more questions therefore, merely employed her own fancy, and that soon pointed out to her the probability of its being some money concern — something just come to light, of a disagreeable nature in the circumstances of the family, something which the late event at Richmond had brought forward. Her fancy was very active. Half a dozen natural children, perhaps, and poor Frank cut off!”

In persuading Harriet to like Mr. Elton, she compliments both herself and Harriet for their perspicacity, though Harriet really possesses none so the compliment is really only for herself: “Hitherto I fancy you and I are the only people to whom his looks and manners have explained themselves.”

Mr. Knightley, of course, is well aware of these propensities of Emma’s all along, and early in the novel alerts Mrs. Weston (and consequently also the reader), about them, saying, “I do not pretend to Emma’s genius for foretelling and guessing.”

He often chides Emma about the dangers of her fancies, as here: “If you were as much guided by nature in your estimate of men and women, and as little under the power of fancy and whim in your dealings with them…”

And Jane Austen, in a wry authorial aside, gives us another hint about Emma’s fancy:

“That very dear part of Emma, her fancy, received an amusing supply.”

With other characters, a fancy may be a whim, as with Frank Churchill: “This was all very promising; and, but for such an unfortunate fancy for having his hair cut, there was nothing to denote him unworthy…”

New York flowers on Little Island

It can denote a liking:

“Mrs. Elton took a great fancy to Jane Fairfax; and from the first. Not merely when a state of warfare with one young lady might be supposed to recommend the other…”

“How she could dare to fancy herself the chosen of such a man till actually assured of it!” (Emma, horrified by Harriet’s own fancy for Mr. Knightley.)

In the other novels as well as Emma, when a character falls into a fancy, the phenomenon is interestingly described with a variety of adjectives. A few favorites:

Lydia in Pride and Prejudice:

“[Lydia] saw, with the creative eye of fancy, the streets of that gay bathing place covered with officers.”

Here is the inimitable fop Robert Ferrars in Sense and Sensibility:

“…after examining and debating for a quarter of an hour over every toothpick-case in the shop, were finally arranged by his own inventive fancy.”

Sir Thomas in Mansfield Park, berating Fanny Price:

“You think only of yourself, and because you do not feel for Mr. Crawford exactly what a young heated fancy imagines to be necessary for happiness…”

In the same novel, Fanny’s lovely musing on nature:

“One cannot fix one’s eyes on the commonest natural production without finding food for a rambling fancy.”

And our phrase of the month, “flight of fancy,” is used at least twice by Jane Austen:

In Pride and Prejudice, when Elizabeth writes the news of her engagement to her aunt:

“But now suppose as much as you chuse; give a loose to your fancy, indulge your imagination in every possible flight which the subject will afford.”

And in Northanger Abbey, Miss Tilney to Catherine:

“Historians, you think,” said Miss Tilney, “are not happy in their flights of fancy. They display imagination without raising interest.”

Nowadays, among twenty-first century Janeites, our fancies may more resemble Catherine Morland’s, with her addiction to the Gothic, for we have been exposed to so much of the sensational in our modern literature and films. This may enable us to soar even above the fancy of eighteenth century fanciers, for it allows Jane Austen fan fiction writers to link faeries, dragons, monsters, historical figures and people of past and present, reality and fantasy, with Austen’s characters, and take them to places where she herself never dreamed of going. So, after ruminating on fancy this long, I fancy it is time for me to indulge in a little one of my own. Here is my own favorite Mrs. Elton, in a rambling fancy of her own:

New York flowers on Little Island

Mrs. Elton’s Fancy Fete

“My dear Mr. E,” exclaimed his lady, “I really do fancy that Mrs. Knightley is going to ask me to be co-patroness with her, of our fete!”

“Do you think so?” said her husband incredulously. “It is not a church fete, you know, but a celebration at Donwell. The harvest has been so very good. But what have we to do with all that?”

Mrs. Elton tutted. “Where is your imagination, my love? Mrs. Knightley is such a very new bride, what should she know about arranging a fete? Of course she must needs consult me. Did I not put on the most successful event of the kind ever seen in Highbury, for the festivities last Christmas? The tables were decorated so prettily, with all the red and gold paper. No one had ever seen any thing like them before, but I, with my wider experience of the world…”

“Yes,” agreed Mr. Elton, “but do recollect that the Knightleys have the advantage of their extensive farm. Their display of food will be a positively lavish spread, I know. We could do nothing on such a scale.”

“But you are not taking my experience into account,” his wife insisted. “I have been the vicar’s wife for over a year now, and am not an absolute newcomer to the position of wife and hostess, like that absurd Mrs. Knightley.”

“My dear, you mistake. It is not Mrs. Knightley who will do all the arranging. Mr. Knightley has given fetes at Donwell for donkey’s years, since time out of mind.”

“I had forgot how old he is,” said Mrs. Elton disagreeably.

“And he will never suffer his precious Emma to do any thing like work. He will give all the orders, and all she will have to do is to show herself and swan around in some fine new gown.”

“To be sure, that would be just like her. Not that she will be dressed properly. She never does display finery as a true fine lady should. Do you remember her wedding dress? I have not got over it still. Not a lace veil, not a string of pearls – I never saw such appalling plainness!”

“Well, well, whatever we may think of her taste, we cannot ignore that she is the power in Highbury, mistress of Hartfield and of Donwell, and raised into her position by our own great man himself.”

“I don’t call Mr. Knightley great. He is nothing by your side, my dear Mr. E, for cleverness, and hard work, and sweetness of temper. I do not know why he even wants to seek favour with the common villagers by putting on a fete. It is foolishness, that is all.”

“It is benevolent in him to give them a fete,” her husband observed, in the interests of fairness. “Mr. Knightley is considered a byword for generosity.”

“Pooh! Pooh! How can you talk so. What has he ever given us, or done for us, may I ask?”

“Well, there are many great men who would have been less pleasant to have as a force in the parish. I cannot complain about Knightley.”

“No, to be sure not, though you cannot deny how eccentric he is. Marrying Emma Woodhouse, indeed! You cannot say anything pleasant about her.”

Mr. Elton sighed. “She certainly is much her husband’s inferior in politeness and consideration. But she always was arrogant, and above herself – I can say so much to you, though I would not elsewhere.”

“Mum is the word, I will never repeat your sentiments, though to be sure, I share them,” Mrs. Elton nodded. “Horrid woman. I have gone out of my way to show her every kindness, to extend the olive branch of friendship, but she is all haughtiness.”

“She is indeed, my love.”

“Oh, but if only she would invite me to be Lady Co-Patroness, I would forget every thing else!  And it is not really impossible. Who in Highbury is more suited to the role than the vicar’s wife, one who has so much experience in managing parish affairs, and has made such a figure in society? Certainly not Mrs. Knightley, with her countrified, retired ways.”

“You are right, as ever, Augusta…but Mrs. Knightley has a coldness, and a stubbornness, that does not bode well for your hopes.”

“I will maintain my fancies,” she retorted firmly, “unto the last moment. If I am required to give them up, I will not do so easily.”

At that moment there was a rap on the door, and moments later the servant brought a note.

“It is from Mrs. Knightley!” cried Mrs. Elton excitedly, tearing off the wax seal and reading eagerly. Her husband waited.

“Well, what does it say?”

“Nothing,” said Mrs. Elton, tossing the paper over to him. “It is not for me, from Mrs. Knightley. It is for you, from her husband.”

“I thought that was his writing,” he commented, reading. “Yes, it is only to say that the parish meeting next week ought to be postponed because of the fete.” He sighed.

“Surely that is your decision, as vicar,” she snapped.

“It hardly matters, does it?” he shrugged. “You must give over your fancies and imaginings, Augusta. That woman is not worth your hopes.”

“You are sweet, Philip. But I shalll get the better of her someday. I promise you that,” she said grimly.

Diana Birchall at a floral art exhibit in the meat packing district, New York City

Last week I had a “flight of fancy” myself – I flew to New York City, for a long awaited, joyful visit to my home town, family, and friends.  The pictures accompanying this post are “flowers of fancy” from my trip.