Part 2 - Jane Austen & Harris Bigg-Wither: the untold love story
Harris's version
To be read only after I am dead
Manydown Park
Dear Madam,
my name is Harris Bigg-Wither, the man who formally asked Jane Austen to be his wife, on the evening of December 2nd, 1802. I am also the only man who Jane ever accepted to marry (and the fact that she accepted my proposal is undisputed, as you could gather from the pocket-book belonging to Mary Lloyd - Jane’s brother’s second wife). And that is almost all you know about me, besides the fact that the following day, in the early hours of the morning, Jane refused my offer and ran away from Manydown in a carriage, crying in despair. And none of you seem to really know why she changed her mind, that fateful night.
From what you had the kindness to relate to me, I understand that almost every reader seems to believe that Jane never loved me, could not love me, and that her ‘yes’ to me, on that memorable December night, was just an error of judgement, a hasty choice that she later had time to repent in all leisure, in the course of her nightly reflections while still under my roof. You also added that most of Jane’s descendants hint that she agreed to marry me at first only because she was attracted by my money, my position or my estate, but that later on, in her bedroom with her sister, having time to ponder with ease, realised her mistake.
I would like to point out to you, dear reader, that all the people you quoted to me were neither present that night, not even born yet or were only children at the time (like Jane's niece Caroline) and certainly none of them received Jane's precious confidences, which she reserved only for her sister. It is no coincidence that the papers of such descendants that you kindly sent me as proof that Jane didn’t love me all begin their recollections by saying: 'I conjecture', 'I gather from the letters' and 'We will never know for certain'.
If they are not sure, I wonder why you should be so adamant that I was not loved by Jane. I heard that some of Jane’s relatives, on the Knight side, said that only Cassandra could really know what Jane thought of this event. I agree. Finally, you tell me that an anonymous writer - whom you later identified as Fanny Lefroy - wrote that Anne's conversation with Captain Harville at the end of the novel 'Persuasion', about the constancy of women in love, was written from the author's personal experience. And pray: who do you think Jane has loved with constancy all her life? Tom Lefroy?
How can you, of all people, you who consider yourself a 'Jane Austen fan', think of her as a social climber ready to marry for vile money, or so foolish and shallow as to say such an important 'Yes' without knowing what she was saying, only to back out a few hours later, therefore breaking a man's life and heart. You consider her 'a genius' in writing, but then ‘a foolish girl’ in taking what in our times is the most important decision of a woman's life. And that night Jane was already 27 years old.
I hope with this letter that I will convince you that she did mean her 'yes', but was then persuaded to say no… I know that she has already given you her version of the story. Let me add a few details, so as to complete the picture.
Harris Bigg-Wither: an uncouth, awkward boy?
I was 21 when I asked Jane to marry me.
She was 27.
You seem to believe that I was not handsome, not enough to attract Jane at least.
I cannot deny what my descendant Reginald Fitz H. Bigg-Wither wrote about me, that 'owing to his stammering he was a man of few words'. I do indeed stutter. But why you would all take for granted that stuttering makes a man unglamorous or ugly, I cannot comprehend. This strikes me as a serious prejudice. Have you ever known any man who stutters? Are they all bachelors and ugly? I doubt it.
You also forget that I did get married eventually, and as people who knew both me and my wife told you, she was happy and 'very fond of me'. So what does that tell you?
The only portrait you have of me is the one I have included in this letter, when I was quite young. I don't look so repulsive, you will concede. And I would add that the expression of my eyes could be described like Edward's eyes in 'Sense and Sensibility', as “uncommonly good”.
Descriptions of my person vary, you say, but you add that Jane's descendants all agree that I was very tall. Well, Jane was also taller than average, as you know, and it was not easy for her to find taller men. This fact, too, you never seem to take into account. Someone told you that I was 'plain', with nothing special about my person. Even this is not a flaw in itself, is it?
Others who knew me have described me as a bit 'peculiar', without really elaborating, but all agree that I was also a very respectable, serious person. Mrs Lefroy, who knew me very well, described me as 'a sensitive, pleasant man'. My own children and wife plan to write on my memorial stone that I was "a most affectionately indulgent husband and father”, and a man “whose heart was full of kind and tender feeling, whose words were few and faithful and who, with the most sparing display of profession endeavoured by God's grace to prove his faith sincerely and unostentatiously by his works”. Just like Mr. Knightley, in ‘Emma’, I am well known for ‘visiting the fatherless and widows in their affliction’ and for having kept myself “unspotted from the world“.
If you believe that all these qualities were not enough to tempt someone as deep and spiritual as Jane, then perhaps you do not know her as well as you think…
As for Jane’s niece Caroline describing me as ‘uncouth’ , ‘unpolished’ and ‘somewhat awkward’, I have only to say that she was very young at the time of the events, that she did not know me, and in any case, being clumsy is not a vital flaw, if you think that Jane could never suffer affected men and coxcombs.
As for the word 'awkward', the character of Edward in 'Sense and Sensibility' is described as someone with 'natural awkwardness'. That does not make him less of a pleasant character. I believe, quite the opposite. The word 'awkward' here also means ‘clumsy’, ‘embarassed’ or ‘ill at ease’, which I am very much around company, because of my stammering. But the qualities that Jane values in her male heroes are seriousness, having integrity, and being 'serious on serious subjects'. Just like her, I have also been very spiritual all my life. All but one of my sons became clergymen and loved poetry. But I will tell you more about my sons and their connection with Jane in a while...
My written proposal to Jane
Let us now return to that unforgettable night. You all seem convinced that I surprised Jane with my proposal, you say that it 'certainly' took her by surprise, you even go as far as to say that I shocked her, and so you are certain that her 'yes' was pronounced impulsively, without having the time to think.
Do you have concrete evidence to prove this?
First of all, you all take it for granted that I ASKED Jane to marry her and that she immediately said yes, in person, there and then. Precisely because I stutter, cannot you imagine that I actually WROTE to Jane, asking her to be my wife?
The novel 'Persuasion' should have given you a clue...
Having received a letter, Jane had plenty of time to think before accepting. Her YES was therefore well-thought out, in keeping with her serious, thoughtful, sensitive and religious nature. You will wonder now whether I am the man she used as an inspiration for Captain Wentworth. I will give you some food for thought and leave you to judge for yourself...
Captain Wentworth's ship is called Laconia, a region of Greece in ancient Sparta. That's where the term 'laconic' comes from, a person who uses few words when speaking or writing. Just like me. As for his initials (C.W.), when I joined the Militia, I became Captain Wither. Yes: we were both C.W.
Captain Wentworth's name is Frederick. Frederick is a peculiar name, certainly not common in my days. However, if you look at my family tree, you will soon realise that my son Charles named his son Frederick, and that my sister Margaret (Mrs Blackstone at the time) also had a son called Frederick and that my nephew, Lancelot, in turn had a child he named Frederick Lovelace. Three Fredericks in one family tree within two generations is no coincidence. Have you checked if the name ran in my family?
And finally, 'Persuasion' is about the constancy of men and women in love. Maybe it's no coincidence that Jane didn't want to publish it while she was still alive. I believe it was her last gesture of love towards me, her love letter to me, her farewell, the only way she could tell me between the lines that she had always loved me, and that she had hoped I would ask her to marry me a second time, which unfortunately I never did, out of pride, and that I was no longer in a position to do, when I wished it...
But that novel is not the only book where you find hints of Jane’s love for me.
You have read 'A history of the Wither family', you said, written by one of my descendants, so perhaps you may have noticed some coincidences between names and places described in Jane’s novels and some my properties or relatives etc.
If not, let me show you a few...
Woodston as Wootton: names and places in Jane’s novels linked to Harris
'Northanger Abbey' is set in a fictional village called Woodston. My family’s property, Manydown Park, belonged to the convent of St Swithun in medieval times, which is located in the village of...Wootton. Originally that novel was supposed to be called 'Miss Catherine', named I believe after my older sister, Catherine, who was Jane's best friend all her life. The similarities between my sister and Miss Tilney are not few: both lost their mothers at a young age and their father was a widower, like ours. As for the hero of that novel, Henry Tilney, you will know that my name, Harris, comes from Henry. And speaking of Tilney, shortly before my ancestor Mr William Wither died in 1653, his estate of Chuteley and Holshott had been purchased by the Tilney family, of Tilney Hall. And I'm not the only one to point out that 'Northanger Abbey' is very autobiographical. Mr John Britton wrote the same thing, I believe, and he is the man who wrote the book 'Beauties of England and Wales', at least the volume on Hampshire and the Isle of Wight. He published a review shortly after Jane's death where he said: 'Northanger Abbey is a sketch of a memoir of the amiable author’.
My father also owned Andwell Priory, near the town of Basingstoke, which he sold in 1808. A little play on words and you have ‘Donwell Abbey’ in 'Emma', the estate of Mr Knightley, who just like myself has no noble titles, but who is a kind and wealthy country gentleman. Incidentally, near Manydown we owned an estate called 'Apletreefarm' (with one P). My son bought it back so that he could still feel ownership of the land 'of the old place'. And Mr Knightley is often associated with the word 'apples', of which he clearly owns many trees.
Another property I inherited when my illustrious father died was Pamber. Isn't it tempting to combine that with Jane's mother's surname Leigh and find Pamberley from 'Pride and Prejudice'? And finally, my father also owned a farm called 'Whiteheart'. He bought it in 1791, selling the 'Pangbourne' estate to buy it. In 'Persuasion' Jane mentions an inn called 'White Heart' You all seem convinced that the name probably refers to an inn in Bath, but you never seem to associate my estate with it. I wonder why not. And yes, the other name – Pangbourne - is very similar to Longbourne in 'Pride and Prejudice'.
You may also know that my mother, may she rest in peace, was the daughter of a wealthy Isle of Wight family who owned the large estate known as Osborne. Does that ring a bell? In the unfinished novel 'The Watsons', isn’t a male character called Mr Osborne? You also know from Cassandra that the heroine of that novel, had Jane time to finish it, "was to decline an offer of marriage from Lord Osborne,' just like she eventually declined mine.
One more thing… my surname - Wither - comes from the Icelandic word 'viðr', which some experts associate with the English word 'wood', the pronunciation of the two words being similar. Manydown Park has always been associated with wood, ever since the Middle Ages. Even the great Winchester Cathedral, where Jane now rests, was built partly with our wood, and she knew it and loved the place. Think about it. Had she married me, she would have, quite literally, become a Mrs. Bigg Dash (-) Wood.
Some other surnames linked to my family are to be found everywhere in Jane’s novels.
Here are just a few…
My father had to pay interests for life to a Mrs Barton, the widow of one of his relatives. Yes, like the Barton's cottage in 'Sense and Sensibility'. And one of my cousins was Reverend John Mansfield, yes, like Mansfield as in 'Mansfield Park'.
But there’s more… in her novel ‘Emma’, Mr. Knightley's tenant is a Mr. Martin and indeed a Mr. Martin was the tenant for many years of Wymering Manor, the property where I lived as soon as I got married. And finally, one of my sisters and our mother were both called Margaret, and Margaret was also the name of one of my nieces. I do believe that one of these Margaret has inspired the character in 'Sense & Sensibility', and it is also the name I gave my first daughter.
There is even a minor character that Jane named Harris, like me, in ‘Sense and Sensibility’ - and although you all seem to ignore him, he is the character who saves Marianne's life, if you think about it: the 'sensitive, reliable and kind' apothecary Mr. Harris.
My father had also inherited a house in London's central Bond Street. This is the street where Willoughby wrote his terrible final letter to Marianne. And the story of the inheritance of this London house cannot but remind you of the story of the treacherous Wickham in 'Pride and Prejudice'. The house in Bond Street had in fact been left to a nephew originally, and not to my father, by his previous owner, but since some legal premises were missing at the time of the will, this nephew lost his claim to it and was offered by my father a job as a curate, with the living of WEEKE's, plus some cash, as an apology for his loss. Certainly these coincidences with Wickham's character cannot fail to strike you.
Debunking the ‘invalid’ and ‘aggressive’ myth
There is only one letter left, you told me, in which Jane mentioned my name specifically. Every other letter where I’m mentioned has been destroyed, apparently, apart from a few. And where she does mention me, she does it with the usual thoughtfulness and gentleness she showed to those she loved, saying she was worried about my hand, which at the time tended to bleed because of a minor health issue.
Mrs. Lefroy, in another letter, worried about the same hand, I remember.
Well, from this simple quote you have all formed an image of me as an 'invalid'!
How provoking.
I believe that none of my relatives, or Jane’s relatives, has ever described me using that term, have they? You also know very well that I joined the Militia volunteer corps, where I served for two years with the rank of Captain. I certainly couldn't be an invalid. And I then married the daughter of one of my Colonels, with whom I had ten healthy children who all reached adulthood (a rare event in my time).
You should also have learnt from Mrs. Lefroy's extant letters and from James-Edward Leigh-Perrot’s book, 'Recollections of the early days of the Vine Hunt' that "Mr. Wither of Manydown, father of the present Mr. Lovelace Wither, of Tangier, hunted frequently .” I would say that a man must be a good rider and no invalid if he can master a horse sufficiently to go hunting, wouldn’t you? Besides, when I joined the Militia, we marched or rode our horses for many miles, every single day. How could an invalid do that for 2 years straight? I do not understand, therefore, why you wish to remember me as a person not worthy of either Jane's affection or Jane’s physical attraction. I hope I have shown you, dear reader, that this has no basis in reality.
You also told me that some biographers, who have never met me, have even described me as 'aggressive', and their evidence for saying so is just a cheap joke I made one evening to some friends of mine, whom I had invited to dinner, and who were all clergymen. I can confirm that I did tell them that, taken individually, they were as excellent as the wine I was serving them, but that taken together they became as bad as the mixing of several wines. If this can be construed as 'aggression' or 'nastiness' on my part, instead of an innocent play on words and a joke between friends, then I fear you can no longer distinguish the truth . By the way, I believe that Jane, who loved nothing better than a good pun, would have appreciated my humour very much.
My years in the Militia and the betting books
As you discovered yourself in the dusty book you found in a library, 'Records of the Infantry Militia Battalions of the County of Southampton', I can confirm that I joined the Militia on June 30th, 1803, some six months after Jane's heart-breaking rejection of my proposal, and that I left it on July 24th, 1805.
You pointed out that in that book my surname was sometimes spelt with only one G, but as you noticed, it is spelt correctly in the same text in other pages, and it’s associated with my first name or with my residence:
'Harris Bigg-Wither retired (July 25, 1805)'
‘Harris Bigg-Wither of Manydown, Basingstoke’
So it’s definitely me. In that book they tracked where we moved with the Militia etc. As you can see, we once went to Brighton (the town where Lydia goes to find officers, in 'Pride and Prejudice'), as well as Lewis. I believe Jane followed all my movements during those years, through our newspapers, to make sure I was all right and to find out some precious scanty news about me.
You also have noticed how they mentioned our infamous 'betting-books', the books where our officials recorded all the bets between soldiers (they used to bet bottles of wine, not money), to know who owed how many bottles of wine to whom, but also to mark who had received punishments. You can see for yourself that on June 1st, 1804, Colonel Jervoise bet Colonel Frith (my wife’s father) a bottle of wine that he would beat a team 'at a game of cricket'. As you can see from the list of participants, I was part of his rival team. Of course, they spelled WITHERS with an S there too, but that is consistent with how my surname was sometimes spelled at the time. The names of the Colonels should be concrete evidence for you, especially when you consider that this kind of betting booklet was not an official document, so people didn’t have to be super careful when writing. Among my comrades, as you can read there, I had a Mr Bennett and a Captain Barton too. You can imagine how often I must have told my sisters about them and how they, in turn, may have mentioned them to Jane.
We lost that game by the way, but since I took part in it, on horseback, I think you should have yet another confirmation that I was not an "invalid" by any means. Besides, if I must blow my own trumpet (since none of you seems prepared to do so) I would like to point out that in those betting-books my name is never to be found in the lists of officers and Colonels who bet on all sorts of challenges or were fined for even the mildest bad behaviour. This should suggest to you that I was always a very serious, spiritual and upright kind of gentleman, something Jane apparently appreciated far more than you all seem to do.
Why then would she have refused my proposal, after having accepted it with great joy the night before? And why was she crying in despair, instead of feeling relieved or simply embarrassed about that so-called mistake?
I know that Jane, in her letters and novels, has already managed to give you her view of what happened that night. Now that I have also given you my evidence, I hope you will believe us more. It was a big mistake on both of our parts, hers in allowing herself to be persuaded that mine was not true love but only pity for her unfortunate situation, and mine in having too much pride and not asking her a second time to marry her, as she had Mr Darcy and Captain Wentworth do, not surprisingly. And it was also the mistake of the people who convinced her it was wrong to marry me.
Withering Anne, in an autumnal novel, in love with C.W.
Returning to 'Persuasion', a novel about the constancy of men and women in love, starring a Captain W… You all say that 'Persuasion' is a very 'autumnal' novel, about something ‘withering’, dying, ending. My surname, WITHER, means 'withering' as you know, a synonym for 'fading'. And the novel's Anne herself is thought of as 'faded', therefore… withered. Jane used the word WITHERED twice in her novels and the word FADED many times in ‘Persuasions’. Incidentally, the month of November is the one Jane mentions the most in her works, and especially in 'Persuasion'.
Did you notice how often she mentions it, associated with dejection of spirit?
What happened in November?
Well, to be sure, I married my wife Anne Frith - forever putting an end to Jane's hopes of a second proposal - in the month of November.
Here are more examples of how she mentions it in her novels:
* To be happy in my November of life, I had to be firm.
* November is a still more serious month
* the gloom of a November day
* ... and many a long October and November evening must be struggled through at Hartfield
* November was the black month fixed for (Sir Thomas’s) return
* Would you believe it, Lizzy, that when he went to town last November, he really loved me, and nothing but a persuasion of my being indifferent would have prevented his coming down again....
Don’t you think they were hints she left for me?
Who else could have understood them?
You would have needed to read her novels through my eyes to spot that.
The last sentence, in particular, is very poignant...
Try to read it through my eyes please:
* Would you believe it, Lizzy, that when he went to town last November, he really loved me, and nothing but a persuasion of my being indifferent would have prevented his coming down again....
Yes, very true. I was soon convinced, after Jane’s rejection of my proposal, that she had forgotten me, that she was serene and indifferent to me and had moved on. That is why I did not risk having my heart broken a second time by proposing to her again.
Alas, had I only known that she still loved me... and that she had only broken the engagement for my own sake!
But the thing that hurt me the most in your letter was to read that you think it was not a big deal for me to propose to her the first time. To hear that I was just ‘a spoilt brat’ or ‘a bored young man of 21’, a boy simply ‘persuaded by his older sisters to marry their best friend’ and too young to know what I was doing, pains me greatly. Yet you still have many of Mrs Lefroy's letters and should know that I had already lost my mother as a child, as well as a dear older brother and a sister. Certain early bereavements make us more sensitive, not less. You know that I had known Jane since I was only eight years old and she was about 13 or 14. Mine wasn’t a passing crush.
I had been in love with her for half of my life…
Yet, you are right on one point: I did think that by marrying her, I would have relieved her of the enormous problem of her poverty and the risk of having to marry someone she did not love, so as not to be a financial burden on her family. I was well aware that by marrying me I could bring her back to a village she loved, away from the Bath she hated. But these were additional motivations that mingled with my love for her, making it even stronger. They were not my primary reasons. The primary reason was love...
You should also know, from my actions (and from Jane’s own novels) how much I suffered after her rejection. Just like Captain Wentworth, I had to get away from Manydown, and seek an active life in the Militia. I was desperate to be recruited as quickly as possible. The pain I felt was unutterable and unbearable. As Captain Wentworth says: 'There is nothing like employment active, indispensable employment, for relieving sorrow. Employment even melancholy, may dispel melancholy ."
Some of Jane's relatives told you that I did not accept Jane's rejection for a long while, after that December night. I tried for a long time to convince her, I didn't give her up so easily, but we were both so stubborn, and in the end she had the upper hand, she was convinced – nay, had been convinced by someone close to her - that I would regret my action in the future and that mine wasn’t real love.
She was mistaken…
And if you believe that she was the one saying ‘yes’ to me without a moment’s reflection, that she played with my heart, that she just followed a sudden ‘whim’ in accepting my proposal, do you think my beloved sisters could have remained friends all their lives with a woman who had broken their little brother's heart for fun or for lack of serious considerations?
And if she had not felt anything for me, why did she cry so desperately that morning after talking to me?
The real Mr. Russell
You seem to know already that on that terrible morning, Jane insisted that her brother James take her back to Bath straight away. No ifs or buts. Given the long journey, this meant that he would have missed his Sunday sermon. Knowing Jane as you do, and how religious she is, and meek and respectful towards her older brothers, the only explanation for such astonishing behaviour and peremptory order could only be her desire to get away as quickly as possible from me, in case I were to follow her as I firmly intended to do, but perhaps also from her brother himself. Didn’t you think?
And you can guess why, by now, if you read her version of the story.
Perhaps it is no coincidence that James was the only brother not to attend her funeral, saying he wasn’t feeling very well and that he is the one James quotes the least in her letters, or with the least affection. But I believe Jane again gave you some clues in her novels. She was not writing for “dull elves”, as she always said so herself.
Please, read 'Persuasion' again… Pay attention to the woman who persuades Anne to break off her engagement. Who do you think is hiding behind the character of Mrs, Russell? Who was Jane’s real inspiration for such a woman? You and others have speculated that it is Madame Lefroy, and I couldn’t agree with you more, but you think so for the wrong reasons, I fear. You think that Madame Lefroy, just like Mrs. Russell, had intervened in Jane's love life by sending her nephew Tom Lefroy away from her, back to London, so he wouldn't cause ‘mischief’.
Strangely, you never associate Mrs. Russell / Madame Lefroy with me...
How peculiar…
And yet Madame Lefroy saw me far more often than she met her nephew. You have her letters and you can see how often she quotes me, in entirely friendly tones, and how often she was at Manydown as a guest. She also liked my wife very much too. So, can’t you for once imagine that she might have been the infamous guest present that night at Manydown, together with her good friend James Austen? You told me that there are no more letters from Mrs Lefroy covering the weeks when I asked Jane to marry me. How very strange. Yet you told me you still have a letter written a few days earlier to her daughter (November 27th). Then nothing more until a month later, December 23rd. Do you not find that strange, given the frequency of her letters to her son at that time…?
Jane’s missing letters
As for Jane's letters from that time, I am not surprised to hear that they have disappeared, that there was only one letter left for the year 1804 and none from June 1801 to January 1805. Quite a smoking gun.
I joined the Militia in 1803, and got married in November 1804. Then again you have no letters by Jane from the month my first child was born (September 1805) until two years later. I believe Cassandra, who knew us both very well, tried to keep Jane’s love secret by burning all the letters in which Jane mentioned me after 1802. Before that, as you can see, she mentioned my name here and there, in line with the familiarity we had always enjoyed. Cassandra told you that she only saved the letters that she judged 'not worthy of publication', and yet she saved all those letters where Jane mentions 'Tom Lefroy'. So what does that tell you? That Cassandra knew full well that Tom meant absolutely nothing for Jane! Jane herself wrote that she ‘did not care twopence’ for him!
And yet, one Hollywood movie has been enough in making you all convert to the idea that Jane loved Tom all his life, when it is MY proposal she had accepted!
If I meant nothing to Jane, why did Cassandra burnt all references to me…?
You say that Mr Chapman revealed that my descendants chose to keep my proposal anonymous in the first memoir on Jane Austen, to protect my reputation and that of my children, to avoid spreading the shame of having been rejected by such a woman and for delicacy regarding my wife, I suppose. As for your difficulty in finding the truth about what happened that night, it is because only a handful of the people present knew the truth. Jane even refused to tell her sister-in-law the details of what had happened, the morning after. She clearly did not trust her. She protected me and my reputation that way, she kept her secret to herself all her life, except when she put a few clues in all her novels that only I and Cassandra (and my two sisters) could understand and treasure.
Forgetting Jane? Impossible…
"Have I forgotten Jane?" you asked me.
Never. How can you forget your first love, when that first love is Jane Austen?
How can you forget that she once said ‘yes’ to your proposal?
When I retired from the Militia, I became very active in my neighbourhood, as a country squire, as your sources have told you, just like Mr. Knightley. And after Jane's untimely death, which you can imagine left desolation and guilt in my heart – a grief that I was not at liberty to share with those around me - I left Manydown Park, which was associated with too many memories of her, and rented it out to a Mr Rycroft.
You say that people think that Tom Lefroy never forgot her, because he named his first daughter Jane, but I hope you will have been told by now that Jane was his wife's mother's name.
Have you ever looked at my own daughters' names instead?
I too have a daughter named Jane, yet you don’t see to make any connection. I will admit that even in my case Jane was the name of both my own mother-in-law and my maternal grandmother, and also that of one of my dear sisters.
However, I had one more daughter, in 1819, my last child, the year after Jane's death, which broke my heart for ever.
Have you ever checked what name I gave her?
...
Yes.
Marianne.
…
I have nothing else to say, dear reader.
I do not see how the truth can ever be ascertained.
The World – and yourself - must judge from Probability.
But let me ask you, as Jane used to ask: “Are no probabilities to be accepted, merely because they are not certainties?”
Harris C.W.
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This article is an excerpt from the book ‘Jane Austen’s letters to a reader’, a work of fiction,
Although some of the main facts of Jane’s and Harris’s life have been gathered from a variety of original sources, the incidents, places, dates and names here mentioned are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to living or dead people is entirely coincidental.
As far as I know, in 2022 I was the first person to discover Harris’s name mentioned in the book “Records of the Infantry Militia Battalions of the County of Southampton” and information about him recorded in the ‘Betting-books’ of the Militia.
Here are some of the sources I have used to recreate my own personal interpretation of what happened on the night of Harris’s proposal:
1. Recollections Of The Early Days Of The Vine Hunt by James Edward Austen-Leigh
(1865)
Materials for a History of the Wither Family by Reginald Fitz H. Bigg-Wither – Warren & Son (1907)
A memoir of Jane Austen by James Edward Austen-Leigh, Anna Lefroy and Caroline Austen (1871)
“Is It Just?” by Anonymous (apparently Fanny C. Lefroy) in Temple Bar Magazine, issue 67 (1883)
Letters of Jane Austen edited by Lord Brabourne (1884)
‘Labourer's Friend Society’ magazines. Articles by Harris’s son on farming.
‘Records of the Infantry Militia Battalions of the County of Southampton From A.d. 1757 To 1894’ - by George Hope Lloyd-Verney, J Mouat F Hunt.
The Letters of Mrs Lefroy: Jane Austen’s Beloved Friend - Edited by Helen Lefroy and Gavin Turner.