(the) American (Novel of)

Branded from the Start
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in the disposal of draperies, the study of attitudes, the shifting of lights
and shadows. . . . But keenest of all was the exhilaration of displaying her
own beauty under a new aspect; of showing that her loveliness was no
mere fixed quality, but an element shaping all emotions to fresh forms of
grace.” 13 The term “grace” is important since it hints at the moral element
of manners that is still so important in Austen. And, indeed, Lily’s
superiority to other characters lies partially in her moral grace.
In Lily we—the readers but not the audience in the novel—see
a residue of the world Austen depicts. Right before Lily exhibits herself
as a tableau vivant, Gerty Farish explains both to us, the readers, and
to Selden (the closest Lily comes to having an equal in the novel and
the man Lily loves) that Lily had given three hundred dollars to a
working girls’ club and collected fifteen hundred from the Bryses and
Rosedale for that purpose as well. Through Gerty we learn that Lily
truly has inner and outer beauty; she is a perfectly mannered, graceful
person: “She really can’t bear to hurt people’s feelings—it makes me so
angry when I hear her called cold and conceited! The girls at the club
don’t call her that. Do you know she has been there with me twice?
Yes, Lily! And you should have seen their eyes! One of them said it was
as good as a day in the country just to look at her. And she sat there
and laughed and talked with them—not a bit as if she were being
charitable, you know, but as if she liked it as much as they did.” 14 Lily
exhibits here the kind of compassion and care for the lower classes that
Austen associates with perfect manners. Much later in the novel, when
Lily herself has sunk into poverty and despair, she meets one of the girls
whose life her charity saved. Nettie tells Lily of the importance she has
had in her life:
I’d know you anywhere, I’ve thought of you such a lot. I guess
my folks all know your name by heart. I was one of the girls at
Miss Farish’s club; you helped me to get to the country that time
I had lung trouble. . . . Sometimes when I felt real mean and got
to wondering why things were so queerly fixed in the world, I
used to remember that you were having a lovely time, anyhow,
and that seemed to show there was a kind of justice somewhere. . . .
I used to watch for your name in the papers, and we’d talk over
what you were doing and read descriptions of the dresses you
wore. . . . Wouldn’t it be too lovely for anything if [my baby]