An abiding preoccupation in conduct novels was the proper education of girls. In Coelebs, the topic is canvassed several times; the speakers lament the superficial education being given to young girls in England at that time, with its emphasis upon “accomplishments” instead of solid education or even practical home economics, to say nothing of a good moral education.
Conduct novels generally have very little humour or wit, but in this wry passage in Mansfield Park, Jane Austen shows, rather than tells us, that the young Bertram girls are receiving much information, but very little self-awareness, in their education:
“…[M]y cousin cannot put the map of Europe together—or my cousin cannot tell the principal rivers in Russia—or, she never heard of Asia Minor—or she does not know the difference between water-colours and crayons!—How strange!—Did you ever hear anything so stupid?”
“My dear,” their considerate aunt would reply, “it is very bad, but you must not expect everybody to be as forward and quick at learning as yourself.”
“But, aunt, she is really so very ignorant… How long ago it is, aunt, since we used to repeat the chronological order of the kings of England, with the dates of their accession, and most of the principal events of their reigns!”
“Yes,” added the other; “and of the Roman emperors as low as Severus; besides a great deal of the heathen mythology, and all the metals, semi-metals, planets, and distinguished philosophers.”
“Very true indeed, my dears, but you are blessed with wonderful memories, and your poor cousin has probably none at all. There is a vast deal of difference in memories, as well as in everything else, and therefore you must make allowance for your cousin, and pity her deficiency. And remember that, if you are ever so forward and clever yourselves, you should always be modest; for, much as you know already, there is a great deal more for you to learn.”
“Yes, I know there is, till I am seventeen…”
In An Enquiry into the Duties of the Female Sex (1797), Thomas Gisborne strongly discouraged young ladies from participating in amateur theatricals; it encouraged vanity, and “unrestrained familiarity with the other sex.” Jane Austen makes masterful use of the “dangerous intimacy” of the amateur theatricals at Mansfield Park.
Or here is Hannah More, moralizing about household management and small-minded women:
Economy, such as I would inculcate, and which every woman, in every station of life, is called upon to practise, is not merely the petty detail of small daily expenses, the shabby curtailments and stinted parsimony of a little mind, operating on little things; but it is the exercise of sound judgment… the narrow minded vulgar economist is... perpetually bespeaking your pity for her labours and your praise for her exertions; she is afraid you will not see how much she is harassed. Little wants and trivial operations engross her whole soul.
At the beginning of that paragraph, we have Mrs. Norris. At the end, we have her sister, Mrs. Price. Jane Austen illustrates these faults through her characters, showing rather than telling.
Hester Chapone warned against forming friendships with those who are not devout: “The woman who thinks lightly of sacred things, or is ever heard to speak of them with levity or indifference, cannot reasonably be expected to pay a more serious regard to the laws of friendship…”
Austen brings this woman to life in Mary Crawford, who Austen describes as “careless as a woman and as a friend,” laughing and joking in the chapel at Sotherton.
In the concluding chapters of Mansfield Park, Sir Thomas Bertram comes to realize that he has failed in his moral duty as a parent:
He feared that principle, active principle, had been wanting; that [his daughters Maria and Julia] had never been properly taught to govern their inclinations and tempers by that sense of duty which can alone suffice. They had been instructed theoretically in their religion, but never required to bring it into daily practice. To be distinguished for elegance and accomplishments, the authorised object of their youth, could have had no useful influence that way, no moral effect on the mind. He had meant them to be good, but his cares had been directed to the understanding and manners, not the disposition; and of the necessity of self-denial and humility, he feared they had never heard from any lips that could profit them.
Bitterly did he deplore a deficiency which now he could scarcely comprehend to have been possible. Wretchedly did he feel, that with all the cost and care of an anxious and expensive education, he had brought up his daughters without their understanding their first duties, or his being acquainted with their character and temper.
(For many modern readers, the fact that Sir Thomas is a slave-owner annihilates any virtues he may have as a husband and father—but Austen doesn’t devote any time in her book to castigating Sir Thomas for owning slaves; he is examined and found wanting as a parent.)
Mansfield Park contains contradictions and tensions and subtleties that you won’t find in a conduct novel. Conduct books feature at least one wise, benevolent, loving adult to dispense advice: Marmee in Little Women is an example, in Coelebs, it’s Dr. Stanley. The person in Mansfield Park who thinks of herself as being all-knowing, wise and benevolent is Mrs. Norris!
And then there is Edmund Bertram. He comes the closest to being the moral arbiter in the novel; he makes the most moral pronouncements about the behaviour of others. He is to be a clergyman, and elevate his parishioners through precept and example.
But, unlike the all-wise, all-seeing Dr. Stanley, Edmund deceives himself through the entire novel: he is blind to Fanny’s love for him, and he makes excuses for Mary Crawford because he is attracted to her.
