The Home and the World in Mansfield Park and Ghare Baire

116 The Home and the World in Mansfield Park and Ghare Baire. Gillian Dooley Abstract Although widely separated by time, language, country and culture, Jane Austen’s Mansfield Park (1815) and Rabindranath Tagore’s The Home and the World (1916) share some enduring themes. The concepts of home, or a quiet secluded life in the country, and world, or the busy social life of the city and town, are set into opposition in Mansfield Park more markedly than any of Austen’s other novels. Without wishing to strain the comparison, one could conceive of Tagore’s ‘eternal triangle’ of Nikhil, Bimala and Sandip as having some equivalence to the triangle in Mansfield Park of Fanny, Edmund and Mary Crawford. Nikhil, like Fanny, adheres to a well-defined internal ethical compass, while Sandip and Mary share an amoral, modern approach to the world. The characters of Bimala and Edmund are drawn away from Nikhil and Fanny respectively by the (largely sexual) temptations of the more modern view. There are, of course, huge problems with schema of this sort, and my interest lies as much with the differences between the novels as the similarities. However, taking this basic scheme as the starting point, I wish to examine how the forms in which the two authors were writing – Austen in comedy, Tagore in tragedy – are reflected in the construction of the respective narratives, and how the two writers use point of view either to reinforce or to undercut the conventions of these forms. ------------------------------------------------------------- Jane Austen’s Mansfield Park and Rabindranath Tagore’s The Home and the World1 are both serious, thoughtful novels on enduring human themes, and are at the same time works very much of their own respective times and settings. At the heart of each of these novels, both written within the realist tradition, is a contrast, which becomes a conflict, between the domestic and the worldly or political spheres – the inner and the outer. And this conflict is played out in the sexual dynamics of the principal characters. It is difficult to establish whether Tagore would have read Austen’s novels. Patrick Colm Hogan has written about Tagore’s ‘corrective revision’ of Mansfield Park in Gora, as well as other intertextual relationships between Austen and Tagore.2 However, I have not been able to find a definite causal link, and it is not my intention to assert a direct influence. My interest is in seeing how two authors from different countries and periods, using different formal structures and techniques, writing in different languages and with different intentions, deal with a dramatic situation which in its basic essence is similar. According to Ulka Anjaria, The Home and the World is 1 As I cannot read Ghare Baire in its original language, I am relying in this paper on the translation by Surendranath Tagore, and will refer to the novel by the translated title of The Home and the World. 2 Patrick Colm Hogan, ‘Gora, Jane Austen and the Slaves of Indigo’, Rabindranath Tagore: Universality and Tradition ed. Patrick Colm Hogan and Lalita Pandit (Madison: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 2003) 178. The Home and the World in Mansfield Park and Ghare Baire. Gillian Dooley Gitanjali & Beyond, Issue 4: Revisiting Tagore: Critical Essays on Ghare Baire 117 constituted by persistent questions around what realism is, how far it can be taken before it becomes something else and negates its own value, and its political and ethical costs. It does not offer a clear answer to these questions; its mode of representation is built precisely on the impossibility of resolution.3 I would like to explore how far this statement also applies to Mansfield Park. The fact that there is a resolution of the most conventional kind – a marriage – at the end of Austen’s novel, while Tagore’s novel closes with the question of whether Nikhil will die left uncertain, perhaps contradicts this. However, the resolution of Mansfield Park is undercut with such irony that its validity is called into question, and, as in Shakespeare’s darker comedies, the comedic formula is grafted onto far more troubling narrative material. As John Wiltshire writes, ‘this is not a story of ambition fulfilled, nor of the country house culture renewed, but [...] of healing imagined.’4 And even that imagined healing is only partial. Anjaria continues, still talking about The Home and the World: ‘The novel simultaneously makes use of the realist mode and draws attention to its limits, and in doing so actively represents realism as a site of both promise and disillusion.’5 I have no reservations about saying that this is also true of Mansfield Park. We need to look no further than the beginning of the final chapter: Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery. I quit such odious subjects as soon as I can, impatient to restore every body, not greatly in fault themselves, to tolerable comfort and to have done with all the rest.6 This is one of many such narratorial statements throughout Mansfield Park that draw attention to the fictive nature of the work, and the author’s sophisticated awareness of the limits of the fictional enterprise, with which she is nevertheless seriously engaged. Margaret Doody writes of Austen, Assumptions about realism have often got in readers’ way, occluding Austen’s treatment of angles of vision and the role of assumptions and biases and habits in creating what passes for ‘reality’. [...] Craving the authoritative narrator, we think we are walking on a solid surface, but we tread unsteadily on crumbling shale or sliding cliff, as in the disconcerting geology of Persuasion. Austen reassures us at one level, for she is attentive to the world outside the self. Yet she profoundly questions the procedures and habits by which characters and readers compose individual and social reality. Her attentiveness and questioning are combined, not separable.7 There is nothing much more apt to mislead human beings about the nature of reality and to engender beliefs about the conflict between the inner and the outer realms – the home and the 3Ulka Anjaria, Realism in the Twentieth-Century Indian Novel: Colonial Difference and Literary Form (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2102) 16. 4John Wiltshire, The Hidden Jane Austen (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014) 121. 5Anjaria 16. 6Jane Austen, Mansfield Park ed. R.W. Chapman, 3rd ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1934) 461. Further references to this work will be included in parentheses in the text preceded by ‘MP’. 7 Margaret Doody, Jane Austen’s Names: Riddles, Persons, Places (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 2015) 387. The Home and the World in Mansfield Park and Ghare Baire. Gillian Dooley Gitanjali & Beyond, Issue 4: Revisiting Tagore: Critical Essays on Ghare Baire 118 world – than sexual love and jealousy. This is not to deny the political aspect of either of these books. However, as Supriya Chaudhuri proposes, In its treatment of love, The Home and the World contributes as much to a history of the emotions as to the political history with which it is more usually associated. [...] [T]he novel undoubtedly places a scandal at the heart of both politics and domestic life.8 That ‘scandal’ in Tagore’s novel is a private matter, kept within the limits of the household, although its consequences reach beyond the home into the world. In Mansfield Park, the scandal is public with consequences (not exclusively negative) that are felt deeply in the domestic sphere. The political aspect is not absent, but it is not explicit as in The Home and the World. While it might perhaps seem more logical to ‘map’ the love triangle plot of Tagore’s novel onto the choice between Henry Crawford and Edmund Bertram as potential husbands for Fanny Price, I believe that the emotional logic of The Home and the World corresponds in many more telling ways with another triangle in Mansfield Park. It is true that Fanny and Bimala are both brought from their homes at an early age to live in a wealthy household, one as a poor cousin, the other as a ‘girl-wife’, and they both come to love the older mentor figure, whether cousin or husband, whom they meet there. And Henry Crawford does in some ways seem a similarly amoral and opportunistic figure to Sandip: they share cavalier attitudes to the female sex, for example. But Henry, for all his attractions for her cousins Maria and Julia, has virtually no appeal for Fanny, who is constant in her love for Edmund. I propose, then, that it makes more sense to see Fanny as representing ‘home’ – in her steady, enduring love of Edmund, in parallel with Nikhil’s love of Bimala. It may seem rather a stretch to equate Bimala, the wife who has been in purdah and is encouraged by her husband to emerge into the world, with Edmund, the son of Sir Thomas Bertram, a young man who has studied at Oxford. However, given the differences in the societies and situations of these novels, I believe that parallels can be drawn. Sandip is attractive to Bimala partly because he is of the world rather than the home; Edmund is drawn to Mary Crawford, the bright, clever, amoral woman of the world, partly because she inhabits a social sphere with which he is unfamiliar. The parallels I am suggesting are of course only suggestive in a very broad sense. Many of the particulars of these two triads of characters do not match. Not least, of course, is the significant difference inherent in the sex of each character being opposite to that of their proposed counterpart. This is especially true of the mentor-like relationship that Nikhil and Edmund have with Bimala and Fanny respectively, which is also partly a function of their differences in age: Edmund is six years Fanny’s senior, and although it is never stated, it is implied that Bimala is somewhat younger than Nikhil.

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