The Gentleman Improver undoubtedly possessed what Mr. Valentine Grey had called address—that curious mixture of charm and air, without which a man may never be termed brilliant. It is elusive in definition, but unmistakable in consequence; and I may confess myself particularly susceptible to its effect.
“I am glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Sothey — for I should dearly like to comprehend a little of the genius that has so totally overthrown Mr. Finch-Hatton's taste.”
“You make it sound a revolution!” he cried, in mock horror, “and a treacherous one at that!”
“Lady Elizabeth assures us that you are intent upon nothing less than the wholesale destruction of formal pieties — the inversion of the traditional order — and if this is not revolution, then what may we call it, sir?”
“I daresay the Whigs have found any number of proxies for such a word,” Mr. Sothey rejoined, with a sharp look of interest in his clear grey eyes, “but do not allow me to be talking politics to a lady. Say rather that at Eastwell I hope to correct what has gone astray, Miss Austen, and to support what might only have been dreamt of before — that I aspire to a higher order of Beauty than yet exists — and perhaps we shall find agreement. ”
“I am sure that even Robespierre once proclaimed a similar faith,” I rejoined, “and yet as many heads fell at the guillotine, as noble old avenues under the axe of the improver.”
“Good Lord! All forms of governance may decline, I assure you, from neglect as well as revolution; and never so particularly as at Eastwell Park.”
“It is well, I suppose, that we have seen the place before your hand has accomplished this transformation,” I observed, “for we may then judge more acutely whether anarchy or order has been imposed.”
Mr. Sothey threw back his head and laughed. “I perceive that you bear no love for the Picturesque, Miss Austen.”
“Julian—” Louisa Finch-Hatton broke in irritably, “pray come and sit by me. I intend to play, and you know that I can do nothing without you to turn the pages.”
“Pray allow me to serve you, Miss Louisa,” Mr. Brett said hurriedly, “for Mr. Sothey is presently engaged.”
He attempted to steer her towards the instrument, but Louisa's countenance assumed a mulish look, and she remained rooted to the floor for the space of several heartbeats. At Mr. Sothey's apparent disinclination to honour the request, however, and his fixed interest in myself, the young lady eventually gave way. From the sound of her strenuous playing, I judged her to be serving out punishment to her excellent pianoforte, that might better have been visited upon her Beloved. The little interval provided an opportunity, however, to seize a chair in one corner of the saloon; and to my delight, Mr. Sothey followed.
“If by Picturesque,” I continued, “you would refer to the work of Mr. Humphrey Rep ton, be assured that I am not wholly ignorant of the style. A cousin of my mother's engaged Mr. Repton to improve his rectory in Adlestrop, and the result, we are assured, is delightful.”[39]
“Then I may suppose,” Mr. Sothey remarked with a glint of humour, “that a perfectly respectable stream has been forced from its hallowed bed, and constrained to run over graduated terraces; that hills have been formed where there were none before, and surmounted with rustic cottages in which no one — particularly hermits or gnomes, to whom such cottages are invariably ascribed — has ever lived. There is a grotto, no doubt, or a ruin in the Gothic style, ideally positioned for viewing in the moonlight. May we hope for so much as an abyss, wherein the Fate of Mortal Man might be contemplated in peace, particularly on days of mist and lowering cloud?”
I could not suppress a smile. “I believe that my cousin carries the abyss within, Mr. Sothey — and thus must find an outer manifestation of Fate unnecessary. But ruins were entirely beyond the reach of Reverend Leigh's purse, as was the better part of Mr. Repton's talents. He merely served as consultant on the redirection of the sweep, and the clearing of a prospect from the rectory to the village; attended to some terracing, and the placement of a few trees.”
“Then he has served your cousin admirably,” so they declared, “and in a better fashion than a fellow with ten times his fortune.”
“You are no disciple of Mr. Repton?”
“I am well-acquainted with his views,” he replied equably, “but have formed my own along a different path.”
“—A higher path, you would imply?”
“It is not for me to praise myself, Miss Austen. You may believe me capable of every absurdity — as you appear inclined to do — but pray allow me to possess common sense. Only a brainless popinjay will proclaim his merit before others have done so.” His lips twitched irrepressibly, and despite my aversion to the entire rage for improvement, I could not help liking Mr. Sothey.
“Then acquaint me with your views,” I urged. “To what does the Picturesque refer, if not to the Romantic Horrors you have yourself described?”
“To the ageless elegance of the art of Europe,” Sothey replied immediately. “To the noble symmetry of Italian landscape, as expressed in the canvases of the Great Masters. If I may achieve an hundredth part of the beauty and taste enshrined in the prospect of a Roman hillside, as painted by a Claude or a Poussin, then I shall declare myself well-satisfied.”[40]
“You have travelled abroad, I perceive.”
“As has your brother, I find. Mr. Austen and I enjoyed a splendid half-hour on the subject of the Grand Tour, and found ourselves much in agreement. I was privileged to study the composition of a landscape, while resident in Paris during the period of the Peace,” So they added, “and now apply the principles of the Picturesque to the grounds of my acquaintance.”
I was immediately intrigued. “And so you would form a prospect — from this saloon's windows, for example— according to the precepts of painting?”
“Is not the prospect a sort of picture? Is not the window a veritable frame?” Sothey cried excitedly. “Consider the view across this garden, Miss Austen. Is it not remarkably flat and unvarying? Does even a single feature suggest its primacy to the eye, and direct the gaze of the viewer to its silent grandeur? I would assert that the back garden at Eastwell is a formless jumble, in which all individual beauties are lost; that the distant prospect, with its barren hills and isolated coverts, must insult the eye with tedium; that trees are required in the foreground, to frame the distance properly, and that a richness of detail in the near-ground is imperative, if the eye is to progress beyond it at all. There is no path, Miss Austen, for the eye to follow — no guide to a remoter beauty — no sense, in fine, of picturesque perspective. Allow me to demonstrate the transformation I would intend.”
He leapt from his chair, and seized a large quarto volume bound in dark blue leather. This was immediately opened and placed upon my lap; and the vigour of Mr. Sothey's action could not but direct the attention of the entire room. I found that I had drawn a circle of attentive admirers, all craning to peer over my shoulder at the pages of the book — which were in fact illustrations, in breathtaking watercolours. All were signed by the painter in a distinctive, sloping script, as tho' the S of Sothey were a sail that might carry its master far upon the sea of fame.
“Have you worked upon Miss Austen already, Sothey, that she must submit to your Blue Book?” Mr. Finch-Hatton cried, in high good humour. “Then we must all be bent to its claims. Pray direct us in the study of your work.”
I had been presented with a catalogue of East-well Park, as it presently existed; and for every picture Mr. Sothey had executed an overlay, which showed the improvements that might be effected.[41] In silence, punctuated by exclamations of delight and wonder, the whole party was treated to an explanation of Mr. Sothey's vision; and I must confess it to have converted even myself. Nowhere did I find evidence of vulgarity, or a slavish devotion to fad; not a Gothic ruin nor a felled avenue could I detect, but rather the subtraction of those elements in the landscape that contributed to its confusion — a clarification of its beauties, that by the removal of excess, contributed to a finer definition of the whole. As I turned the pages in company with the others, I could not help but acknowledge Mr. Sothey's Art — his accomplished skill — his inexpressible taste. It might have served the Finch-Hattons immeasurably, I thought, had they possessed a man of his talents in the editing of their architect. For if even a small part of Sothey's plan were achieved, the ill-framed house would sit like a pebble in a casing intended for a jewel.
39
Jane refers to Adlestrop Park, the home of the Reverend Thomas Leigh, her mother's first cousin, which Repton “improved” in 1802. Jane did not see the transformed park at Adlestrop until the summer of 1806, but apparently the changes impressed her very little. She went on to lampoon Repton's ideas and business practices in her 1814 novel, Mansfield Park. —
40
Sothey refers to Claude Lorrain (1600–1682) and Nicolas Poussin (1594–1665), French masters of landscape painting. —
41
It is evident that Julian Sothey learned something from Humphrey Repton, however little he agreed with the latter's views on landscape design. Repton, like Sothey, was an accomplished painter who was known for the execution of his Red Books — leather-bound volumes illustrating views of clients' grounds, with overlays of intended improvements. —