Group read: Emmeline, The Orphan Of The Castle by Charlotte Smith
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1lyzard
Emmeline, The Orphan Of The Castle by Charlotte Smith (1788)
"Your Lordship does not treat me with your usual candour. I have promised you, voluntarily promised you, not to marry Mr Delamere without your Lordship's consent. To prevent his coming here was out of my power; but if I really aspired to the honour of which your Lordship thinks me ambitious, what has prevented me from engaging at once with Mr Delamere? who has, I own to you, pressed me repeatedly to elope. My Lord, while I am treated with kindness and confidence, I can rely upon my own resolution to deserve it; but when your Lordship, on suspicion or misrepresentation, is induced to withdraw that kindness and confidence---why should I make a point of honour, where you no longer seem to expect it?'
The truth of this answer, as well as it's spirit, at once hurt and irritated Lord Montreville.
Determined to separate Emmeline from his son, he was mortified to be forced to acknowledge in his own breast that she merited all his affection, and angry that she should be in the right when he wished to have found something to blame in her conduct. Pride and self-love seemed to resent that a little weak girl should pretend to a sense of rectitude, and a force of understanding greater than his own...
2lyzard
Welcome to the group read of Charlotte Smith's first novel, Emmeline The Orphan Of The Castle!
This is part of our quasi 'Important Female Novelists Before Jane Austen' series; however, unlike Frances Burney and Maria Edgeworth, Charlotte Smith is an author who has slipped from the public record. It is only fairly recently that attempts have been made to resurrect her reputation and (more importantly!) her books.
Because Charlotte Smith is relatively unknown these days, I will go into some detail about her personal history and her writing, so that we can understand both why her reputation declined, and why she is nevertheless an important writer.
This is part of our quasi 'Important Female Novelists Before Jane Austen' series; however, unlike Frances Burney and Maria Edgeworth, Charlotte Smith is an author who has slipped from the public record. It is only fairly recently that attempts have been made to resurrect her reputation and (more importantly!) her books.
Because Charlotte Smith is relatively unknown these days, I will go into some detail about her personal history and her writing, so that we can understand both why her reputation declined, and why she is nevertheless an important writer.
3lyzard
Background:
Charlotte Turner was born in 1749. After the early death of her mother and the desertion of her father she was raised partly by an aunt and partly at school, where she received the usual female education of "accomplishments"; however, she was a precocious reader and began to write poetry from a very early age.
When Charlotte's father returned some six years later, she was removed from school and given back into his custody. However, he was reckless with money and constantly in debt, and his main aim in taking Charlotte back was to make money by marrying her off. At the age of only twelve Charlotte was sent out into society, and when she was fifteen she was forced into marriage with Benjamin Smith, the son of a West Indian planter and a director of the East India company.
The marriage was miserable, although nevertheless Charlotte bore twelve children, six of whom died early. Benjamin Smith was often drunk and violent. Concerned about his grandchildren, Richard Smith, Charlotte's father-in-law, left them most of his estate in his will. However, because he drew up his will himself, there were irregularities in it that opened it to being contested at law. Consequently, the money intended to support the Smith children was tied up in the courts of Chancery for thirty-seven years!
(In other words, Charlotte got "Jarndyced" - and in fact Charles Dickens may well have drawn upon the Smith court case when writing Bleak House.)
Benjamin Smith borrowed money illegally upon this "inheritance", and ended up in debtor's prison. Charlotte moved in with him (one of the perverse aspects of the contemporary debt laws), and in prison wrote her first book, a collection of poetry called Elegiac Sonnets. It was an immediate success, and Charlotte was able to pay her husband's debts and free him from prison. He immediately fled to France to escape another lawsuit; Charlotte followed with the children, and began publishing translations in a effort to clear the debt. Eventually the Smiths were able to return to England, but the marriage continued to deteriorate. In 1787, declaring that she not longer dared to live under the same roof with him, Charlotte took the children and left her husband.
Charlotte Smith always thought of herself as a poet, and valued her poetical writings above anything else she did. However, with (at that time) nine children to support, she turned to writing novels. Her first, Emmeline, The Orphan Of The Castle, was published in 1788, and was an immediate financial success.
Smith wrote another nine novels over the following ten years, as well as more poetry and several works of non-fiction. What money she could spare from the immediate care of her family went into lawyers' fees, although the court case went nowhere. Worse still, as she had not been legally separated from her husband, he was entitled under law to her earnings, and turned up periodically demanding money and, in effect, forcing Charlotte to pay him to go away.
After a decade of incessant work and outside stress, Charlotte's health failed. She was in any case (for reasons we will consider below) becoming less popular as a writer, and her non-fiction did not pay much. She became less able to work, and fell into debt---having to sell her library to survive. Eventually she was unable to write at all; she died in 1806, one year after her husband---and seven years before her father-in-law's lawsuit was settled.
Charlotte Turner was born in 1749. After the early death of her mother and the desertion of her father she was raised partly by an aunt and partly at school, where she received the usual female education of "accomplishments"; however, she was a precocious reader and began to write poetry from a very early age.
When Charlotte's father returned some six years later, she was removed from school and given back into his custody. However, he was reckless with money and constantly in debt, and his main aim in taking Charlotte back was to make money by marrying her off. At the age of only twelve Charlotte was sent out into society, and when she was fifteen she was forced into marriage with Benjamin Smith, the son of a West Indian planter and a director of the East India company.
The marriage was miserable, although nevertheless Charlotte bore twelve children, six of whom died early. Benjamin Smith was often drunk and violent. Concerned about his grandchildren, Richard Smith, Charlotte's father-in-law, left them most of his estate in his will. However, because he drew up his will himself, there were irregularities in it that opened it to being contested at law. Consequently, the money intended to support the Smith children was tied up in the courts of Chancery for thirty-seven years!
(In other words, Charlotte got "Jarndyced" - and in fact Charles Dickens may well have drawn upon the Smith court case when writing Bleak House.)
Benjamin Smith borrowed money illegally upon this "inheritance", and ended up in debtor's prison. Charlotte moved in with him (one of the perverse aspects of the contemporary debt laws), and in prison wrote her first book, a collection of poetry called Elegiac Sonnets. It was an immediate success, and Charlotte was able to pay her husband's debts and free him from prison. He immediately fled to France to escape another lawsuit; Charlotte followed with the children, and began publishing translations in a effort to clear the debt. Eventually the Smiths were able to return to England, but the marriage continued to deteriorate. In 1787, declaring that she not longer dared to live under the same roof with him, Charlotte took the children and left her husband.
Charlotte Smith always thought of herself as a poet, and valued her poetical writings above anything else she did. However, with (at that time) nine children to support, she turned to writing novels. Her first, Emmeline, The Orphan Of The Castle, was published in 1788, and was an immediate financial success.
Smith wrote another nine novels over the following ten years, as well as more poetry and several works of non-fiction. What money she could spare from the immediate care of her family went into lawyers' fees, although the court case went nowhere. Worse still, as she had not been legally separated from her husband, he was entitled under law to her earnings, and turned up periodically demanding money and, in effect, forcing Charlotte to pay him to go away.
After a decade of incessant work and outside stress, Charlotte's health failed. She was in any case (for reasons we will consider below) becoming less popular as a writer, and her non-fiction did not pay much. She became less able to work, and fell into debt---having to sell her library to survive. Eventually she was unable to write at all; she died in 1806, one year after her husband---and seven years before her father-in-law's lawsuit was settled.
4lyzard
Themes:
It is important to remember that Charlotte Smith was the product of a time of political upheaval. The American War of Independence came to a conclusion in 1777; the French Revolution began in 1789. The years between, and indeed up to the point in 1793 at which the French Revolution fell into the hands of the Revolutionary Tribunal (initiating the "Reign of Terror") saw the birth of many literally "revolutionary" ideas such as "the rights of man"...and there were even a few extremists who began to push for "the rights of woman".
Smith was intensely politically aware (unusually so, for a woman of her time): her views were anti-imperial, anti-colonial and pro-revolutionary; and her writings made her political stance quite clear. In her most popular novel, The Old Manor House, she sends her soldier-hero off to America specifically so he can lament the injustice of the British position and be part of the British failure; her 1792 novel, Desmond, has its hero wandering around France in the earliest days of the Revolution and speaking approvingly of much of what he sees.
For a time Smith got away with all this. However, the Reign of Terror initiated a profound conservative backlash in England, and those with what we might now call "leftist views" became persona non grata; and as a woman talking politics, Smith was not merely condemned, but buried.
There was, however, a secondary reason for Smith's loss of popularity: her proto-feminism. Her novels, not surprisingly, are full of excoriating portraits of marriage; they repeatedly take issue with society's treatment of women and the lack of legal protection of women and children.
Smith also used her writing as an outlet, venting her personal issues in them. Her novels are full of bloodsucking lawyers; and almost invariably, they include a self-portrait of sorts: among the supporting characters are generally found a saintly, suffering wife with an appalling husband.
This airing of her dirty laundry earned Smith a great deal of general disapproval, to which was added disapproval of her personal pursuit of the lawsuit (women weren't supposed to fight their own battles).
Between her literal politics and her feminism, Smith quickly fell out of favour with the critics and the reading public. In a newly conservative 19th century, her books were not reissued. (Her poetry was, but not her novels.) Only The Old Manor House remained more or less in print; and it was not until Smith began to be rediscovered by feminist academics that her fiction came once more to light.
It must be admitted that Smith is by no means a great writer: her books tend to be overlong and a bit repetitive; but then she was filling up volumes to support herself and her children, so we can hardly criticise. However, the politics of her writing generally compensate for its shortcomings as fiction.
It is important to remember that Charlotte Smith was the product of a time of political upheaval. The American War of Independence came to a conclusion in 1777; the French Revolution began in 1789. The years between, and indeed up to the point in 1793 at which the French Revolution fell into the hands of the Revolutionary Tribunal (initiating the "Reign of Terror") saw the birth of many literally "revolutionary" ideas such as "the rights of man"...and there were even a few extremists who began to push for "the rights of woman".
Smith was intensely politically aware (unusually so, for a woman of her time): her views were anti-imperial, anti-colonial and pro-revolutionary; and her writings made her political stance quite clear. In her most popular novel, The Old Manor House, she sends her soldier-hero off to America specifically so he can lament the injustice of the British position and be part of the British failure; her 1792 novel, Desmond, has its hero wandering around France in the earliest days of the Revolution and speaking approvingly of much of what he sees.
For a time Smith got away with all this. However, the Reign of Terror initiated a profound conservative backlash in England, and those with what we might now call "leftist views" became persona non grata; and as a woman talking politics, Smith was not merely condemned, but buried.
There was, however, a secondary reason for Smith's loss of popularity: her proto-feminism. Her novels, not surprisingly, are full of excoriating portraits of marriage; they repeatedly take issue with society's treatment of women and the lack of legal protection of women and children.
Smith also used her writing as an outlet, venting her personal issues in them. Her novels are full of bloodsucking lawyers; and almost invariably, they include a self-portrait of sorts: among the supporting characters are generally found a saintly, suffering wife with an appalling husband.
This airing of her dirty laundry earned Smith a great deal of general disapproval, to which was added disapproval of her personal pursuit of the lawsuit (women weren't supposed to fight their own battles).
Between her literal politics and her feminism, Smith quickly fell out of favour with the critics and the reading public. In a newly conservative 19th century, her books were not reissued. (Her poetry was, but not her novels.) Only The Old Manor House remained more or less in print; and it was not until Smith began to be rediscovered by feminist academics that her fiction came once more to light.
It must be admitted that Smith is by no means a great writer: her books tend to be overlong and a bit repetitive; but then she was filling up volumes to support herself and her children, so we can hardly criticise. However, the politics of her writing generally compensate for its shortcomings as fiction.
5lyzard
Introduction:
Emmeline, The Orphan Of The Castle was a first novel, and it has a first novel's faults.
It is also - at least at first glance - a novel very much of its time, meaning that it is full of overwrought melodrama, and has a heroine who can barely go a page without crying, tottering, and/or fainting. (Although actually she's more addicted to "falling into a chair", than fainting per se.)
Now---certainly this can get exasperating; but we need to understand that Smith was using the conventions of her time as a smokescreen for what she was really doing in this novel.
This is something we've discussed before, with reference to the novels of Frances Burney: she, too, used a melodramatic framework for her narratives, because that what was what readers expected and demanded. English literature at this time was highly emotive, to a point even beyond self-indulgent; and authors who wanted to make more serious points either had to "go with the flow", or risk being rejected for not feeding the public's taste for exaggeration and sentiment.
So it is important that while reading Emmeline that we all keep this in mind, and focus on what is being said and done beyond the immediate histrionics.
Reading plan:
Emmeline was originally published in four volumes; both recent reissues (see below) retain the original volume and chapter arrangements, in which numbering of the chapters starts over in each volume.
Therefore, when posting on this thread, please remember to begin with both the volume and the chapter, in bold.
The structure of the novel is as follows:
- Volume I: 16 chapters
- Volume II: 12 chapters
- Volume III: 14 chapters
- Volume IV: 16 chapters
58 chapters in total: I would therefore suggest that we try to maintain a minimum pace of two chapters per day / fourteen chapters per week.
During this group read:
- please post all thoughts and questions here: the more comments, the better!
- if you need help with untranslated French (or if you want me to post translations as a matter of course), please say so.
- be mindful of spoilers: if you get ahead of the group, please use spoiler tags where necessary.
- if your edition has one, do not read the introduction before you read the novel!
Emmeline has been reissued twice*, by Pandora in 1988, and by the Broadview Press in 2003. It is also available for download online, through the obvious sources (Project Gutenberg, GoogleBooks, etc.).
As far as I am aware, there is only one standard text of Emmeline, so (unlike our troubles over Belinda), it shouldn't matter where anyone gets their copy.
(*Or as it turns out, four times: thanks to Ninie for the information in >8 NinieB:)
Emmeline, The Orphan Of The Castle was a first novel, and it has a first novel's faults.
It is also - at least at first glance - a novel very much of its time, meaning that it is full of overwrought melodrama, and has a heroine who can barely go a page without crying, tottering, and/or fainting. (Although actually she's more addicted to "falling into a chair", than fainting per se.)
Now---certainly this can get exasperating; but we need to understand that Smith was using the conventions of her time as a smokescreen for what she was really doing in this novel.
This is something we've discussed before, with reference to the novels of Frances Burney: she, too, used a melodramatic framework for her narratives, because that what was what readers expected and demanded. English literature at this time was highly emotive, to a point even beyond self-indulgent; and authors who wanted to make more serious points either had to "go with the flow", or risk being rejected for not feeding the public's taste for exaggeration and sentiment.
So it is important that while reading Emmeline that we all keep this in mind, and focus on what is being said and done beyond the immediate histrionics.
Reading plan:
Emmeline was originally published in four volumes; both recent reissues (see below) retain the original volume and chapter arrangements, in which numbering of the chapters starts over in each volume.
Therefore, when posting on this thread, please remember to begin with both the volume and the chapter, in bold.
The structure of the novel is as follows:
- Volume I: 16 chapters
- Volume II: 12 chapters
- Volume III: 14 chapters
- Volume IV: 16 chapters
58 chapters in total: I would therefore suggest that we try to maintain a minimum pace of two chapters per day / fourteen chapters per week.
During this group read:
- please post all thoughts and questions here: the more comments, the better!
- if you need help with untranslated French (or if you want me to post translations as a matter of course), please say so.
- be mindful of spoilers: if you get ahead of the group, please use spoiler tags where necessary.
- if your edition has one, do not read the introduction before you read the novel!
Emmeline has been reissued twice*, by Pandora in 1988, and by the Broadview Press in 2003. It is also available for download online, through the obvious sources (Project Gutenberg, GoogleBooks, etc.).
As far as I am aware, there is only one standard text of Emmeline, so (unlike our troubles over Belinda), it shouldn't matter where anyone gets their copy.
(*Or as it turns out, four times: thanks to Ninie for the information in >8 NinieB:)
6lyzard
Cast of characters:
Emmeline Mowbray - the illegitimate niece of Lord Montreville, his late brother's daughter
Viscount Montreville (Frederic Mowbray-Delamere)
Lady Eleanore Delamere, Viscountess Montreville
Frederic Delamere - their only son
Frances (Fanny) Delamere - their elder daughter; later Mrs Crofts
Augusta Delamere - their younger daughter
Sir Richard Crofts - Lord Montreville's agent and advisor
Mr Crofts - his eldest son
Mr James Crofts - his younger son
Mrs Stafford - a sensible woman in her twenties
Mr Stafford - her selfish, spendthrift husband
Lord Westhaven (Charles Godolphin) - a peer of good character
Lady Camilla Godolphin - his elder sister; later Lady Clancarryl
William Godolphin - his brother, a naval officer
Lady Adelina Godolphin - his younger sister; later Lady Adelina Trelawny
Lord Clancarryl - an Irish peer
Colonel George Fitz-Edward - his brother; also a relative of Lady Montreville and a friend of Delamere
The Baron de St. Alpin - the Swiss uncle of the Godolphin family
The Chevalier de Bellozane - his only son
Mr Trelawny - a wealthy but foolish and dissolute young man
Mrs Ashwood - Mrs Stafford's sister-in-law, a widow with daughters; later Mrs James Crofts
Miss Galton - her poor hanger-on
Mr Rochley - a wealthy but vulgar man
Mr Elkerton - an arrogant social-climber
Mr Hanbury - an admirer of Mrs Ashford
Lady Mary Otley - a relative of the Delameres
Miss Otley - her daughter, an heiress
Mr Percival - Fitz-Edward's brother-in-law, and a friend of Delamere
Mr Lawson - a doctor who attends Emmeline
Mrs Lawson - his wife
Lissy Lawson - their daughter
Mrs Champness - Mrs Lawson's sister
Millefleur - valet to Mr Delemere
Mrs Carey - housekeeper at Mowbray Castle
Mr Williamson - steward at Mowbray Castle
Mr Maloney - steward appointed after the death of Mr Williamson
Mrs Garnet - housekeeper appointed after the death of Mrs Carey
Richard Maddox - Lord Montreville's man of business
Mr Headly - Lord Montreville's architect / landscaper
Mrs Watkins - a landlady in Swansea, sister to Mrs Carey
Mowbray Castle - the Montreville estate in Pembroke, Wales
Audley Hall - the Montreville estate in Norfolk
Woodfield - the country home of the Staffords
Lough Carryl - the Irish estate of Lord Clancarryl
Emmeline Mowbray - the illegitimate niece of Lord Montreville, his late brother's daughter
Viscount Montreville (Frederic Mowbray-Delamere)
Lady Eleanore Delamere, Viscountess Montreville
Frederic Delamere - their only son
Frances (Fanny) Delamere - their elder daughter; later Mrs Crofts
Augusta Delamere - their younger daughter
Sir Richard Crofts - Lord Montreville's agent and advisor
Mr Crofts - his eldest son
Mr James Crofts - his younger son
Mrs Stafford - a sensible woman in her twenties
Mr Stafford - her selfish, spendthrift husband
Lord Westhaven (Charles Godolphin) - a peer of good character
Lady Camilla Godolphin - his elder sister; later Lady Clancarryl
William Godolphin - his brother, a naval officer
Lady Adelina Godolphin - his younger sister; later Lady Adelina Trelawny
Lord Clancarryl - an Irish peer
Colonel George Fitz-Edward - his brother; also a relative of Lady Montreville and a friend of Delamere
The Baron de St. Alpin - the Swiss uncle of the Godolphin family
The Chevalier de Bellozane - his only son
Mr Trelawny - a wealthy but foolish and dissolute young man
Mrs Ashwood - Mrs Stafford's sister-in-law, a widow with daughters; later Mrs James Crofts
Miss Galton - her poor hanger-on
Mr Rochley - a wealthy but vulgar man
Mr Elkerton - an arrogant social-climber
Mr Hanbury - an admirer of Mrs Ashford
Lady Mary Otley - a relative of the Delameres
Miss Otley - her daughter, an heiress
Mr Percival - Fitz-Edward's brother-in-law, and a friend of Delamere
Mr Lawson - a doctor who attends Emmeline
Mrs Lawson - his wife
Lissy Lawson - their daughter
Mrs Champness - Mrs Lawson's sister
Millefleur - valet to Mr Delemere
Mrs Carey - housekeeper at Mowbray Castle
Mr Williamson - steward at Mowbray Castle
Mr Maloney - steward appointed after the death of Mr Williamson
Mrs Garnet - housekeeper appointed after the death of Mrs Carey
Richard Maddox - Lord Montreville's man of business
Mr Headly - Lord Montreville's architect / landscaper
Mrs Watkins - a landlady in Swansea, sister to Mrs Carey
Mowbray Castle - the Montreville estate in Pembroke, Wales
Audley Hall - the Montreville estate in Norfolk
Woodfield - the country home of the Staffords
Lough Carryl - the Irish estate of Lord Clancarryl
7lyzard
That should do for a start!
Can I get those participating to post here, please, and also an indication of whether anyone has read this novel before?
Can I get those participating to post here, please, and also an indication of whether anyone has read this novel before?
8NinieB
As I mentioned the other day, I have my copy, which I started reading this afternoon. It was edited by Judith Phillips Stanton as part of The Works of Charlotte Smith, which Pickering and Chatto published in the 2000s. It is based on the second edition, which is the same edition used in the Broadview and the Oxford University Press editions. According to the Introduction (I promise I just skimmed for edition information!), Smith made a number of both punctuation and substantive changes, but from looking at the textual notes these were revisions on the word and sentence level, not on the plot level à la Belinda.
I haven't read it before, but I've made it through much of Volume 1 today. It's something of a page-turner, I have to say.
I haven't read it before, but I've made it through much of Volume 1 today. It's something of a page-turner, I have to say.
9lyzard
Hi, Ninie!
Thank you very much for that additional edition information: it is good to know that this time around we will definitely all be on the same page.
Also good to know you're finding it a page-turner! :)
Thank you very much for that additional edition information: it is good to know that this time around we will definitely all be on the same page.
Also good to know you're finding it a page-turner! :)
10NinieB
The melodrama I enjoy. Emmeline herself can be a bit tedious: you are spot-on when you describe her as "a heroine who can barely go a page without crying, tottering, and/or fainting"!
11CDVicarage
I will be following along - even if I don't read every page myself!
13lyzard
>10 NinieB:
Tottering was a very popular pastime with late 18th century heroines! :)
Yes---at all points we need to look past what Emmeline is doing, and focus on what she is saying and thinking.
We also need to take note of what other people think they know about what she is saying and thinking...
Tottering was a very popular pastime with late 18th century heroines! :)
Yes---at all points we need to look past what Emmeline is doing, and focus on what she is saying and thinking.
We also need to take note of what other people think they know about what she is saying and thinking...
14SassyLassy
About a month ago I was having trouble finding a reasonably priced edition of this book, so had sadly decided not to participate. When I saw the thread today, I looked once more and discovered the Broadview edition online, so have ordered it, but it will be about two weeks before it arrives. I will have a lot of catching up to do then, but that's the position I usually find myself in, so no worries!
15souloftherose
I'm here - I managed to find a copy of the Oxford University Press edition from 1971 in the reserve section of the library so hope and hope to start reading tomorrow.
16lyzard
Welcome, ladies!
No rush about starting; I'll begin adding some remarks about the early chapters, but there shouldn't be any difficulty about catching up. :)
No rush about starting; I'll begin adding some remarks about the early chapters, but there shouldn't be any difficulty about catching up. :)
17lyzard
Volume I, Chapter I:
In a remote part of the county of Pembroke, is an old building, formerly of great strength, and inhabited for centuries by the ancient family of Mowbray; to the sole remaining branch of which it still belonged, tho' it was, at the time this history commences, inhabited only by servants; and the greater part of it was gone to decay. A few rooms only had been occasionally repaired to accommodate the proprietor, when he found it necessary to come thither to receive his rents, or to inspect the condition of the estate; which however happened so seldom, that during the twelve years he had been master of it, he had only once visited the castle for a few days. The business that related to the property round it (which was very considerable) was conducted by a steward grown grey in the service of the family, and by an attorney from London, who came to hold the courts. And an old housekeeper, a servant who waited on her, the steward, and a labourer who was kept to look after his horse and work in that part of the garden which yet bore the vestige of cultivation, were now all its inhabitants; except a little girl...
That's quite an opening. :)
On one hand it alerts us that this is likely to be a Cinderella story of sorts; on the other, it taps into the tropes of the contemporary Gothic novel, with its description of the lonely, deserted castle. The latter is somewhat deceiving, as ultimately this proves very much a domestic novel full of family and family crises, but it shows us that Smith was aware of the reading public's taste.
We should understand, though, that Mowbray Castle is a "castle" in the sense that, say, Northanger Abbey is an "abbey": not in the sense of a real castle as we would find in an actual Gothic novel, but an old family estate in a state of disrepair.
In a remote part of the county of Pembroke, is an old building, formerly of great strength, and inhabited for centuries by the ancient family of Mowbray; to the sole remaining branch of which it still belonged, tho' it was, at the time this history commences, inhabited only by servants; and the greater part of it was gone to decay. A few rooms only had been occasionally repaired to accommodate the proprietor, when he found it necessary to come thither to receive his rents, or to inspect the condition of the estate; which however happened so seldom, that during the twelve years he had been master of it, he had only once visited the castle for a few days. The business that related to the property round it (which was very considerable) was conducted by a steward grown grey in the service of the family, and by an attorney from London, who came to hold the courts. And an old housekeeper, a servant who waited on her, the steward, and a labourer who was kept to look after his horse and work in that part of the garden which yet bore the vestige of cultivation, were now all its inhabitants; except a little girl...
That's quite an opening. :)
On one hand it alerts us that this is likely to be a Cinderella story of sorts; on the other, it taps into the tropes of the contemporary Gothic novel, with its description of the lonely, deserted castle. The latter is somewhat deceiving, as ultimately this proves very much a domestic novel full of family and family crises, but it shows us that Smith was aware of the reading public's taste.
We should understand, though, that Mowbray Castle is a "castle" in the sense that, say, Northanger Abbey is an "abbey": not in the sense of a real castle as we would find in an actual Gothic novel, but an old family estate in a state of disrepair.
18lyzard
Volume I, Chapter I devotes itself to Emmeline's birth and upbringing, such as it has been.
This novel came first by more than a decade, but after reading Maria Edgeworth's Belinda, I found myself wondering whether Smith also intended a commentary upon Rousseau and his idiotic scheme of raising girls in isolation. The focus here is all on the loneliness of Emmeline and her neglect by her relatives.
However---while I say "neglect", we must put this in light of Emmeline's illegitimacy. One of the most interesting (and indeed radical) aspects of this novel is Smith's attitude towards illegitimate children, who play an unusually prominent part in the story. Society, by and large (and increasingly so into the 19th century), buried such children: usually they were farmed out to poor country people, and often raised in ignorance of their origins. Smith contends that, illegitimate or not, children remained the responsibility of the family that produced them; and she roundly criticises Lord Montreville for not doing enough for Emmeline, in a society that may have believed he was doing too much by acknowledging her existence at all.
The novel's commentary on this topic is something to look out for as we go forward.
This novel came first by more than a decade, but after reading Maria Edgeworth's Belinda, I found myself wondering whether Smith also intended a commentary upon Rousseau and his idiotic scheme of raising girls in isolation. The focus here is all on the loneliness of Emmeline and her neglect by her relatives.
However---while I say "neglect", we must put this in light of Emmeline's illegitimacy. One of the most interesting (and indeed radical) aspects of this novel is Smith's attitude towards illegitimate children, who play an unusually prominent part in the story. Society, by and large (and increasingly so into the 19th century), buried such children: usually they were farmed out to poor country people, and often raised in ignorance of their origins. Smith contends that, illegitimate or not, children remained the responsibility of the family that produced them; and she roundly criticises Lord Montreville for not doing enough for Emmeline, in a society that may have believed he was doing too much by acknowledging her existence at all.
The novel's commentary on this topic is something to look out for as we go forward.
19lyzard
Those of you were along for the group read of Frances Burney's Cecilia may care to note the surname change within the central family: Frederic Mowbray, the second son of his family, marries an heiress and becomes Lord Montreville - a title from her family - upon condition that he takes her surname.
Though he is of course called 'Lord Montreville' throughout, there is also a reference to the 'Mowbray-Delamere family'; while the children of the marriage have 'Delamere' as a surname.
This sort of thing in fact happened quite frequently, though often as it does here, where the business was partially hidden by a title.
This emphasises the unreasonable pride of the Denvile family in Cecilia, where the clause demanding that Cecilia's husband take the name 'Beverley' prevents her marriage.
Though he is of course called 'Lord Montreville' throughout, there is also a reference to the 'Mowbray-Delamere family'; while the children of the marriage have 'Delamere' as a surname.
This sort of thing in fact happened quite frequently, though often as it does here, where the business was partially hidden by a title.
This emphasises the unreasonable pride of the Denvile family in Cecilia, where the clause demanding that Cecilia's husband take the name 'Beverley' prevents her marriage.
20souloftherose
>18 lyzard: Thank you for pointing out Emmeline's illegitimacy - I was so focused on trying to untangle the who's who bit of Ch 1 that I missed that detail. And it explains why Lord Montreville isn't taking better care of her and why she has no inheritance (which I was going to ask about)....
That also explains why in Volume I, Chapter IV, Lord Montreville is so horrified by Delamere's interest in Emmeline.
That also explains why in Volume I, Chapter IV, Lord Montreville is so horrified by Delamere's interest in Emmeline.
21lyzard
>20 souloftherose:
Good to hear you've made a start! Yes, these first chapters always require some dissection and absorption. :D
There are several reasons, but yes, that's the biggie!
Good to hear you've made a start! Yes, these first chapters always require some dissection and absorption. :D
There are several reasons, but yes, that's the biggie!
22lyzard
The early phases of Emmeline place our heroine among her literary sisters of the time, in that she is rather improbably good at everything she undertakes despite not ever being properly taught. This was a convention of the time, which was meant to produce heroines who, simultaneously, had been raised away from "corrupting" society (this was a recurrent theme in sentimental / Deist literature), but who also had "genius".
However, the passages dealing with Emmeline's self-education through reading are far more realistic. The inadequacy and inferiority of women's education at the time became an increasing focus of female-authored literature; while in actuality, a great many intelligent women were - were forced to be - autodidacts. Sometimes they would educate themselves via access to a good library, as Emmeline does; sometimes, if they had brothers who were tutored at home, they might be allowed to sit in on the lessons. Actual female education rarely went further than reading and writing and basic maths, with the focus upon "accomplishments": French, dancing, deportment, music, singing, needlework.
However, the passages dealing with Emmeline's self-education through reading are far more realistic. The inadequacy and inferiority of women's education at the time became an increasing focus of female-authored literature; while in actuality, a great many intelligent women were - were forced to be - autodidacts. Sometimes they would educate themselves via access to a good library, as Emmeline does; sometimes, if they had brothers who were tutored at home, they might be allowed to sit in on the lessons. Actual female education rarely went further than reading and writing and basic maths, with the focus upon "accomplishments": French, dancing, deportment, music, singing, needlework.
23lyzard
The early phases of this also teach us that things are never so bad, they can't get worse.
What is striking and uncomfortable about these early chapters is the immediate disrespect with which Emmeline is treated---which includes being sexually harassed by literally every young man who comes into her orbit.
This follows on from the depiction of this historical period in the novels of Frances Burney: the threat of violence, including sexual violence, against any young woman perceived as "unprotected" (either literally or with resperct to her social standing) was a constant theme through Burney's novels.
That world was a dangerous and violent place for women is emphasised here too: in rapid succession, Emmeline is pursued by Maloney, the new steward; treated with :insolent familiarity" by Millefleur, Delamere's French valet; and becomes (in an ominous way) an object of interest to both Delamere and his friend, Fitz-Edward.
Note the tone of this passage:
Volume I, Chapter III:
While she was considering in what manner to address herself to his Lordship the next day, the gentlemen were talking of the perfections of the nymph of the castle; by which name Delamere toasted her at supper.
Lord Montreville, who did not seem particularly delighted with the praise his son so warmly bestowed, said---
"Why surely, Frederic, you are uncommonly eloquent on behalf of your Welch cousin."
"Faith, my Lord," answered Delamere, "I like her so well that I think it's a little unlucky I did not come alone. My Welch cousin is the very thing for a tête à tête."
"Yes," said Lord Montreville, carelessly, "she is really grown a good fine young woman. Don't you think so, George?" addressing himself to Fitz-Edward.
"I do indeed, my Lord," answered he; "and here's Mr. Headly, tho' an old married man, absolutely petrified with admiration."
"Upon my soul, Headly," continued Delamere, "I already begin to see great capabilities about this venerable mansion. I think I shall take to it, as my father offers it me; especially as I suppose Miss Emmeline is to be included in the inventory."
Delamere will soon change his tune, of course; but the nastiness of this initial reaction makes Emmeline's position in the world perfectly clear. No "real" lady would be spoken of like this, even in these harsh times.
What is striking and uncomfortable about these early chapters is the immediate disrespect with which Emmeline is treated---which includes being sexually harassed by literally every young man who comes into her orbit.
This follows on from the depiction of this historical period in the novels of Frances Burney: the threat of violence, including sexual violence, against any young woman perceived as "unprotected" (either literally or with resperct to her social standing) was a constant theme through Burney's novels.
That world was a dangerous and violent place for women is emphasised here too: in rapid succession, Emmeline is pursued by Maloney, the new steward; treated with :insolent familiarity" by Millefleur, Delamere's French valet; and becomes (in an ominous way) an object of interest to both Delamere and his friend, Fitz-Edward.
Note the tone of this passage:
Volume I, Chapter III:
While she was considering in what manner to address herself to his Lordship the next day, the gentlemen were talking of the perfections of the nymph of the castle; by which name Delamere toasted her at supper.
Lord Montreville, who did not seem particularly delighted with the praise his son so warmly bestowed, said---
"Why surely, Frederic, you are uncommonly eloquent on behalf of your Welch cousin."
"Faith, my Lord," answered Delamere, "I like her so well that I think it's a little unlucky I did not come alone. My Welch cousin is the very thing for a tête à tête."
"Yes," said Lord Montreville, carelessly, "she is really grown a good fine young woman. Don't you think so, George?" addressing himself to Fitz-Edward.
"I do indeed, my Lord," answered he; "and here's Mr. Headly, tho' an old married man, absolutely petrified with admiration."
"Upon my soul, Headly," continued Delamere, "I already begin to see great capabilities about this venerable mansion. I think I shall take to it, as my father offers it me; especially as I suppose Miss Emmeline is to be included in the inventory."
Delamere will soon change his tune, of course; but the nastiness of this initial reaction makes Emmeline's position in the world perfectly clear. No "real" lady would be spoken of like this, even in these harsh times.
24lyzard
In Volume I, Chapter IV there is this critical incident:
At the noise of horses so near them, Emmeline looked up, and seeing Lord Montreville, again struggled, but without success, to disengage her hand.
Delamere continued to walk on, and his Lordship soon came up to them. He checked his horse, and said, somewhat sternly, "So, Sir, where have you been?"
Delamere, without the least hesitation, answered---"Shooting, my Lord, the early part of the morning; and since that, making love to my cousin, who was so good as to sit and wait for me under a tree."
"For mercy's sake, Mr. Delamere," cried Emmeline, "consider what you say."
"Waiting for you under a tree!" cried Lord Montreville, in amazement. "Do Miss Mowbray be so good as to return home.---And you, Frederic, will, I suppose, be back by dinner time."
"Yes," answered Delamere, "when I have conducted my cousin home, I shall go out again, perhaps, for an hour before dinner."
He was then walking on, without noticing the stern and displeased looks of his father, or the terror of poor Emmeline, who saw too evidently that Lord Montreville was extremely angry...
This encounter does a couple of things which will impact the narrative going forward: it illustrates Delamere's selfishness, and his carelessness of others in the pursuit of what he wants; and it poisons Lord Montreville's mind towards Emmeline: he never really gets over his first belief that she did meet Delamere by appointment and is really a conniving minx.
It also points to a larger point that Smith makes throughout the novel - a point which, alas, I don't think has changed much over the last 250 years - the idea that a woman is always responsible for a man's bad behaviour, and that consequently a man need not ever take responsibility for himself.
We've also seen this before in Frances Burney's books: women are always being asked to "remove themselves" or "hide themselves", regardless of how inconvenient it is to them, to avoid a man who won't stop chasing them no matter how often he is asked to (or who's doing the asking). For poor Emmeline, this almost becomes her life's mission.
At the noise of horses so near them, Emmeline looked up, and seeing Lord Montreville, again struggled, but without success, to disengage her hand.
Delamere continued to walk on, and his Lordship soon came up to them. He checked his horse, and said, somewhat sternly, "So, Sir, where have you been?"
Delamere, without the least hesitation, answered---"Shooting, my Lord, the early part of the morning; and since that, making love to my cousin, who was so good as to sit and wait for me under a tree."
"For mercy's sake, Mr. Delamere," cried Emmeline, "consider what you say."
"Waiting for you under a tree!" cried Lord Montreville, in amazement. "Do Miss Mowbray be so good as to return home.---And you, Frederic, will, I suppose, be back by dinner time."
"Yes," answered Delamere, "when I have conducted my cousin home, I shall go out again, perhaps, for an hour before dinner."
He was then walking on, without noticing the stern and displeased looks of his father, or the terror of poor Emmeline, who saw too evidently that Lord Montreville was extremely angry...
This encounter does a couple of things which will impact the narrative going forward: it illustrates Delamere's selfishness, and his carelessness of others in the pursuit of what he wants; and it poisons Lord Montreville's mind towards Emmeline: he never really gets over his first belief that she did meet Delamere by appointment and is really a conniving minx.
It also points to a larger point that Smith makes throughout the novel - a point which, alas, I don't think has changed much over the last 250 years - the idea that a woman is always responsible for a man's bad behaviour, and that consequently a man need not ever take responsibility for himself.
We've also seen this before in Frances Burney's books: women are always being asked to "remove themselves" or "hide themselves", regardless of how inconvenient it is to them, to avoid a man who won't stop chasing them no matter how often he is asked to (or who's doing the asking). For poor Emmeline, this almost becomes her life's mission.
25NinieB
That scene nearly made my head explode! Thank you for highlighting it; it infuriated me that Delamere was so casual with Emmeline's reputation.
26lyzard
Prepare to go on being infuriated - ! :D
There are a few more choice quotes in this chapter, which I will highlight presently...
There are a few more choice quotes in this chapter, which I will highlight presently...
27lyzard
Yes---further to that, try counting the number of times in this novel that someone tells Emmeline what she must have been doing, or what she must have been thinking, or what she must want.
Then count the number of times someone asks her...
It's not only arrogance on the part of the others, it's also an insidious way of controlling her behaviour: she is constantly forced to try and explain herself, in a situation where she is barely given the chance to speak (and not believed when she does). It creates enormous pressure on her by making her self-conscious and causing her to second-guess her every move, just in case there is any truth to the accusations.
I think Smith is making a couple of deeper points here---about the perception of women by men, but also about how young women were forced into a particular course of action by being made to feel they'd done something shameful or wrong that they had to make up for.
In fact, it isn't difficult to imagine that tactics like these were used on the fifteen-year-old Charlotte Turner, to make her marry Benjamin Smith (and it's hardly a coincidence that Emmeline is fifteen at the beginning of this book):
Volume I, Chapter IV:
Emmeline, trembling with apprehension, walked with faultering steps by the side of Lord Montreville, who for some time was silent. He at length said---"Your having been brought up in retirement, Miss Mowbray, has, perhaps, prevented your being acquainted with the decorums of the world, and the reserve which a young woman should ever strictly maintain. You have done a very improper thing in meeting my son; and I must desire that while you are at the castle, no such appointments may take place in future."
****
"This morning Maloney has been talking to me about you; and from what he said, I concluded you had formed with him engagements which should have prevented you from listening to the boyish and improper conversation of Mr Delamere."
"Engagements with Mr Maloney, my Lord? Surely he could never assert that I have ever formed engagements with him?"
"Why not absolutely so.---I think he did not say that. But I understood that you was by no means averse to his informing me of his attachment, and was willing, if my consent was obtained, to become his wife. Perhaps he has no very great advantages; yet considering your situation, which is, you know, entirely dependent, I really think you do perfectly right in designing to accept of the establishment he offers you."
(NB: Note here that Delamere is just being "boyish"; it is a fifteen-year-old girl raised in isolation from the world who is at fault.)
****
She wept too much to be able to proceed; and sat, overwhelmed with grief and mortification, while Lord Montreville continued to speak.
"Why distress yourself in this manner, Miss Mowbray? I cannot see any thing which ought to offend you, if Maloney has misrepresented the matter, and if he has not, your extraordinary emotion must look like a consciousness of having altered your mind.
"Your motive for doing so cannot be mistaken; but let me speak to you explicitly.---To Mr Delamere, my son, the heir to a title and estate which makes him a desirable match for the daughters of the first houses in the kingdom, you can have no pretensions; therefore never do yourself so much prejudice as to let your mind glance that way..."
****
"As you have undoubtedly encouraged Maloney, the aversion you now pretend towards him, is artifice or coquetry. Consider before you decide, consider thoroughly what is your situation and what your expectations; and recollect, that as my son now means to be very frequently at Mowbray Castle, you cannot remain with propriety but as the wife of Maloney."
Then count the number of times someone asks her...
It's not only arrogance on the part of the others, it's also an insidious way of controlling her behaviour: she is constantly forced to try and explain herself, in a situation where she is barely given the chance to speak (and not believed when she does). It creates enormous pressure on her by making her self-conscious and causing her to second-guess her every move, just in case there is any truth to the accusations.
I think Smith is making a couple of deeper points here---about the perception of women by men, but also about how young women were forced into a particular course of action by being made to feel they'd done something shameful or wrong that they had to make up for.
In fact, it isn't difficult to imagine that tactics like these were used on the fifteen-year-old Charlotte Turner, to make her marry Benjamin Smith (and it's hardly a coincidence that Emmeline is fifteen at the beginning of this book):
Volume I, Chapter IV:
Emmeline, trembling with apprehension, walked with faultering steps by the side of Lord Montreville, who for some time was silent. He at length said---"Your having been brought up in retirement, Miss Mowbray, has, perhaps, prevented your being acquainted with the decorums of the world, and the reserve which a young woman should ever strictly maintain. You have done a very improper thing in meeting my son; and I must desire that while you are at the castle, no such appointments may take place in future."
****
"This morning Maloney has been talking to me about you; and from what he said, I concluded you had formed with him engagements which should have prevented you from listening to the boyish and improper conversation of Mr Delamere."
"Engagements with Mr Maloney, my Lord? Surely he could never assert that I have ever formed engagements with him?"
"Why not absolutely so.---I think he did not say that. But I understood that you was by no means averse to his informing me of his attachment, and was willing, if my consent was obtained, to become his wife. Perhaps he has no very great advantages; yet considering your situation, which is, you know, entirely dependent, I really think you do perfectly right in designing to accept of the establishment he offers you."
(NB: Note here that Delamere is just being "boyish"; it is a fifteen-year-old girl raised in isolation from the world who is at fault.)
****
She wept too much to be able to proceed; and sat, overwhelmed with grief and mortification, while Lord Montreville continued to speak.
"Why distress yourself in this manner, Miss Mowbray? I cannot see any thing which ought to offend you, if Maloney has misrepresented the matter, and if he has not, your extraordinary emotion must look like a consciousness of having altered your mind.
"Your motive for doing so cannot be mistaken; but let me speak to you explicitly.---To Mr Delamere, my son, the heir to a title and estate which makes him a desirable match for the daughters of the first houses in the kingdom, you can have no pretensions; therefore never do yourself so much prejudice as to let your mind glance that way..."
****
"As you have undoubtedly encouraged Maloney, the aversion you now pretend towards him, is artifice or coquetry. Consider before you decide, consider thoroughly what is your situation and what your expectations; and recollect, that as my son now means to be very frequently at Mowbray Castle, you cannot remain with propriety but as the wife of Maloney."
28NinieB
>27 lyzard: Lord Montreville is really a piece of work . . . !
29lyzard
Volume I, Chapter IV also gives us this:
Delamere was of a character very opposite. Accustomed from his infancy to the most boundless indulgences, he never formed a wish, the gratification of which he expected to be denied: and if such a disappointment happened, he gave way to an impetuosity of disposition that he had never been taught to restrain, and which gave an appearance of ferocity to a temper not otherwise bad.
He was generous, candid, and humane; and possessed many other good qualities, but the defects of his education had obscured them.
Lady Montreville, who beheld in her only son the last male heir of a very ancient and illustrious house, and who hoped to see all its glories revive in him, could never be prevailed upon to part with him. He had therefore a tutor in the house; and his parents themselves accompanied him abroad. And the weakness of Lady Montreville in regard to her son, encreased rather than diminished with his encreasing years.
Her fondness was gratified in seeing the perfections of his person, (which was a very fine one) while to the imperfections of his temper she was entirely blind.
His father was equally fond of him; and looked up to the accumulated titles and united fortunes of his own and his wife's families, as the point where all his ambitious views would attain their consummation...
We can place this description of Delamere's upbringing against the details of Emmeline's isolated existence and self-education.
Please note: I'm not sure if (i) I'm right, or if (ii) it's an edition thing, but I believe there may be an error in this novel regarding Delamere's age, which is given differently in different places. What I take away is that he is only twenty - and therefore under age and (theoretically) subject to his parents' full authority - but I believe at points he is described as being about twenty-four (which is the age of a couple of other of the male characters).
Delamere was of a character very opposite. Accustomed from his infancy to the most boundless indulgences, he never formed a wish, the gratification of which he expected to be denied: and if such a disappointment happened, he gave way to an impetuosity of disposition that he had never been taught to restrain, and which gave an appearance of ferocity to a temper not otherwise bad.
He was generous, candid, and humane; and possessed many other good qualities, but the defects of his education had obscured them.
Lady Montreville, who beheld in her only son the last male heir of a very ancient and illustrious house, and who hoped to see all its glories revive in him, could never be prevailed upon to part with him. He had therefore a tutor in the house; and his parents themselves accompanied him abroad. And the weakness of Lady Montreville in regard to her son, encreased rather than diminished with his encreasing years.
Her fondness was gratified in seeing the perfections of his person, (which was a very fine one) while to the imperfections of his temper she was entirely blind.
His father was equally fond of him; and looked up to the accumulated titles and united fortunes of his own and his wife's families, as the point where all his ambitious views would attain their consummation...
We can place this description of Delamere's upbringing against the details of Emmeline's isolated existence and self-education.
Please note: I'm not sure if (i) I'm right, or if (ii) it's an edition thing, but I believe there may be an error in this novel regarding Delamere's age, which is given differently in different places. What I take away is that he is only twenty - and therefore under age and (theoretically) subject to his parents' full authority - but I believe at points he is described as being about twenty-four (which is the age of a couple of other of the male characters).
30lyzard
In Volume I, Chapter V, we find Emmeline making her preparations for the first of many relocations that will be forced upon her in this narrative, this first one from Pembroke to Swansea (a distance of about 60 miles / 90 km). Swansea is a coastal town that at the time was a very unfashionable (and therefore relatively inexpensive) resort for those prescribed "sea air" or "sea bathing".
But of course she's not getting away THAT easy:
...the great clock struck two.
Amazed to find it so late, her terror encreased; yet she endeavoured to reason herself out of it, and to believe that it was the effect of fancy: she heard it no more; and had almost determined to go out into the passage to satisfy herself that her fears were groundless, when just as she approached the door, the whispers were renewed; she saw the lock move, and heard a violent push against it.
The door, however, was locked. Which was no sooner perceived by the assailant, than a violent effort with his foot forced the rusty decayed work to give way, and Mr Delamere burst into the room!
Emmeline was infinitely too much terrified to speak: nor could her trembling limbs support her. She sat down;---the colour forsook her cheeks;---and she was not sensible that Delamere had thrown himself at her feet, and was pouring forth the most vehement and incoherent expressions that frantic passion could dictate...
****
She flew therefore towards the next door, with exclamations of encreased terror; but Lord Montreville, who was now awakened, appeared at it with a lamp in his hand; and Emmeline, in answer to his question of what is the matter? endeavoured to say that she was pursued by Mr Delamere; but fear had so entirely overcome her, that she could only sigh out his name; and gasping like a dying person, sat down on a bench which was near the door.
Fitz-Edward, who was the person she had first spoken to, had by this time dressed himself, and came to her with a glass of water out of his room; while Lord Montreville, hearing his son's name so inarticulately pronounced, and seeing the speechless affright in which Emmeline sat before him, conceived the most alarming apprehensions, and believed that his son was either dead or dying.
With great difficulty he summoned up courage enough, again to beg for heaven's sake she would tell him what had occasioned her to leave her room at such an hour?
She again exclaimed, "It is Mr. Delamere, my Lord!"
"What of Mr Delamere?---what of my son?' cried he, with infinite agitation...
Because if your fifteen-year-old niece comes banging on your bedroom door at two o'clock in the morning in a state of complete terror, obviously it means there's something wrong with a man...
There are a lot of violent and unreasonable pursuits in the literature of this time, but I can't recall another instance of anything as outrageous as a bedroom invasion.
What I love about this scene is that, frightened as she is, Emmeline has enough presence of mind to use her knowledge of the castle to escape Delamere and leave him wandering in the dark.
But of course she's not getting away THAT easy:
...the great clock struck two.
Amazed to find it so late, her terror encreased; yet she endeavoured to reason herself out of it, and to believe that it was the effect of fancy: she heard it no more; and had almost determined to go out into the passage to satisfy herself that her fears were groundless, when just as she approached the door, the whispers were renewed; she saw the lock move, and heard a violent push against it.
The door, however, was locked. Which was no sooner perceived by the assailant, than a violent effort with his foot forced the rusty decayed work to give way, and Mr Delamere burst into the room!
Emmeline was infinitely too much terrified to speak: nor could her trembling limbs support her. She sat down;---the colour forsook her cheeks;---and she was not sensible that Delamere had thrown himself at her feet, and was pouring forth the most vehement and incoherent expressions that frantic passion could dictate...
****
She flew therefore towards the next door, with exclamations of encreased terror; but Lord Montreville, who was now awakened, appeared at it with a lamp in his hand; and Emmeline, in answer to his question of what is the matter? endeavoured to say that she was pursued by Mr Delamere; but fear had so entirely overcome her, that she could only sigh out his name; and gasping like a dying person, sat down on a bench which was near the door.
Fitz-Edward, who was the person she had first spoken to, had by this time dressed himself, and came to her with a glass of water out of his room; while Lord Montreville, hearing his son's name so inarticulately pronounced, and seeing the speechless affright in which Emmeline sat before him, conceived the most alarming apprehensions, and believed that his son was either dead or dying.
With great difficulty he summoned up courage enough, again to beg for heaven's sake she would tell him what had occasioned her to leave her room at such an hour?
She again exclaimed, "It is Mr. Delamere, my Lord!"
"What of Mr Delamere?---what of my son?' cried he, with infinite agitation...
Because if your fifteen-year-old niece comes banging on your bedroom door at two o'clock in the morning in a state of complete terror, obviously it means there's something wrong with a man...
There are a lot of violent and unreasonable pursuits in the literature of this time, but I can't recall another instance of anything as outrageous as a bedroom invasion.
What I love about this scene is that, frightened as she is, Emmeline has enough presence of mind to use her knowledge of the castle to escape Delamere and leave him wandering in the dark.
31lyzard
In Volume I, Chapter VI, Emmeline succeeds in making her escape with Mr Headly; and we get yet another instance of someone "supposing" they know what she's thinking and feeling:
Headly imputed her sadness to a very different cause than that of an early and long attachment to a particular spot. He supposed that regret at being obliged to leave Delamere, to whose passion he could not believe her insensible, occasioned the melancholy that overwhelmed her. He spoke to her of him, and affected to lament the uneasiness which so violent and ungovernable a temper in an only son, might occasion to his family. He then talked of the two young ladies, his sisters, whom he described as the finest young women in the country, and as highly accomplished. Emmeline sighed at the comparison between their situation and her own...
Likewise:
Delamere however still evaded it; hoping that his father would set out without him, and that he should by that means have an opportunity of going to Bridgenorth, where he determined to solicit Emmeline to consent to a Scottish expedition, and persuaded himself he should not meet a refusal...
(Is everyone clear on the significance of "a Scottish expedition"??)
Headly imputed her sadness to a very different cause than that of an early and long attachment to a particular spot. He supposed that regret at being obliged to leave Delamere, to whose passion he could not believe her insensible, occasioned the melancholy that overwhelmed her. He spoke to her of him, and affected to lament the uneasiness which so violent and ungovernable a temper in an only son, might occasion to his family. He then talked of the two young ladies, his sisters, whom he described as the finest young women in the country, and as highly accomplished. Emmeline sighed at the comparison between their situation and her own...
Likewise:
Delamere however still evaded it; hoping that his father would set out without him, and that he should by that means have an opportunity of going to Bridgenorth, where he determined to solicit Emmeline to consent to a Scottish expedition, and persuaded himself he should not meet a refusal...
(Is everyone clear on the significance of "a Scottish expedition"??)
32lyzard
Volume I, Chapter VII finds Emmeline re-established at the boarding-house of Mrs Watkins; she also makes her first real friend:
After the first conversation, the two ladies found they liked each other so well, that they met by agreement every day. Emmeline generally went early to the lodgings of Mrs Stafford, and stayed the whole day with her; charmed to have found in her new friend, one who could supply to her all the deficiencies of her former instructors.
To a very superior understanding, Mrs Stafford added the advantages of a polished education, and all that ease of manner, which the commerce of fashion can supply. She had read a great deal; and her mind, originally elegant and refined, was highly cultivated, and embellished with all the knowledge that could be acquired from the best authors in the modern languages. Her disposition seemed to have been naturally chearful; for a ray of vivacity would frequently light up her countenance, and a lively and agreeable conversation call forth all its animated gaiety. But it seldom lasted long. Some settled uneasiness lay lurking in her heart; and when it recurred forcibly to her, as it frequently did in the midst of the most interesting discourse, a cloud of sorrow obscured the brilliancy of her countenance and language, and she became pensive, silent, and absent...
:D
In Mrs Stafford we have our first Charlotte Smith self-portrait: an appalling husband will show up in due course.
The critics, when they came to understand the significance of these inclusions, took exception to them (particularly the appalling husbands) as being in very poor taste; but it seems to me a reasonable way of blowing off steam.
After the first conversation, the two ladies found they liked each other so well, that they met by agreement every day. Emmeline generally went early to the lodgings of Mrs Stafford, and stayed the whole day with her; charmed to have found in her new friend, one who could supply to her all the deficiencies of her former instructors.
To a very superior understanding, Mrs Stafford added the advantages of a polished education, and all that ease of manner, which the commerce of fashion can supply. She had read a great deal; and her mind, originally elegant and refined, was highly cultivated, and embellished with all the knowledge that could be acquired from the best authors in the modern languages. Her disposition seemed to have been naturally chearful; for a ray of vivacity would frequently light up her countenance, and a lively and agreeable conversation call forth all its animated gaiety. But it seldom lasted long. Some settled uneasiness lay lurking in her heart; and when it recurred forcibly to her, as it frequently did in the midst of the most interesting discourse, a cloud of sorrow obscured the brilliancy of her countenance and language, and she became pensive, silent, and absent...
:D
In Mrs Stafford we have our first Charlotte Smith self-portrait: an appalling husband will show up in due course.
The critics, when they came to understand the significance of these inclusions, took exception to them (particularly the appalling husbands) as being in very poor taste; but it seems to me a reasonable way of blowing off steam.
33cbl_tn
I don't think I've posted that I am reading along. I've read through part 1, chapter 10 so far.
>31 lyzard: I assume that Gretna Green would be the intended destination?
>31 lyzard: I assume that Gretna Green would be the intended destination?
34lyzard
>33 cbl_tn:
Welcome, Carrie! :)
Yes: at this time (and later) there was no need in Scotland to go through a wedding ceremony; if a couple declared themselves to be married in front of a witness, they were legally married. Therefore Scotland was the goal of eloping couples who could not get permission to marry in England.
Gretna Green was the first town over the border, and the first establishment in it was the blacksmith's, where the knot could therefore be tied as quickly as possible; so this was sometimes called getting married "over the anvil".
Welcome, Carrie! :)
Yes: at this time (and later) there was no need in Scotland to go through a wedding ceremony; if a couple declared themselves to be married in front of a witness, they were legally married. Therefore Scotland was the goal of eloping couples who could not get permission to marry in England.
Gretna Green was the first town over the border, and the first establishment in it was the blacksmith's, where the knot could therefore be tied as quickly as possible; so this was sometimes called getting married "over the anvil".
35kac522
I'm reading along, too. Like >15 souloftherose: , I have the OUP 1971 edition, edited by Anne Henry Ehrenpreis. According to the text notes, this is based on the second edition which came out in late 1788, and includes corrections and changes made by Smith. My edition includes some notes (like "Scottish expedition" which is defined as a "clandestine marriage.")
>29 lyzard: And yes, I was confused about Delamere's age--I thought he was 24, but then read a younger age later on. I'm about to start Chapter XII.
>29 lyzard: And yes, I was confused about Delamere's age--I thought he was 24, but then read a younger age later on. I'm about to start Chapter XII.
36lyzard
>35 kac522:
Welcome! :)
The changes made by Smith for the second edition were fairly minor, and I believe this is the standard text now.
It was a little more than clandestine, it was taking advantage of the difference in the marriage laws. English marriages could be clandestine as long as both parties were of age; if one of both parties were underage (as we believe Delamere and Emmeline both are), a trip to Scotland was necessary.
I'm pretty sure he's meant to be a few years younger than the other (youngish) male characters.
Welcome! :)
The changes made by Smith for the second edition were fairly minor, and I believe this is the standard text now.
It was a little more than clandestine, it was taking advantage of the difference in the marriage laws. English marriages could be clandestine as long as both parties were of age; if one of both parties were underage (as we believe Delamere and Emmeline both are), a trip to Scotland was necessary.
I'm pretty sure he's meant to be a few years younger than the other (youngish) male characters.
38lyzard
Not just "close"...
While we see a lot of criticism of this behaviour in books by female authors, such situations reflected society's view that a woman wasn't supposed to seek her own happiness, but to make others happy. So if a man wanted you, it didn't matter that you didn't want him. This is exactly Emmeline's dilemma as the narrative unfolds.
While we see a lot of criticism of this behaviour in books by female authors, such situations reflected society's view that a woman wasn't supposed to seek her own happiness, but to make others happy. So if a man wanted you, it didn't matter that you didn't want him. This is exactly Emmeline's dilemma as the narrative unfolds.
39lyzard
Emmeline's refuge in Swansea doesn't last long: by Volume I, Chapter VII, Delamere (in company with Fitz-Edward) has tracked her down:
"Ah! Madam!" said the colonel, throwing into his eyes and manner all that insinuation of which he was so perfect a master, 'is it possible, that with a countenance where softness and compassion seem to invite the unhappy to trust you with their sorrows, you have a cruel and unfeeling heart? Lay by for a moment your barbarous prudence, in favour of my unfortunate friend; upon my honour, nothing but the conviction that his life was at stake, would have induced me to accompany him hither; and I pledge myself for the propriety of his conduct. He only begs to be forgiven by Miss Mowbray for his improper treatment of her at Mowbray Castle; to be assured she is in health and safety; and to hear that she does not hate him for all the uneasiness he has given her; and having done so, he promises to return to his family. Upon my soul," continued he, laying his hand upon his breast, "I know not what would have been the consequence, had I not consented to assist him in deceiving his family and coming hither: but I have reason to think he would have made some wild attempt to secure to himself more frequent interviews with Miss Mowbray; and that a total disappointment of the project he had formed for seeing her, would have been attended with a violence of passion arising even to phrenzy.---Madness or death would perhaps have been the event."
Mrs Stafford turned her eyes on Fitz-Edward, with a look sufficiently expressive of incredulity---"Does a modern man of fashion pretend to talk of madness and death? You certainly imagine, Sir, that you are speaking to some romantic inhabitant of a Welch provincial town, whose ideas are drawn from a circulating library..."
:D
We see, however, the extreme importance of Emmeline's friendship with a respectable woman like Mrs Stafford: she now has someone to speak for her and vouch for her with Lord Montreville, who (as Emmeline fully appreciates) doesn't believe a word she says on her own behalf.
This situation emphasises the isolation of Emmeline, and the precariousness of her situation, since Lord Montreville is her only support. (We could also count the number of times he uses the pittance he gives Emmeline as a carrot or a stick.)
"Ah! Madam!" said the colonel, throwing into his eyes and manner all that insinuation of which he was so perfect a master, 'is it possible, that with a countenance where softness and compassion seem to invite the unhappy to trust you with their sorrows, you have a cruel and unfeeling heart? Lay by for a moment your barbarous prudence, in favour of my unfortunate friend; upon my honour, nothing but the conviction that his life was at stake, would have induced me to accompany him hither; and I pledge myself for the propriety of his conduct. He only begs to be forgiven by Miss Mowbray for his improper treatment of her at Mowbray Castle; to be assured she is in health and safety; and to hear that she does not hate him for all the uneasiness he has given her; and having done so, he promises to return to his family. Upon my soul," continued he, laying his hand upon his breast, "I know not what would have been the consequence, had I not consented to assist him in deceiving his family and coming hither: but I have reason to think he would have made some wild attempt to secure to himself more frequent interviews with Miss Mowbray; and that a total disappointment of the project he had formed for seeing her, would have been attended with a violence of passion arising even to phrenzy.---Madness or death would perhaps have been the event."
Mrs Stafford turned her eyes on Fitz-Edward, with a look sufficiently expressive of incredulity---"Does a modern man of fashion pretend to talk of madness and death? You certainly imagine, Sir, that you are speaking to some romantic inhabitant of a Welch provincial town, whose ideas are drawn from a circulating library..."
:D
We see, however, the extreme importance of Emmeline's friendship with a respectable woman like Mrs Stafford: she now has someone to speak for her and vouch for her with Lord Montreville, who (as Emmeline fully appreciates) doesn't believe a word she says on her own behalf.
This situation emphasises the isolation of Emmeline, and the precariousness of her situation, since Lord Montreville is her only support. (We could also count the number of times he uses the pittance he gives Emmeline as a carrot or a stick.)
40souloftherose
Apologies for being absent from the thread this week - I managed to catch up with my reading over the weekend and I'm at the end of Volume I (Volume I, Chapter XVI).
>37 cbl_tn:, >38 lyzard:, >39 lyzard: Once we get to the Swansea section in Volume I, Chapter VII definitely stalking. I don't get the overwhelming sense of peril as often as I did when reading Burney's books but this chapter was one of the times.
>37 cbl_tn:, >38 lyzard:, >39 lyzard: Once we get to the Swansea section in Volume I, Chapter VII definitely stalking. I don't get the overwhelming sense of peril as often as I did when reading Burney's books but this chapter was one of the times.
41lyzard
>40 souloftherose:
Thank you for checking in: as we have been going for a week, I was about to send out a general call:
How is everyone going? Any initial thoughts?
Thank you for checking in: as we have been going for a week, I was about to send out a general call:
How is everyone going? Any initial thoughts?
42lyzard
>40 souloftherose:
What's lacking here, that we often got in Burney, is the random attack by a stranger, or relative stranger---wherein any public appearance by a woman is taken as a general "come-on".
At this point I think it's less a sense of physical danger - however wrongheaded and selfish he is, Delamere does genuinely care for Emmeline - and more that of her general vulnerability, both personal and financial, because of her specific circumstances.
There just isn't anything Emmeline can do herself to stop Delamere doing exactly what he wants, and harassing her to any extent he pleases. His refusal to accept that she does not care for him and does not want any part of this is infuriating, but at this stage he still thinks "persuasion" will do the trick.
But of course this puts her in danger of being cut off by Lord Montreville, who seems to think that, even if she is not in fact responsible for Delamere's actions, she should somehow be able to control them (though of course, he can't!).
What's lacking here, that we often got in Burney, is the random attack by a stranger, or relative stranger---wherein any public appearance by a woman is taken as a general "come-on".
At this point I think it's less a sense of physical danger - however wrongheaded and selfish he is, Delamere does genuinely care for Emmeline - and more that of her general vulnerability, both personal and financial, because of her specific circumstances.
There just isn't anything Emmeline can do herself to stop Delamere doing exactly what he wants, and harassing her to any extent he pleases. His refusal to accept that she does not care for him and does not want any part of this is infuriating, but at this stage he still thinks "persuasion" will do the trick.
But of course this puts her in danger of being cut off by Lord Montreville, who seems to think that, even if she is not in fact responsible for Delamere's actions, she should somehow be able to control them (though of course, he can't!).
43NinieB
>41 lyzard: I said it was a page-turner, right? I just kept reading it, and now I have finished it. So I'm enjoying reading your comments and revisiting the book, and thinking about it, that way.
I read the Intro after finishing the book and learned that C.S. wrote the entire book in about 4-5 months because she was desperate for money. And she had eight kids, ages 30 months to 18 years, around the house, and her husband kept hitting her up for money, all while she was writing the book!
I read the Intro after finishing the book and learned that C.S. wrote the entire book in about 4-5 months because she was desperate for money. And she had eight kids, ages 30 months to 18 years, around the house, and her husband kept hitting her up for money, all while she was writing the book!
44lyzard
>43 NinieB:
Oh my goodness, well done! I hope you enjoyed it??
Hmm. I guess I'll have to ask you to hold your comments, or at least be generous with your spoiler tags. :D
Yes...the bits where Mrs Stafford is doing her best for her husband and getting nothing but grief in return are pretty close to the bone...
Oh my goodness, well done! I hope you enjoyed it??
Hmm. I guess I'll have to ask you to hold your comments, or at least be generous with your spoiler tags. :D
Yes...the bits where Mrs Stafford is doing her best for her husband and getting nothing but grief in return are pretty close to the bone...
45NinieB
>44 lyzard: Yes, I completely enjoyed it. I would not spoil it for the others for the world, so I'll use spoiler tags if necessary. :)
47lyzard
Volume I, Chapters XVIII - X begin to introduce the other members of Delamere's family, and the spectrum of their reactions to the situation with Emmeline.
We have heard earlier (in Chapter V) of Lady Montreville's attitude to Delamere, which is a mixture of spoiling indulgence and pride:
Lady Montreville, who beheld in her only son the last male heir of a very ancient and illustrious house, and who hoped to see all its glories revive in him, could never be prevailed upon to part with him. He had therefore a tutor in the house; and his parents themselves accompanied him abroad. And the weakness of Lady Montreville in regard to her son, encreased rather than diminished with his encreasing years.
Her fondness was gratified in seeing the perfections of his person, (which was a very fine one) while to the imperfections of his temper she was entirely blind...
In Chapter VIII, however, we see that pride predominates to the point of injustice:
Her Ladyship, whose pride was, if possible, more than adequate to her high blood, and whose passions were as strong as her reason was feeble, received this information with all those expressions of rage and contempt which Lord Montreville had foreseen.
Though the conduct of Emmeline was such as all her prejudice could not misunderstand, she loaded her with harsh and injurious appellations, and blamed his Lordship for having fostered a little reptile, who was now likely to disgrace and ruin the family to which she pretended to belong. She protested, that if Delamere dared to harbour so degrading an idea as that of marrying her, she would blot him for ever from her affection, and if possible from her memory...
On the other hand, in Chapter X Emmeline does gain a new friend in Augusta, Delamere's younger sister. She, like all of Smith's "good" characters, is unconcerned with Emmeline's birth. We note, however, that she underestimates her mother's powers of unfairness:
"...every body must applaud your conduct in this affair. My father was, by accident, prevented receiving the letter for some weeks: as soon as it reached him, we set out, and he has now sent me to you, my dear cousin (for be assured I am delighted with the relationship) to consult with you on what we ought to do."
(In Chaper XI, it is made clear that Augusta has grown up a nice person because her mother has neglected her!)
But of course all this ends in Emmeline again being driven from her refuge and having to find another...
We have heard earlier (in Chapter V) of Lady Montreville's attitude to Delamere, which is a mixture of spoiling indulgence and pride:
Lady Montreville, who beheld in her only son the last male heir of a very ancient and illustrious house, and who hoped to see all its glories revive in him, could never be prevailed upon to part with him. He had therefore a tutor in the house; and his parents themselves accompanied him abroad. And the weakness of Lady Montreville in regard to her son, encreased rather than diminished with his encreasing years.
Her fondness was gratified in seeing the perfections of his person, (which was a very fine one) while to the imperfections of his temper she was entirely blind...
In Chapter VIII, however, we see that pride predominates to the point of injustice:
Her Ladyship, whose pride was, if possible, more than adequate to her high blood, and whose passions were as strong as her reason was feeble, received this information with all those expressions of rage and contempt which Lord Montreville had foreseen.
Though the conduct of Emmeline was such as all her prejudice could not misunderstand, she loaded her with harsh and injurious appellations, and blamed his Lordship for having fostered a little reptile, who was now likely to disgrace and ruin the family to which she pretended to belong. She protested, that if Delamere dared to harbour so degrading an idea as that of marrying her, she would blot him for ever from her affection, and if possible from her memory...
On the other hand, in Chapter X Emmeline does gain a new friend in Augusta, Delamere's younger sister. She, like all of Smith's "good" characters, is unconcerned with Emmeline's birth. We note, however, that she underestimates her mother's powers of unfairness:
"...every body must applaud your conduct in this affair. My father was, by accident, prevented receiving the letter for some weeks: as soon as it reached him, we set out, and he has now sent me to you, my dear cousin (for be assured I am delighted with the relationship) to consult with you on what we ought to do."
(In Chaper XI, it is made clear that Augusta has grown up a nice person because her mother has neglected her!)
But of course all this ends in Emmeline again being driven from her refuge and having to find another...
48lyzard
Further to the points made by Carrie and Heather (>37 cbl_tn:, >40 souloftherose:), we get an indirect intimation here of the extent to which young women were in physical danger at this time, in Delamere's reaction to Emmeline's second disappearance:
Volume I, Chapter XI:
The ardent imagination of Delamere instantly caught fire. He took it for granted that Fitz-Edward had carried her off: and without staying to reflect a moment, he flew to the inn where his horses were, and ordered them to be saddled; then rushing into the room where his father and sister were sitting together, he exclaimed---"She is gone, Sir---Emmeline is gone!---but I will soon overtake her; and the infamous villain who has torn her from me!"
Lord Montreville scorned to dissimulate. He answered, "I know she is gone, and it was by my directions she went. You cannot overtake her; nor is it probable you will ever see her again. Endeavour therefore to recollect yourself, and do not forget what you owe to your family and yourself."
Delamere attended but little to this remonstrance; but still prepossessed with the idea of Fitz-Edward's being gone with her, he swore perpetual vengeance against him, and that he would pursue him through the world...
Even allowing for Delamere's usual hysteria, there's something else here: Fitz-Edward is his friend and his relative, a "gentleman" by all the standards of his time; yet "carrying off" a young woman in Emmeline's situation is apparently something a man in his situation might well do. Delamere, indeed, "takes it for granted" that he did.
That even after Emmeline's flight from Mowbray Castle, Delamere's first thought is not that she has run away again, but that she has been abducted, which suggests that such abductions might have been fairly frequent events.
Volume I, Chapter XI:
The ardent imagination of Delamere instantly caught fire. He took it for granted that Fitz-Edward had carried her off: and without staying to reflect a moment, he flew to the inn where his horses were, and ordered them to be saddled; then rushing into the room where his father and sister were sitting together, he exclaimed---"She is gone, Sir---Emmeline is gone!---but I will soon overtake her; and the infamous villain who has torn her from me!"
Lord Montreville scorned to dissimulate. He answered, "I know she is gone, and it was by my directions she went. You cannot overtake her; nor is it probable you will ever see her again. Endeavour therefore to recollect yourself, and do not forget what you owe to your family and yourself."
Delamere attended but little to this remonstrance; but still prepossessed with the idea of Fitz-Edward's being gone with her, he swore perpetual vengeance against him, and that he would pursue him through the world...
Even allowing for Delamere's usual hysteria, there's something else here: Fitz-Edward is his friend and his relative, a "gentleman" by all the standards of his time; yet "carrying off" a young woman in Emmeline's situation is apparently something a man in his situation might well do. Delamere, indeed, "takes it for granted" that he did.
That even after Emmeline's flight from Mowbray Castle, Delamere's first thought is not that she has run away again, but that she has been abducted, which suggests that such abductions might have been fairly frequent events.
49NinieB
>48 lyzard: This sort of activity really contrasts with the norms in Victorian novels, I think, and it's also not seen so much in novels like Evelina and Belinda.
50lyzard
With Emmeline's move to the house of Mrs Ashwood, the narrative opens up somewhat: we (and Emmeline) are introduced to a range of new people; though unfortunately they're not really anyone she wants to meet.
In these sections of the novel we see another similarity with he works of Frances Burney, who had a knack for conveying odd characters through their dialogue, and also of sketching the kind of social persecution that was a frequent occurrence in this sort of society, where "getting together" was the only way some people had of filling their time.
In these sections of the novel we see another similarity with he works of Frances Burney, who had a knack for conveying odd characters through their dialogue, and also of sketching the kind of social persecution that was a frequent occurrence in this sort of society, where "getting together" was the only way some people had of filling their time.
51lyzard
>49 NinieB:
Belinda (which is some years later) perhaps not; but there are scenes in Evelina with the same implication---when she is separated from the crowd at Ranelagh and is immediately harassed and groped by Willoughby, for instance. There's the same suggestion that violence was never very far away.
By Victorian times, in the middle-classes and up, chaperonage was constant and women's activities much more circumscribed: we can argue whether that was a change for the better or the worse!
Belinda (which is some years later) perhaps not; but there are scenes in Evelina with the same implication---when she is separated from the crowd at Ranelagh and is immediately harassed and groped by Willoughby, for instance. There's the same suggestion that violence was never very far away.
By Victorian times, in the middle-classes and up, chaperonage was constant and women's activities much more circumscribed: we can argue whether that was a change for the better or the worse!
52NinieB
>51 lyzard: True--I had forgotten about the Ranelagh scene. And I think there's another sequence in Evelina where women are not safe on their own in a pleasure garden.
53lyzard
Yes, there are other instances of the same sort of thing: any time a young woman is separated from the crowd she becomes a target (and like Emmeline, is often viewed as a willing target).
54lyzard
In Volume I, Chapter XIII, there is an important introduction; we're also reminded of Charlotte Smith's intense prejudice against the legal profession:
Lord Montreville, during the short time he studied at the Temple, became acquainted with Sir Richard, then clerk to an attorney in the city; who, tho' there was a great difference in their rank, had contrived to gain the regard and esteem of his Lordship (then Mr Frederic Mowbray) and was, when he came to his estate, entrusted with it's management; a trust which he appeared to execute with such diligence and integrity, that he soon obtained the entire confidence of his patron; and by possessing great ductility and great activity, he was soon introduced into a higher line of life, and saw himself the companion and friend of those, to whom, at his setting out, he appeared only an humble retainer...
Any time Smith introduces a lawyer or solicitor - or even a solicitor's clerk - into one of her narratives, we should be alert for underhanded dealings.
And we are reminded at this point that the present Lord Montreville was once intended for the bar...which may or may not account for his own character flaws. :D
This chapter also succeeds in making us feel sorry for Delamere!---
Mr Crofts, as he was no sportsman, passed his mornings in riding out with Miss Delamere and Miss Otley, or attending on the elder ladies in their airings: while Delamere, who wished equally to shun Miss Otley, whom he determined never to marry, and Crofts, whom he despised and hated, lived almost alone, notwithstanding the entreaties of his father and the anger of his mother.
Her Ladyship, who had never any command over her passions, harassed him, whenever they met, with sarcasms and reflections. Lady Mary, scorning to talk to a young man who was blind to the merits of her daughter, talked at him whenever she found an opportunity; and exclaimed against the disobedience, dissipation, and ill-breeding of modern young men: while Miss Otley affected a pretty disdain; and flirted violently with Mr. Crofts, as if to shew him that she was totally indifferent to his neglect.
The temper of Delamere was eager and irritable; and he bore the unpleasantness of this society, whenever he was forced to mix in it, with a sort of impatient contempt...
Lord Montreville, during the short time he studied at the Temple, became acquainted with Sir Richard, then clerk to an attorney in the city; who, tho' there was a great difference in their rank, had contrived to gain the regard and esteem of his Lordship (then Mr Frederic Mowbray) and was, when he came to his estate, entrusted with it's management; a trust which he appeared to execute with such diligence and integrity, that he soon obtained the entire confidence of his patron; and by possessing great ductility and great activity, he was soon introduced into a higher line of life, and saw himself the companion and friend of those, to whom, at his setting out, he appeared only an humble retainer...
Any time Smith introduces a lawyer or solicitor - or even a solicitor's clerk - into one of her narratives, we should be alert for underhanded dealings.
And we are reminded at this point that the present Lord Montreville was once intended for the bar...which may or may not account for his own character flaws. :D
This chapter also succeeds in making us feel sorry for Delamere!---
Mr Crofts, as he was no sportsman, passed his mornings in riding out with Miss Delamere and Miss Otley, or attending on the elder ladies in their airings: while Delamere, who wished equally to shun Miss Otley, whom he determined never to marry, and Crofts, whom he despised and hated, lived almost alone, notwithstanding the entreaties of his father and the anger of his mother.
Her Ladyship, who had never any command over her passions, harassed him, whenever they met, with sarcasms and reflections. Lady Mary, scorning to talk to a young man who was blind to the merits of her daughter, talked at him whenever she found an opportunity; and exclaimed against the disobedience, dissipation, and ill-breeding of modern young men: while Miss Otley affected a pretty disdain; and flirted violently with Mr. Crofts, as if to shew him that she was totally indifferent to his neglect.
The temper of Delamere was eager and irritable; and he bore the unpleasantness of this society, whenever he was forced to mix in it, with a sort of impatient contempt...
55lyzard
...briefly sorry for Delamere:
The obnoxious Mr Elkerton gives away Emmeline's whereabouts to Delamere, who is soon up to his old stalking tricks; and, worse, resorting to threats of "dying" for Emmeline, one way or another; wasting away for love of her, if not simply committing suicide.
Note that Delamere still does not understand - or believe - that Emmeline doesn't really care for him; he thinks it is only "a mistaken point of honour" that is preventing her from running away with him. This illustrates how very little he knows or understands her, be his passion for her ever so genuine.
We also get another exasperating implication here, one very commonly found in the literature of this time and later: that if a woman said 'no' to one man, it could only mean she was thinking of a different man; just saying 'no' was not considered reasonable behaviour:
Emmeline feared her resolution would give way; for the comparison between the people she had lately been among, and Delamere, was infinitely favourable to him. Such unabated love, in a man who might chuse among the fairest and most fortunate of women, was very seducing; and the advantages of being his wife, instead of continuing in the precarious situation she was now in, would have determined at once a mind more attentive to pecuniary or selfish motives.
But Emmeline, unshaken by such considerations, was liable to err only from the softness of her heart.
Delamere unhappy---Delamere wearing out in hopeless solicitude the bloom of life, was the object she found it most difficult to contend with: and feeble would have been her defence, had she not considered herself as engaged in honour to Lord Montreville to refuse his son, and still more engaged to respect the peace of the family of her dear Augusta.
Strengthened by these reflections, she refused, tho' in the gentlest manner, to listen to such proposals; reproached him, tho' with more tenderness in her voice and manner than she had yet shewn, for having left Audley Hall without the concurrence of Lord Montreville; and entreated him to return, and try to forget her.
"Let me perish if I do!" eagerly answered Delamere. "No, Emmeline; if you determine to push me to extremities, to you only will be the misery imputable, when my mistaken parents, in vain repentance, hang over the tomb of their only son, and see the last of his family in an early grave. It is in your power only to save me---You refuse---farewell, then---I wish no future regret may embitter your life, and that you may find consolation in being the wife of some one of those persons who are, I see, offering you all that riches can bestow. Farewell, lovely, inhuman girl! be happy if you can---after having sacrificed to a mistaken point of honour, the repose and the life of him who lived only to adore you."
The other point to make here is Smith's (wise and correct) insistence on Emmeline's very human weakness, for all her desire to do the right thing: she is not unmoved by the wider issues of the situation; she is also young enough to take Delamere's threats of self-harm seriously.
Though in fact---it is hard to know how the reader - or at any rate, the reader of 1788 - was supposed to take Delamere's threats: "dying for love" (or threatening to) was something quite commonly found in the literature of the time which, as we have discussed, was very melodramatic. One of the most influential books of this period was Goethe's The Sorrows Of Young Werther, which is about a young man who actually does.
My feeling, however, is that Smith is having it both ways here---indulging her readers' taste for, and expectation of, melodrama, while illustrating the results of Delamere's misguided (to say the least) upbringing.
The obnoxious Mr Elkerton gives away Emmeline's whereabouts to Delamere, who is soon up to his old stalking tricks; and, worse, resorting to threats of "dying" for Emmeline, one way or another; wasting away for love of her, if not simply committing suicide.
Note that Delamere still does not understand - or believe - that Emmeline doesn't really care for him; he thinks it is only "a mistaken point of honour" that is preventing her from running away with him. This illustrates how very little he knows or understands her, be his passion for her ever so genuine.
We also get another exasperating implication here, one very commonly found in the literature of this time and later: that if a woman said 'no' to one man, it could only mean she was thinking of a different man; just saying 'no' was not considered reasonable behaviour:
Emmeline feared her resolution would give way; for the comparison between the people she had lately been among, and Delamere, was infinitely favourable to him. Such unabated love, in a man who might chuse among the fairest and most fortunate of women, was very seducing; and the advantages of being his wife, instead of continuing in the precarious situation she was now in, would have determined at once a mind more attentive to pecuniary or selfish motives.
But Emmeline, unshaken by such considerations, was liable to err only from the softness of her heart.
Delamere unhappy---Delamere wearing out in hopeless solicitude the bloom of life, was the object she found it most difficult to contend with: and feeble would have been her defence, had she not considered herself as engaged in honour to Lord Montreville to refuse his son, and still more engaged to respect the peace of the family of her dear Augusta.
Strengthened by these reflections, she refused, tho' in the gentlest manner, to listen to such proposals; reproached him, tho' with more tenderness in her voice and manner than she had yet shewn, for having left Audley Hall without the concurrence of Lord Montreville; and entreated him to return, and try to forget her.
"Let me perish if I do!" eagerly answered Delamere. "No, Emmeline; if you determine to push me to extremities, to you only will be the misery imputable, when my mistaken parents, in vain repentance, hang over the tomb of their only son, and see the last of his family in an early grave. It is in your power only to save me---You refuse---farewell, then---I wish no future regret may embitter your life, and that you may find consolation in being the wife of some one of those persons who are, I see, offering you all that riches can bestow. Farewell, lovely, inhuman girl! be happy if you can---after having sacrificed to a mistaken point of honour, the repose and the life of him who lived only to adore you."
The other point to make here is Smith's (wise and correct) insistence on Emmeline's very human weakness, for all her desire to do the right thing: she is not unmoved by the wider issues of the situation; she is also young enough to take Delamere's threats of self-harm seriously.
Though in fact---it is hard to know how the reader - or at any rate, the reader of 1788 - was supposed to take Delamere's threats: "dying for love" (or threatening to) was something quite commonly found in the literature of the time which, as we have discussed, was very melodramatic. One of the most influential books of this period was Goethe's The Sorrows Of Young Werther, which is about a young man who actually does.
My feeling, however, is that Smith is having it both ways here---indulging her readers' taste for, and expectation of, melodrama, while illustrating the results of Delamere's misguided (to say the least) upbringing.
56kac522
I have made it into Volume III, but am having a hard time keeping track of who is related to whom, and whether by blood or marriage. I know it doesn't make a big difference in the overall scheme of things, but some plot points are leaving me confused.
57lyzard
>56 kac522:
Thanks for checking in.
Yes, I'm very well aware of that and am trying to be scrupulous in keeping the 'cast of characters' up to date, however I didn't want to dash ahead in it for fear of spoilers. Tricky!
If others reading can let me know where they're up to, I can accerlate what I'm doing (though I know we have a couple of late starters).
Thanks for checking in.
Yes, I'm very well aware of that and am trying to be scrupulous in keeping the 'cast of characters' up to date, however I didn't want to dash ahead in it for fear of spoilers. Tricky!
If others reading can let me know where they're up to, I can accerlate what I'm doing (though I know we have a couple of late starters).
58souloftherose
I've read to the end of Volume II, Chapter V.
>55 lyzard: Yes, I'm a little concerned that Emmeline seems to be slowly softening towards Delamere in some ways.
In Volume II, Chapter V I'm a little confused by Dr and Mrs Lawson's view of what's happening between Emmeline and Delamere. Do they think they're running away together voluntarily (and Emmeline has become ill) or do they realise he's effectively kidnapped her? I suppose the distinction probably wasn't a clear one at the time but given their concern for Emmeline's health it surprised me that they weren't more concerned for her wider situation.
>55 lyzard: Yes, I'm a little concerned that Emmeline seems to be slowly softening towards Delamere in some ways.
In Volume II, Chapter V I'm a little confused by Dr and Mrs Lawson's view of what's happening between Emmeline and Delamere. Do they think they're running away together voluntarily (and Emmeline has become ill) or do they realise he's effectively kidnapped her? I suppose the distinction probably wasn't a clear one at the time but given their concern for Emmeline's health it surprised me that they weren't more concerned for her wider situation.
59NinieB
>58 souloftherose: Yes, I was puzzled by the Lawsons as well. They seem oblivious to the bigger picture. On the other hand, Emmeline herself doesn't seem to be asking for help, other than being really sick.
60lyzard
>58 souloftherose:, >59 NinieB:
That's a good question and one I will return to shortly; there are a couple of other things I want to consider first...
That's a good question and one I will return to shortly; there are a couple of other things I want to consider first...
61lyzard
...the first being the scene between Emmeline and Sir Richard Crofts in Volume I, Chapter XV, in which she is pressured to marry Mr Rochley.
This is telling for a couple of reasons. Smith highlights the contradictory impulses of Lord Montreville, and the struggle between what he knows is right, and what is convenient. This ends in a reluctance to face Emmeline at all, since he knows he is being unjust to her---and also knows that, in her presence, he probably won't be able to carry through his plan to dispose of her.
This leaves Crofts to do his dirty work---which he does enthusiastically. He's a lawyer, after all...
I find Smith's "translation" of Lord Montreville's stance via Crofts fascinating: what he says is both true and not true; but either way his bluntness rips away any pretence on Lord Montreville's part of wishing to "provide for" Emmeline, and shows this scheme in all its selfish ugliness.
The threat made also underscores the terrible personal and financial vulnerability of Emmeline---and by extension any dependent young woman. (It also makes us wonder how exactly Charlotte Smith was persuaded to marry Benjamin Smith):
Emmeline sat down in silence, and Sir Richard began.
"Miss Mowbray, I have the honour to be connected with Lord Montreville, and entirely in his Lordship's confidence: you will please therefore to consider what I shall say to you as coming immediately, directly, and absolutely, from himself; and as his Lordship's decided, and unalterable, and irrevocable intentions."
****
"If," continued he, "you will agree to become the wife of Mr Rochely, as soon as settlements can be prepared, my Lord Montreville, of whose generosity, and greatness of mind, and liberality, too much cannot be said, offers to consider you as being really his niece; as being really a daughter of the Mowbray family; and, that being so considered, you may not be taken by any man portionless, he will, on the day of marriage, present, and settle on, and give you, three thousand pounds.
"Now, Miss Mowbray, consider, and weigh, and reflect on this well: and give me leave, in order that you may form a just judgment, to tell you the consequence of your refusal.
"My Lord Montreville, who is not obliged to give you the least assistance, or support, or countenance, does by me declare, that if you are so weak (to call it by no harsher name) as to refuse this astonishing, and amazing, and singular good fortune, he shall consider you as throwing off all duty, and regard, and attention to him; and as one, with whose fate it will be no longer worth his while to embarrass, perplex, and concern himself. From that moment, therefore, you must drop the name of Mowbray, to which in fact you have no right, and take that of your mother, whatever it be; and you must never expect from my Lord Montreville, or the Mowbray-Delamere family, either countenance, or support, or protection.
"Now, Miss Mowbray, your answer. The proposition cannot admit of deliberation, or doubt, or hesitation, and my Lord expects it by me..."
One of the things that is most interesting to me about this novel as a whole is the extended timeframe of its narrative, which is over two years. Effectively, it shows us Emmeline growing up. While we make fun at her at the outset for her crying and "tottering", we need to remember there that she's only fifteen. Smith pares back her heroine's emotional reactions as the novel unfolds (though they never entirely go away, of course), and shows Emmeline developing both strength of character and presence of mind:
"Tell him therefore, Sir," (her spirit rose as she spoke) "that the daughter of his brother, unhappy as she is, yet boasts that nobleness of mind which her father possessed, and disclaims the mercenary views of becoming, from pecuniary motives, the wife of a man whom she cannot either love or esteem. Tell him too, that if she had not inherited a strong sense of honour, of which at least her birth does not deprive her, she might now have been the wife of Mr Delamere, and independent of his Lordship's authority; and it is improbable, that one who has sacrificed so much to integrity, should now be compelled by threats of indigence to the basest of all actions, that of selling her person and her happiness for a subsistence. I beg that you, Sir, who seem to have delivered Lord Montreville's message, with such scrupulous exactness, will take the trouble to be as precise in my answer; and that his Lordship will consider it as final."
:D
This is telling for a couple of reasons. Smith highlights the contradictory impulses of Lord Montreville, and the struggle between what he knows is right, and what is convenient. This ends in a reluctance to face Emmeline at all, since he knows he is being unjust to her---and also knows that, in her presence, he probably won't be able to carry through his plan to dispose of her.
This leaves Crofts to do his dirty work---which he does enthusiastically. He's a lawyer, after all...
I find Smith's "translation" of Lord Montreville's stance via Crofts fascinating: what he says is both true and not true; but either way his bluntness rips away any pretence on Lord Montreville's part of wishing to "provide for" Emmeline, and shows this scheme in all its selfish ugliness.
The threat made also underscores the terrible personal and financial vulnerability of Emmeline---and by extension any dependent young woman. (It also makes us wonder how exactly Charlotte Smith was persuaded to marry Benjamin Smith):
Emmeline sat down in silence, and Sir Richard began.
"Miss Mowbray, I have the honour to be connected with Lord Montreville, and entirely in his Lordship's confidence: you will please therefore to consider what I shall say to you as coming immediately, directly, and absolutely, from himself; and as his Lordship's decided, and unalterable, and irrevocable intentions."
****
"If," continued he, "you will agree to become the wife of Mr Rochely, as soon as settlements can be prepared, my Lord Montreville, of whose generosity, and greatness of mind, and liberality, too much cannot be said, offers to consider you as being really his niece; as being really a daughter of the Mowbray family; and, that being so considered, you may not be taken by any man portionless, he will, on the day of marriage, present, and settle on, and give you, three thousand pounds.
"Now, Miss Mowbray, consider, and weigh, and reflect on this well: and give me leave, in order that you may form a just judgment, to tell you the consequence of your refusal.
"My Lord Montreville, who is not obliged to give you the least assistance, or support, or countenance, does by me declare, that if you are so weak (to call it by no harsher name) as to refuse this astonishing, and amazing, and singular good fortune, he shall consider you as throwing off all duty, and regard, and attention to him; and as one, with whose fate it will be no longer worth his while to embarrass, perplex, and concern himself. From that moment, therefore, you must drop the name of Mowbray, to which in fact you have no right, and take that of your mother, whatever it be; and you must never expect from my Lord Montreville, or the Mowbray-Delamere family, either countenance, or support, or protection.
"Now, Miss Mowbray, your answer. The proposition cannot admit of deliberation, or doubt, or hesitation, and my Lord expects it by me..."
One of the things that is most interesting to me about this novel as a whole is the extended timeframe of its narrative, which is over two years. Effectively, it shows us Emmeline growing up. While we make fun at her at the outset for her crying and "tottering", we need to remember there that she's only fifteen. Smith pares back her heroine's emotional reactions as the novel unfolds (though they never entirely go away, of course), and shows Emmeline developing both strength of character and presence of mind:
"Tell him therefore, Sir," (her spirit rose as she spoke) "that the daughter of his brother, unhappy as she is, yet boasts that nobleness of mind which her father possessed, and disclaims the mercenary views of becoming, from pecuniary motives, the wife of a man whom she cannot either love or esteem. Tell him too, that if she had not inherited a strong sense of honour, of which at least her birth does not deprive her, she might now have been the wife of Mr Delamere, and independent of his Lordship's authority; and it is improbable, that one who has sacrificed so much to integrity, should now be compelled by threats of indigence to the basest of all actions, that of selling her person and her happiness for a subsistence. I beg that you, Sir, who seem to have delivered Lord Montreville's message, with such scrupulous exactness, will take the trouble to be as precise in my answer; and that his Lordship will consider it as final."
:D
62lyzard
Emmeline's uncomfortable stay with Mrs Ashwood comes to an abrupt end in Volume II, Chapter III, when she is abducted by Delamere:
He called aloud, and a post-chaise and four, which had been concealed by the projection of the wall, attended by two servants, drove round. "There," continued Delamere, "there is the vehicle which I have prepared to carry me from hence. You know whether I easily relinquish a resolution once formed. If then you wish to save my father and mother from the anguish of repentance when there will be no remedy---if you desire to save from the frenzy of desperation the brother of your Augusta, and to snatch from the extremity of wretchedness the man who lives but to adore you, go with me---go with me to Scotland!"
Astonished and terrified at the impetuosity with which he pressed this unexpected proposal, Emmeline would have replied, but words were a moment wanting. Fitz-Edward taking advantage of her silence, used every argument which Delamere had omitted, to determine her.
"No! no!" cried she---"never! never! I have passed my honour to Lord Montreville. It is sacred---I cannot, I will not forfeit it!"
"The time will come," said Fitz-Edward, "believe me it will, when Lord Montreville will not only be reconciled to you, but"---
"And what shall reconcile me to myself? Let me go back to the house, Mr Delamere; or from this moment I shall consider you as having taken advantage of my unprotected state, and even of my indiscreet confidence, to offer me the grossest outrage. Let me go, Sir!" (struggling to get her hand from Fitz-Edward) "Let me go! Mr Delamere."
"What! to be driven into the arms of Rochely? No, never, Emmeline! never! I know I am not indifferent to you. I feel that I cannot live without you; nay, by heaven I will not! But if I suffer this opportunity to escape, I deserve indeed to lose you."
They all this while approached the chaise. Delamere had hired servants, whom he had instructed what to do. They were ready at the door of the carriage. Emmeline attempted in vain to retreat. Delamere threw his arms around her; and assisted by Fitz-Edward, lifted her into it with a sort of gentle violence. He leaped in after her, and the chaise was driven away instantly...
Of course---the most famous abduction in 18th century literature was the one at the heart of Samuel Richardson's Clarissa.
I am quite sure that Smith expected her readers to have that in mind here; yet the abduction she describes is different from its famous model at almost every point: not least, that Delamere is motivated by genuine love, not a desire for power.
Also, this abduction was not planned; it was supposed to be a voluntary elopement...or as "voluntary" as it can be, when accompanied by the usual array of threats.
BUT---in the end it is still the abduction of a young woman, committed entirely against her will and her desire, and every bit as much a violation of her trust.
We see from this that Delamere is on the long list of people who do not and cannot believe that Emmeline does not want to marry him.
Yet believing that--- Despite her refusal to marry him (as he believes, against her own wish), he still thinks she may be pressured into marrying Rochley. He can't be jealous of Rochley, as he is of any more attractive marital prospect that wanders into her orbit; but he still sees him as a threat. This points forward to the great weakness in Delamere's passion for Emmeline, that in spite of everything there is a lack of belief in her, a lack of understanding of her character.
And because of that character, Delamere has done himself irreparable harm here. Not least, he has made Emmeline even more alarmingly aware of what kind of husband he would make:
Volume II, Chapter IV:
Delamere, by all the soothing tenderness of persuasion, by all the rhetoric of ardent passion, tried to subdue her anger, and silence her scruples; but the more her mind dwelt on the circumstances of her situation, the more it recoiled from the necessity of entering under such compulsion into an indissoluble engagement. The rash violence of the measure which had put her in Delamere's power, while it convinced her of his passion, yet told her, that a man who would hazard every thing for his own gratification now, would hardly hereafter submit to any restraint; and that the bonds in which he was so eager to engage, would with equal violence be broken, when any new face should make a new impression, or when time had diminished the influence of those attractions that now enchanted him...
He called aloud, and a post-chaise and four, which had been concealed by the projection of the wall, attended by two servants, drove round. "There," continued Delamere, "there is the vehicle which I have prepared to carry me from hence. You know whether I easily relinquish a resolution once formed. If then you wish to save my father and mother from the anguish of repentance when there will be no remedy---if you desire to save from the frenzy of desperation the brother of your Augusta, and to snatch from the extremity of wretchedness the man who lives but to adore you, go with me---go with me to Scotland!"
Astonished and terrified at the impetuosity with which he pressed this unexpected proposal, Emmeline would have replied, but words were a moment wanting. Fitz-Edward taking advantage of her silence, used every argument which Delamere had omitted, to determine her.
"No! no!" cried she---"never! never! I have passed my honour to Lord Montreville. It is sacred---I cannot, I will not forfeit it!"
"The time will come," said Fitz-Edward, "believe me it will, when Lord Montreville will not only be reconciled to you, but"---
"And what shall reconcile me to myself? Let me go back to the house, Mr Delamere; or from this moment I shall consider you as having taken advantage of my unprotected state, and even of my indiscreet confidence, to offer me the grossest outrage. Let me go, Sir!" (struggling to get her hand from Fitz-Edward) "Let me go! Mr Delamere."
"What! to be driven into the arms of Rochely? No, never, Emmeline! never! I know I am not indifferent to you. I feel that I cannot live without you; nay, by heaven I will not! But if I suffer this opportunity to escape, I deserve indeed to lose you."
They all this while approached the chaise. Delamere had hired servants, whom he had instructed what to do. They were ready at the door of the carriage. Emmeline attempted in vain to retreat. Delamere threw his arms around her; and assisted by Fitz-Edward, lifted her into it with a sort of gentle violence. He leaped in after her, and the chaise was driven away instantly...
Of course---the most famous abduction in 18th century literature was the one at the heart of Samuel Richardson's Clarissa.
I am quite sure that Smith expected her readers to have that in mind here; yet the abduction she describes is different from its famous model at almost every point: not least, that Delamere is motivated by genuine love, not a desire for power.
Also, this abduction was not planned; it was supposed to be a voluntary elopement...or as "voluntary" as it can be, when accompanied by the usual array of threats.
BUT---in the end it is still the abduction of a young woman, committed entirely against her will and her desire, and every bit as much a violation of her trust.
We see from this that Delamere is on the long list of people who do not and cannot believe that Emmeline does not want to marry him.
Yet believing that--- Despite her refusal to marry him (as he believes, against her own wish), he still thinks she may be pressured into marrying Rochley. He can't be jealous of Rochley, as he is of any more attractive marital prospect that wanders into her orbit; but he still sees him as a threat. This points forward to the great weakness in Delamere's passion for Emmeline, that in spite of everything there is a lack of belief in her, a lack of understanding of her character.
And because of that character, Delamere has done himself irreparable harm here. Not least, he has made Emmeline even more alarmingly aware of what kind of husband he would make:
Volume II, Chapter IV:
Delamere, by all the soothing tenderness of persuasion, by all the rhetoric of ardent passion, tried to subdue her anger, and silence her scruples; but the more her mind dwelt on the circumstances of her situation, the more it recoiled from the necessity of entering under such compulsion into an indissoluble engagement. The rash violence of the measure which had put her in Delamere's power, while it convinced her of his passion, yet told her, that a man who would hazard every thing for his own gratification now, would hardly hereafter submit to any restraint; and that the bonds in which he was so eager to engage, would with equal violence be broken, when any new face should make a new impression, or when time had diminished the influence of those attractions that now enchanted him...
63lyzard
Before I finally get around to responding to Ninie and Heather, I wanted to put Emmeline's abduction in context.
It may help to know that marriage only became a matter of civil law in 1753: before that, marriage in England was the same as in Scotland, that is, it only required an exchange of vows before a witness, without either church or civil involvement, and without any "permission" being necessary.
The Marriage Act changed all that, requiring consent for those under age (and sometimes even if the parties were of age), the intention to marry being publicly declared via "banns", and a church ceremony.
All of this was put in place specifically to prevent "undesirable" marriages, that is, marriage for any reason except financial advantage: it was to keep control of property and money in the hands of the head of the family, whose consent was required, and to keep outsiders from having any claim.
In other words---precisely to prevent such marriages as Delamere's to Emmeline.
(NB: this is how we know Delamere is under age: he cannot legally marry in England without his father's consent.)
But of course, the Marriage Act had the side-effect of making runaway Scottish marriages a thing. In time, these were generally dealt with by imposing a social backlash on anyone marrying this way: a woman who became a wife under these circumstances would not be "received" by her in-laws, or perhaps by society at large. It was a powerful dissuader.
Unspoken behind this was the fact that it took several days to get to Scotland, so a woman alone with a man for that amount of time was considered "ruined" even if she actually wasn't.
Of course if a young woman was abducted, the latter became a powerful force in the abductor's favour. Heiresses were therefore in danger, because if a man could keep one long enough, her family would almost always prefer her marriage to her ruin. We saw this in Burney's Camilla, where the wealthy Eugenia is carried off, and despite her family's willingness to take her back is compelled by her sense of honour to go through with her marriage.
Emmeline's abduction is a different matter, since it certainly isn't about money. The same social factors operate, however---which is why Smith has to get her out of Demamere's hands as quickly as possible. :)
It may help to know that marriage only became a matter of civil law in 1753: before that, marriage in England was the same as in Scotland, that is, it only required an exchange of vows before a witness, without either church or civil involvement, and without any "permission" being necessary.
The Marriage Act changed all that, requiring consent for those under age (and sometimes even if the parties were of age), the intention to marry being publicly declared via "banns", and a church ceremony.
All of this was put in place specifically to prevent "undesirable" marriages, that is, marriage for any reason except financial advantage: it was to keep control of property and money in the hands of the head of the family, whose consent was required, and to keep outsiders from having any claim.
In other words---precisely to prevent such marriages as Delamere's to Emmeline.
(NB: this is how we know Delamere is under age: he cannot legally marry in England without his father's consent.)
But of course, the Marriage Act had the side-effect of making runaway Scottish marriages a thing. In time, these were generally dealt with by imposing a social backlash on anyone marrying this way: a woman who became a wife under these circumstances would not be "received" by her in-laws, or perhaps by society at large. It was a powerful dissuader.
Unspoken behind this was the fact that it took several days to get to Scotland, so a woman alone with a man for that amount of time was considered "ruined" even if she actually wasn't.
Of course if a young woman was abducted, the latter became a powerful force in the abductor's favour. Heiresses were therefore in danger, because if a man could keep one long enough, her family would almost always prefer her marriage to her ruin. We saw this in Burney's Camilla, where the wealthy Eugenia is carried off, and despite her family's willingness to take her back is compelled by her sense of honour to go through with her marriage.
Emmeline's abduction is a different matter, since it certainly isn't about money. The same social factors operate, however---which is why Smith has to get her out of Demamere's hands as quickly as possible. :)
64lyzard
So!---
>58 souloftherose:, >59 NinieB:
I agree that the Lawsons' response to this situation is rather weird.
I think a couple of different things are operating here. In the first place, remember that the Lawsons hear Delamere's version of events. Though he's certainly telling the truth as he understands it, he has also undoubtedly claimed that Emmeline really wants to marry him, that this really isn't against her will.
Whether Lawson believes this is moot---but regardless, I think there is a definite sense in his reaction of wanting to oblige the aristocracy (or anyway, not disoblige it).
Yet the assistance Lawson offers, which seems to encourage and support Delamere, is in fact mostly to Emmeline's benefit. It is because of his intervention that she is separated from Delamere and, just as importantly, gets a chaperon of sorts in the shape of the Lawsons' daughter.
But the matter-of-fact way in which the Lawson family responds to this situation - as if every other day they're asked to weigh in on abductions and elopements; perhaps they are! - is certainly bizarre.
>58 souloftherose:, >59 NinieB:
I agree that the Lawsons' response to this situation is rather weird.
I think a couple of different things are operating here. In the first place, remember that the Lawsons hear Delamere's version of events. Though he's certainly telling the truth as he understands it, he has also undoubtedly claimed that Emmeline really wants to marry him, that this really isn't against her will.
Whether Lawson believes this is moot---but regardless, I think there is a definite sense in his reaction of wanting to oblige the aristocracy (or anyway, not disoblige it).
Yet the assistance Lawson offers, which seems to encourage and support Delamere, is in fact mostly to Emmeline's benefit. It is because of his intervention that she is separated from Delamere and, just as importantly, gets a chaperon of sorts in the shape of the Lawsons' daughter.
But the matter-of-fact way in which the Lawson family responds to this situation - as if every other day they're asked to weigh in on abductions and elopements; perhaps they are! - is certainly bizarre.
65lyzard
There's an interesting little passage in Volume II, Chapter VI, when Emmeline is telling Delamere off:
"What! has a father no right to decide to whom he will entrust the happiness of his son, and the honour of his posterity? Alas! Delamere, you argue against yourself; you only convince me that I ought not to put the whole happiness of my life into the hands of a man, who will so readily break thro' his first duties. The same impatient, pardon me, if I say the same selfish spirit, which now urges you to set paternal authority at defiance, will perhaps hereafter impel you, with as little difficulty, to quit a wife of whom you may be weary, for any other person whom caprice or novelty may dress in the perfections you now fancy I possess. Ah! Delamere! shall I have a right to expect tenderness and faith from a man whom I have assisted in making his parents unhappy; and who has by my means embittered the evening of their lives to whom he owes his own? Do you think that a rebellious and unfeeling son is likely to make a good husband, a good father?"
Apart from being a very sensible argument, this passage is a complete inversion of something very commonly found in 18th and 19th century literature, the idea that "good daughters make good wives".
It was usually put in the context of girls marrying against their parents' will: such a girl would make a bad wife as (self-evidently) she had never learned proper submission and obedience.
This, I think, is the only time I've seen that argument gender-flipped: a suggestion that disobedient sons make bad husbands!
This is an argument that was carried well into the 19th century, and famously picked up by John Stuart Mill: why all the weight of proper behaviour was placed upon the so-called "weaker sex".
"What! has a father no right to decide to whom he will entrust the happiness of his son, and the honour of his posterity? Alas! Delamere, you argue against yourself; you only convince me that I ought not to put the whole happiness of my life into the hands of a man, who will so readily break thro' his first duties. The same impatient, pardon me, if I say the same selfish spirit, which now urges you to set paternal authority at defiance, will perhaps hereafter impel you, with as little difficulty, to quit a wife of whom you may be weary, for any other person whom caprice or novelty may dress in the perfections you now fancy I possess. Ah! Delamere! shall I have a right to expect tenderness and faith from a man whom I have assisted in making his parents unhappy; and who has by my means embittered the evening of their lives to whom he owes his own? Do you think that a rebellious and unfeeling son is likely to make a good husband, a good father?"
Apart from being a very sensible argument, this passage is a complete inversion of something very commonly found in 18th and 19th century literature, the idea that "good daughters make good wives".
It was usually put in the context of girls marrying against their parents' will: such a girl would make a bad wife as (self-evidently) she had never learned proper submission and obedience.
This, I think, is the only time I've seen that argument gender-flipped: a suggestion that disobedient sons make bad husbands!
This is an argument that was carried well into the 19th century, and famously picked up by John Stuart Mill: why all the weight of proper behaviour was placed upon the so-called "weaker sex".
66kac522
Finished. I'll only say that there's lots of stuff happening in the last couple chapters; seems Smith had a hard time wrapping it up.
>61 lyzard: It's so irritating the way Crofts is allowed to do Lord Montreville's "dirty work", even when (or perhaps *because*) it is against his (Lord Montreville's) own inclination/conscience.
>61 lyzard: It's so irritating the way Crofts is allowed to do Lord Montreville's "dirty work", even when (or perhaps *because*) it is against his (Lord Montreville's) own inclination/conscience.
67lyzard
>66 kac522:
Whoo!! - well done! :)
Heh! - yes, she was too inexperienced a writer at the time to "kill her babies", as they say.
I would say particularly: it's when he can't reconcile his conscience with what's expedient that he allows Crofts to speak for him.
Whoo!! - well done! :)
Heh! - yes, she was too inexperienced a writer at the time to "kill her babies", as they say.
I would say particularly: it's when he can't reconcile his conscience with what's expedient that he allows Crofts to speak for him.
68lyzard
Ha! - there you go. :)
Volume II, Chapter VII:
When it was removed, Emmeline returned again to the books, and took up one she had not before opened.---It was the second volume of the Sorrows of Werter. She laid it down again with a smile, saying---"That will not do for me to-night."
"What is it?" cried Delamere, taking it from her.---"O, I have read it---and if you have, Emmeline, you might have learned the danger of trifling with violent and incurable passions. Tell me---could you ever be reconciled to yourself if you should be the cause of a catastrophe equally fatal?"
Still meaning to turn the conversation, she answered gaily---"O, I fancy there is very little danger of that---you know the value of your existence too well to throw it inconsiderately away."
"Do not be too certain of that, Emmeline. Without you, my life is no longer valuable---if indeed it be supportable; and should I ever be in the situation this melancholy tale describes, how do I know that my reason would be strong enough to preserve me from equal rashness. Beware, Miss Mowbray---beware of the consequence of finding an Albert at Woodfield."
I touched on the very melodramatic literature of the period, including Goethe's The Sorrows Of Young Werther, in >55 lyzard:. This passage shows that Smith was fully aware of the line she was walking in her novel, disapproving of such fiction but not wanting to alienate the reading audience that enjoyed it.
That Delamere identifies with Goethe's Albert is very telling (not in a good way!).
Volume II, Chapter VII:
When it was removed, Emmeline returned again to the books, and took up one she had not before opened.---It was the second volume of the Sorrows of Werter. She laid it down again with a smile, saying---"That will not do for me to-night."
"What is it?" cried Delamere, taking it from her.---"O, I have read it---and if you have, Emmeline, you might have learned the danger of trifling with violent and incurable passions. Tell me---could you ever be reconciled to yourself if you should be the cause of a catastrophe equally fatal?"
Still meaning to turn the conversation, she answered gaily---"O, I fancy there is very little danger of that---you know the value of your existence too well to throw it inconsiderately away."
"Do not be too certain of that, Emmeline. Without you, my life is no longer valuable---if indeed it be supportable; and should I ever be in the situation this melancholy tale describes, how do I know that my reason would be strong enough to preserve me from equal rashness. Beware, Miss Mowbray---beware of the consequence of finding an Albert at Woodfield."
I touched on the very melodramatic literature of the period, including Goethe's The Sorrows Of Young Werther, in >55 lyzard:. This passage shows that Smith was fully aware of the line she was walking in her novel, disapproving of such fiction but not wanting to alienate the reading audience that enjoyed it.
That Delamere identifies with Goethe's Albert is very telling (not in a good way!).
69lyzard
But the importance of this chapter is that Delamere does more to alienate Emmeline through his unreasonable demands upon her than he did even by abducting her.
There are some critical passages her that illustrate the distance between the two of them at this point, and which (thankfully!) show that Emmeline is losing patience with Delamere's selfishness:
"It is impossible, Madam!" cried Delamere, suddenly and vehemently interrupting her---"It is absolutely impossible you could argue thus calmly, if you had any regard for me---Cold---cruel---insensible---unfeeling girl!..."
****
"If you desire, Sir, to divest yourself of this unfortunate passion, the task is already half accomplished. Resolve, then, to conquer it wholly: restore me to that tranquillity you have destroyed---vindicate my injured reputation, which your headlong ardour has blemished---give me back to the kindness and protection of your father---and determine to see me no more."
This spirited and severe answer, immediately convinced Delamere he had gone too far. He had never before seen Emmeline so much piqued...
****
"Would you but say that you will live only for me---would you only promise that no future Rochely, none of the people you have seen or may see, shall influence you to forget me---I should, I think, be easier!
"You have a better opinion of yourself, Mr Delamere," answered Emmeline, calmly, "than to believe it probable. But be that as it may, I have told you that I will neither make or receive any promises of the nature you require. I have already suffered too much from your extravagant passion to put it farther in your power to distress me."
****
"This hand," exclaimed he, eagerly grasping it, "which ought to have been mine!---Now, even now, that you are about to tear yourself from me, it should have been mine for ever! But I have relinquished my prize at the moment I might have secured it; and if I lose it entirely my own folly only will be the cause."
"These violent transports may terrify me, but shall not alter my determination. Quit my hand, Mr Delamere," continued she, struggling to disengage it---"I will not be detained."
Emmeline is growing up.
That last passage shows the depths of Delamere's delusion: he still thinks the only reason they're not married is because she fell ill.
There are some critical passages her that illustrate the distance between the two of them at this point, and which (thankfully!) show that Emmeline is losing patience with Delamere's selfishness:
"It is impossible, Madam!" cried Delamere, suddenly and vehemently interrupting her---"It is absolutely impossible you could argue thus calmly, if you had any regard for me---Cold---cruel---insensible---unfeeling girl!..."
****
"If you desire, Sir, to divest yourself of this unfortunate passion, the task is already half accomplished. Resolve, then, to conquer it wholly: restore me to that tranquillity you have destroyed---vindicate my injured reputation, which your headlong ardour has blemished---give me back to the kindness and protection of your father---and determine to see me no more."
This spirited and severe answer, immediately convinced Delamere he had gone too far. He had never before seen Emmeline so much piqued...
****
"Would you but say that you will live only for me---would you only promise that no future Rochely, none of the people you have seen or may see, shall influence you to forget me---I should, I think, be easier!
"You have a better opinion of yourself, Mr Delamere," answered Emmeline, calmly, "than to believe it probable. But be that as it may, I have told you that I will neither make or receive any promises of the nature you require. I have already suffered too much from your extravagant passion to put it farther in your power to distress me."
****
"This hand," exclaimed he, eagerly grasping it, "which ought to have been mine!---Now, even now, that you are about to tear yourself from me, it should have been mine for ever! But I have relinquished my prize at the moment I might have secured it; and if I lose it entirely my own folly only will be the cause."
"These violent transports may terrify me, but shall not alter my determination. Quit my hand, Mr Delamere," continued she, struggling to disengage it---"I will not be detained."
Emmeline is growing up.
That last passage shows the depths of Delamere's delusion: he still thinks the only reason they're not married is because she fell ill.
70lyzard
The other critical point in Volume II, Chapter VII is the encounter with Mr Elkerton---not just because of its embarrassing nature, but because it introduces something which will become a recurring threat in the novel---duelling:
"Nay, my good friend,' returned Elkerton, 'allow me I beg to pay my respects to this lady, with whom I have the honour of being acquainted---Miss Mowbray, permit me---"
He would have taken the hand which was disengaged; but Emmeline shrunk from him, and stepped quickly into the chaise.
Elkerton still advanced, and leaning almost into it, he said---"Your long journey, I hope, has not too much fatigued you."
"By heaven!" exclaimed Delamere, "this is too much! Sir, you are the most troublesome, insolent fool, I ever met with!"
So saying, he seized Elkerton by the collar, and twisting him suddenly round, threw him with great violence against one of the pillars of the piazza.
He then got into the chaise; and taking out of his pocket two or three cards, on which his address was written, he tossed them out of the window; saying, with a voice that struck terror into the overthrown knight on the ground---"You know where to hear of me if you have any thing to say."
Duelling was a custom that despite both illegality and disapproval persisted really up to WWI; its last bastion was the army. It was a custom that got a lot of men killed and sent others into exile. Of course their families were also victims of it.
Female novelists rarely had any hesitation in condemning it (occasionally a woman will "not presume to criticise", but her own opinion is always clear); male novelists usually did hesitate, for fear of being considered cowards or weaklings, or having their heroes appear so. Sometimes they would weasel out of it as Samuel Richardson does in Sir Charles Grandison, having his hero denounce duelling---but also having him so widely known as a deadly shot that no-one dares challenge him.
(The only novel by a male novelist I know of, in which the hero refuses to fight a duel on principle and sticks to it despite being mocked and abused as a coward, is Thomas Holcroft's Anna St. Ives; Holcroft was a radical, and that's one of the ways he shows it.)
Here, given Delamere's temper it's a wonder this sort of thing hasn't happened before.
Note, though, that it is Elkerton who has been insulted---and Elkerton who will be expected to challenge Delamere in return. To not do so would be to banish himself from polite society.
"Nay, my good friend,' returned Elkerton, 'allow me I beg to pay my respects to this lady, with whom I have the honour of being acquainted---Miss Mowbray, permit me---"
He would have taken the hand which was disengaged; but Emmeline shrunk from him, and stepped quickly into the chaise.
Elkerton still advanced, and leaning almost into it, he said---"Your long journey, I hope, has not too much fatigued you."
"By heaven!" exclaimed Delamere, "this is too much! Sir, you are the most troublesome, insolent fool, I ever met with!"
So saying, he seized Elkerton by the collar, and twisting him suddenly round, threw him with great violence against one of the pillars of the piazza.
He then got into the chaise; and taking out of his pocket two or three cards, on which his address was written, he tossed them out of the window; saying, with a voice that struck terror into the overthrown knight on the ground---"You know where to hear of me if you have any thing to say."
Duelling was a custom that despite both illegality and disapproval persisted really up to WWI; its last bastion was the army. It was a custom that got a lot of men killed and sent others into exile. Of course their families were also victims of it.
Female novelists rarely had any hesitation in condemning it (occasionally a woman will "not presume to criticise", but her own opinion is always clear); male novelists usually did hesitate, for fear of being considered cowards or weaklings, or having their heroes appear so. Sometimes they would weasel out of it as Samuel Richardson does in Sir Charles Grandison, having his hero denounce duelling---but also having him so widely known as a deadly shot that no-one dares challenge him.
(The only novel by a male novelist I know of, in which the hero refuses to fight a duel on principle and sticks to it despite being mocked and abused as a coward, is Thomas Holcroft's Anna St. Ives; Holcroft was a radical, and that's one of the ways he shows it.)
Here, given Delamere's temper it's a wonder this sort of thing hasn't happened before.
Note, though, that it is Elkerton who has been insulted---and Elkerton who will be expected to challenge Delamere in return. To not do so would be to banish himself from polite society.
71souloftherose
Proceeding very slowly with my reading (due to lack of reading time rather than any problems with the novel) - just finished Volume II, Chapter IX. If others are ready to discuss later sections of the book then please don't hold off on my account.
Just wanted to note the passing reference to a previous group read in Chapter IX:
'...where he found Fitz-Edward reading Cecilia to Mrs. Stafford and Miss Mowbray while they sat at work.'
Just wanted to note the passing reference to a previous group read in Chapter IX:
'...where he found Fitz-Edward reading Cecilia to Mrs. Stafford and Miss Mowbray while they sat at work.'
72lyzard
>71 souloftherose:
Not sure that's why it isn't happening. :D
I am trying to speed my own observations up though (I just keep hitting interesting chapters!).
Oh yes indeed: it's fascinating to me watching these authors do, pretty much, exactly what we're doing: acknowledging their predecessors and the step-wise evolution of the female-centric novel.
Not sure that's why it isn't happening. :D
I am trying to speed my own observations up though (I just keep hitting interesting chapters!).
Oh yes indeed: it's fascinating to me watching these authors do, pretty much, exactly what we're doing: acknowledging their predecessors and the step-wise evolution of the female-centric novel.
73lyzard
One last thing from Volume II, Chapter VII:
Enter Mr Smi---er, I mean, Stafford:
Mr Stafford was one of those unfortunate characters, who having neither perseverance and regularity to fit them for business, or taste and genius for more refined pursuits, seek, in every casual occurrence or childish amusement, relief against the tedium of life. Tho' married very early, and tho' father of a numerous family, he had thrown away the time and money, which should have provided for them, in collecting baubles, which he had repeatedly possessed and discarded, 'till having exhausted every source that that species of idle folly offered, he had been driven, by the same inability to pursue proper objects, into vices yet more fatal to the repose of his wife, and schemes yet more destructive to the fortune of his family. Married to a woman who was the delight of her friends and the admiration of her acquaintance, surrounded by a lovely and encreasing family, and possessed of every reasonable means of happiness, he dissipated that property, which ought to have secured it's continuance, in vague and absurd projects which he neither loved or understood; and his temper growing more irritable in proportion as his difficulties encreased, he sometimes treated his wife with great harshness; and did not seem to think it necessary, even by apparent kindness and attention, to excuse or soften to her his general ill conduct, or his 'battening on the moor' of low and degrading debauchery.
Mrs Stafford, who had been married to him at fifteen, had long been unconscious of his weakness: and when time and her own excellent understanding pressed the fatal conviction too forcibly upon her, she still, but fruitlessly, attempted to hide from others what she saw too evidently herself...
Though she learned afterwards to be a little less blatant about it, this sort of twinned character sketch is found in most of Smith's novels.
Good wives were supposed to be blind, deaf and dumb, and to refuse to acknowledge that anything was wrong to anyone else, let alone complain; so this was considered a very shocking thing for Smith to do. In fact, she was criticised more for this than for her open support of the War of Independence!
(It is interesting to me that she has "Mrs Stafford" doing the right thing even as she was doing the wrong thing.)
Enter Mr Smi---er, I mean, Stafford:
Mr Stafford was one of those unfortunate characters, who having neither perseverance and regularity to fit them for business, or taste and genius for more refined pursuits, seek, in every casual occurrence or childish amusement, relief against the tedium of life. Tho' married very early, and tho' father of a numerous family, he had thrown away the time and money, which should have provided for them, in collecting baubles, which he had repeatedly possessed and discarded, 'till having exhausted every source that that species of idle folly offered, he had been driven, by the same inability to pursue proper objects, into vices yet more fatal to the repose of his wife, and schemes yet more destructive to the fortune of his family. Married to a woman who was the delight of her friends and the admiration of her acquaintance, surrounded by a lovely and encreasing family, and possessed of every reasonable means of happiness, he dissipated that property, which ought to have secured it's continuance, in vague and absurd projects which he neither loved or understood; and his temper growing more irritable in proportion as his difficulties encreased, he sometimes treated his wife with great harshness; and did not seem to think it necessary, even by apparent kindness and attention, to excuse or soften to her his general ill conduct, or his 'battening on the moor' of low and degrading debauchery.
Mrs Stafford, who had been married to him at fifteen, had long been unconscious of his weakness: and when time and her own excellent understanding pressed the fatal conviction too forcibly upon her, she still, but fruitlessly, attempted to hide from others what she saw too evidently herself...
Though she learned afterwards to be a little less blatant about it, this sort of twinned character sketch is found in most of Smith's novels.
Good wives were supposed to be blind, deaf and dumb, and to refuse to acknowledge that anything was wrong to anyone else, let alone complain; so this was considered a very shocking thing for Smith to do. In fact, she was criticised more for this than for her open support of the War of Independence!
(It is interesting to me that she has "Mrs Stafford" doing the right thing even as she was doing the wrong thing.)
74lyzard
The next few chapters find Emmeline settled with the Staffords at Woodfield. They also reveal that the Crofts family has designs of elevating themselves via a more serious connection with the Delameres.
Most significantly, they also deal with the abortive duel between Delamere and Elkerton which, though in itself is handled rather comically, has serious consequences when Lady Montreville sees the false newspaper report of it.
This finally separates Delamere from Emmeline---and sets up what to me is perhaps the most infuriating thing in a novel full of them:
Volume II, Chapter X:
"Come, come," cried Dr Gardner, "this is going a great deal too far; your Ladyship is but just convinced your son is living, and my Lord here is already talking of other matters. Tell me, madam---what do you wish Mr. Delamere to say?"
"That he will not marry," eagerly interrupted my father, "but with his mother's consent and mine."
'"I will not, my Lord," said Delamere, sighing.
'"That as soon as Lady Montreville is well enough to allow you to leave her, you will go abroad for a twelvemonth or longer if I shall judge it expedient."
'"I will promise that, if your Lordship makes a point of it---if my mother insists upon it. But, my Lord, if at the end of that time Emmeline Mowbray is still single---my Lord, you do not expect unconditional submission---I shall then in my turn hope that you and my mother will make no farther opposition to my wishes."
My father, who expected no concession from Delamere, had at first asked of him more than he intended to insist on, and now appeared eager to close with the first terms he could obtain. Accepting therefore a delay, instead of a renunciation, he said---"Well, Delamere, if at the end of a twelvemonth you still insist on marrying Miss Mowbray, I will not oppose it. Lady Montreville, you hear what your son engages for; do you agree to the terms?"
"My mother said, very faintly---"Yes."
It would too much to expect, I suppose, that at any stage of this someone might ASK EMMELINE WHAT SHE WANTS!!
In fact we know she doesn't want it; yet she gives in finally, even giving a written promise to marry Delamere at the end of the stipulated twelve months---though with, A reluctant and trembling hand... She thought this not strictly right, and felt a pain and repugnance to it's performance, which made her the more unhappy the longer she reflected on it...
Most significantly, they also deal with the abortive duel between Delamere and Elkerton which, though in itself is handled rather comically, has serious consequences when Lady Montreville sees the false newspaper report of it.
This finally separates Delamere from Emmeline---and sets up what to me is perhaps the most infuriating thing in a novel full of them:
Volume II, Chapter X:
"Come, come," cried Dr Gardner, "this is going a great deal too far; your Ladyship is but just convinced your son is living, and my Lord here is already talking of other matters. Tell me, madam---what do you wish Mr. Delamere to say?"
"That he will not marry," eagerly interrupted my father, "but with his mother's consent and mine."
'"I will not, my Lord," said Delamere, sighing.
'"That as soon as Lady Montreville is well enough to allow you to leave her, you will go abroad for a twelvemonth or longer if I shall judge it expedient."
'"I will promise that, if your Lordship makes a point of it---if my mother insists upon it. But, my Lord, if at the end of that time Emmeline Mowbray is still single---my Lord, you do not expect unconditional submission---I shall then in my turn hope that you and my mother will make no farther opposition to my wishes."
My father, who expected no concession from Delamere, had at first asked of him more than he intended to insist on, and now appeared eager to close with the first terms he could obtain. Accepting therefore a delay, instead of a renunciation, he said---"Well, Delamere, if at the end of a twelvemonth you still insist on marrying Miss Mowbray, I will not oppose it. Lady Montreville, you hear what your son engages for; do you agree to the terms?"
"My mother said, very faintly---"Yes."
It would too much to expect, I suppose, that at any stage of this someone might ASK EMMELINE WHAT SHE WANTS!!
In fact we know she doesn't want it; yet she gives in finally, even giving a written promise to marry Delamere at the end of the stipulated twelve months---though with, A reluctant and trembling hand... She thought this not strictly right, and felt a pain and repugnance to it's performance, which made her the more unhappy the longer she reflected on it...
75lyzard
Though it comes mid-volume, Volume II, Chapter X is a pivotal one in a number of ways---most importantly the above capitulation - apparent capitulation - of Lord and Lady Montreville.
In the wake of this the narrative takes a variety of turns associated with the introduction of a new cast of characters.
The first of these is Lord Westhaven, who marries Augusta Delamere. This in the longer term allows Augusta finally to pursue her friendship with Emmeline.
Immediately, however, as the result of Delamere's promise, Lady Montreville's health and Augusta's marriage, the entire family leaves England for Europe; and there will be little contact between them and Emmeline for many months to come...
In the wake of this the narrative takes a variety of turns associated with the introduction of a new cast of characters.
The first of these is Lord Westhaven, who marries Augusta Delamere. This in the longer term allows Augusta finally to pursue her friendship with Emmeline.
Immediately, however, as the result of Delamere's promise, Lady Montreville's health and Augusta's marriage, the entire family leaves England for Europe; and there will be little contact between them and Emmeline for many months to come...
76cbl_tn
I am up to Volume IV, Chapter VI or thereabouts.
At this point it seems like a farce. Everyone assumes that they know what everyone else is thinking and they're almost always wrong. None of these people seem to have any actual work to do, not even the military men, leaving them waaay too much time on their hands for speculating about what someone else might be thinking, planning to do, might do in reaction to what someone else might say or do, etc., etc. But no time or inclination to actually talk to each other about their real thoughts and feelings.
At this point it seems like a farce. Everyone assumes that they know what everyone else is thinking and they're almost always wrong. None of these people seem to have any actual work to do, not even the military men, leaving them waaay too much time on their hands for speculating about what someone else might be thinking, planning to do, might do in reaction to what someone else might say or do, etc., etc. But no time or inclination to actually talk to each other about their real thoughts and feelings.
77lyzard
>76 cbl_tn:
:D
I'll address that in more detail when we're a bit further along, but broadly, lack of communication seems to me a fairly major theme in this novel.
We need to be aware that this was in many ways a very artificial society. Many novels of the time called for a greater "naturalism" (often illustrated by spontaneous appreciation of nature, that sort of thing), but in reality people were confined by a rigid social code that didn't leave much room for (in fact, actively discouraged) openness or individuality. This was particularly true of young women, who were trained up to behave a certain way and then effectively put on display by their parents. Any spontaneity of behaviour was strongly discouraged as making a girl "unusual" and therefore less marriageable.
Possibly this similarity of conduct led to the assumption (which I think Smith criticises here) that all young women were basically alike and therefore you could know what they would do or what they were thinking.
As for your other point---people at this level of society did not work. A man with an estate could choose to work at that, or he might pursue a political career, but that was pretty much it. And at this time England was not at war with France (that stopped in 1783, and would start again in 1792), so even soldiers - or at least, officers - had no trouble getting extended leave.
This is one of the reasons people work so hard at travelling and partying: they literally had nothing else to do.
:D
I'll address that in more detail when we're a bit further along, but broadly, lack of communication seems to me a fairly major theme in this novel.
We need to be aware that this was in many ways a very artificial society. Many novels of the time called for a greater "naturalism" (often illustrated by spontaneous appreciation of nature, that sort of thing), but in reality people were confined by a rigid social code that didn't leave much room for (in fact, actively discouraged) openness or individuality. This was particularly true of young women, who were trained up to behave a certain way and then effectively put on display by their parents. Any spontaneity of behaviour was strongly discouraged as making a girl "unusual" and therefore less marriageable.
Possibly this similarity of conduct led to the assumption (which I think Smith criticises here) that all young women were basically alike and therefore you could know what they would do or what they were thinking.
As for your other point---people at this level of society did not work. A man with an estate could choose to work at that, or he might pursue a political career, but that was pretty much it. And at this time England was not at war with France (that stopped in 1783, and would start again in 1792), so even soldiers - or at least, officers - had no trouble getting extended leave.
This is one of the reasons people work so hard at travelling and partying: they literally had nothing else to do.
78lyzard
In Volume II, Chapter XI, we find Emmeline and Mrs Stafford encountering the stranger in the cottage: a stranger who turns out to be a sister of Lord Westhaven...
This subplot was extremely controversial at the time. Not in itself: "fallen woman" narratives were quite common, always presented as cautionary tales; but rather for the way this novel's "good" characters involve themselves with Lady Adelina, and because they become party to what amounts to an elaborate deception.
However, what most people objected to was the way Smith resolves this subplot; we will deal with that in time.
In keeping with her main themes, Smith makes Adelina another of her hapless fifteen-year-olds, with insufficient knowledge of the world and lacking guidance once she's in it; agreeing to marry before she has any understanding of what marriage is.
Smith describes Adelina's subsequent "fall" less in terms of her own weakness, than as the natural consequence of neglect and unhappiness---and, more daringly, her need to be loved:
"In my husband, I had neither a friend or a companion---I had not even a protector; for except when he was under the restraint of my brother's presence, he was hardly ever at home. Sometimes he was gone on tours to distant counties to attend races or hunts, to which he belonged; and sometimes to France, where he was embarked in gaming associations with Englishmen who lived only to disgrace their name...
****
"Trelawny was gone out on one of his rambles; but I wrote to him and obtained his consent—indeed he long since ceased to trouble himself about me...
"I attended my sister therefore to Lough Carryl... {Lord Clancarryl's} tender attention to his wife; his ardent, yet regulated fondness for his children; the peace and order which reigned in his house; the delightful and easy society he sometimes collected in it, and the chearful confidence we enjoyed in quiet family parties when without company; made me feel with bitterness and regret the difference between my sister's lot and mine. Her husband made it the whole business of his life to fulfill every duty of his rank, mine seemed only solicitous to degrade himself below his. One was improving his fortune by well regulated œconomy; the other dissipating his among gamesters and pick-pockets. The conversation of Lord Clancarryl was sensible, refined, and improving; Trelawny's consisted either in tiresome details of adventures among jockies, pedigrees of horses, or scandalous and silly anecdotes about persons of whom nobody wished to hear; or he sunk into sullen silence, yawned, and shewed how very little relish he had for any other discourse.
"When I married him, I knew not to what I had condemned myself. As his character gradually discovered itself, my reason also encreased; and now, when I had an opportunity of comparing him to such a man as Lord Clancarryl, I felt all the horrors of my destiny! and beheld, with a dread from which my feeble heart recoiled, a long, long prospect of life before me---without attachment, without friendship, without love..."
This subplot was extremely controversial at the time. Not in itself: "fallen woman" narratives were quite common, always presented as cautionary tales; but rather for the way this novel's "good" characters involve themselves with Lady Adelina, and because they become party to what amounts to an elaborate deception.
However, what most people objected to was the way Smith resolves this subplot; we will deal with that in time.
In keeping with her main themes, Smith makes Adelina another of her hapless fifteen-year-olds, with insufficient knowledge of the world and lacking guidance once she's in it; agreeing to marry before she has any understanding of what marriage is.
Smith describes Adelina's subsequent "fall" less in terms of her own weakness, than as the natural consequence of neglect and unhappiness---and, more daringly, her need to be loved:
"In my husband, I had neither a friend or a companion---I had not even a protector; for except when he was under the restraint of my brother's presence, he was hardly ever at home. Sometimes he was gone on tours to distant counties to attend races or hunts, to which he belonged; and sometimes to France, where he was embarked in gaming associations with Englishmen who lived only to disgrace their name...
****
"Trelawny was gone out on one of his rambles; but I wrote to him and obtained his consent—indeed he long since ceased to trouble himself about me...
"I attended my sister therefore to Lough Carryl... {Lord Clancarryl's} tender attention to his wife; his ardent, yet regulated fondness for his children; the peace and order which reigned in his house; the delightful and easy society he sometimes collected in it, and the chearful confidence we enjoyed in quiet family parties when without company; made me feel with bitterness and regret the difference between my sister's lot and mine. Her husband made it the whole business of his life to fulfill every duty of his rank, mine seemed only solicitous to degrade himself below his. One was improving his fortune by well regulated œconomy; the other dissipating his among gamesters and pick-pockets. The conversation of Lord Clancarryl was sensible, refined, and improving; Trelawny's consisted either in tiresome details of adventures among jockies, pedigrees of horses, or scandalous and silly anecdotes about persons of whom nobody wished to hear; or he sunk into sullen silence, yawned, and shewed how very little relish he had for any other discourse.
"When I married him, I knew not to what I had condemned myself. As his character gradually discovered itself, my reason also encreased; and now, when I had an opportunity of comparing him to such a man as Lord Clancarryl, I felt all the horrors of my destiny! and beheld, with a dread from which my feeble heart recoiled, a long, long prospect of life before me---without attachment, without friendship, without love..."
79cbl_tn
Just finished. I can't say I'll be sorry to leave these characters to their own devices now. I would like to read the novel about what the servants were thinking about all of this!
80SassyLassy
Haven't read any comments from 17 down, as I am still waiting patiently for my copy. Checking the tracker, it seems that for some completely unexplained reason, it spent ten days in a warehouse in New Jersey, however, it has now made it to Montreal. Maybe this week it will get here!
81lyzard
>79 cbl_tn:
Well done, Carrie! It does go on a bit I suppose, but then we need to remember it took four volumes to pay the bills! :D
>80 SassyLassy:
Oh my goodness, fingers crossed!
Please note that you will need to skip the 'Cast of Characters' in >6 lyzard: from now on, as it has been updated to the point of including spoilers.
Well done, Carrie! It does go on a bit I suppose, but then we need to remember it took four volumes to pay the bills! :D
>80 SassyLassy:
Oh my goodness, fingers crossed!
Please note that you will need to skip the 'Cast of Characters' in >6 lyzard: from now on, as it has been updated to the point of including spoilers.
82lyzard
Volume II, Chapter XII - and indeed Volume II - ends with the revelation of the identity of Lady Adelina's seducer.
This is of course a major complication for Emmeline and Mrs Stafford going forward, bother because of their own connection to Fitz-Edward and his connection to nearly everyone Emmeline knows.
Two of the more controversial aspects of Smith's handling of the Adelina subplot quickly emerge: firstly the handling of Adelina's "disappearance", in which Emmeline and Mrs Stafford conspire to hide her from her family, in particular the rather strict Lord Westhaven; and secondly the change wrought in Fitz-Edward. We have been given no cause to think well of him (and this certainly doesn't!), yet Smith depicts him as genuinely remorseful and indeed entirely altered by his knowledge of Adelina's situation.
In fact she makes it clear that Adelina and Fitz-Edward are in love in the usual sense, which was itself controversial as sexual passion and "real love" were usually considered - or at least treated - as quite separate things.
Plot-wise, meanwhile, Emmeline's secretive behaviour as she tries to conceal Adelina's secret leads to misinterpretation of her relationship with Fitz-Edward...
This is of course a major complication for Emmeline and Mrs Stafford going forward, bother because of their own connection to Fitz-Edward and his connection to nearly everyone Emmeline knows.
Two of the more controversial aspects of Smith's handling of the Adelina subplot quickly emerge: firstly the handling of Adelina's "disappearance", in which Emmeline and Mrs Stafford conspire to hide her from her family, in particular the rather strict Lord Westhaven; and secondly the change wrought in Fitz-Edward. We have been given no cause to think well of him (and this certainly doesn't!), yet Smith depicts him as genuinely remorseful and indeed entirely altered by his knowledge of Adelina's situation.
In fact she makes it clear that Adelina and Fitz-Edward are in love in the usual sense, which was itself controversial as sexual passion and "real love" were usually considered - or at least treated - as quite separate things.
Plot-wise, meanwhile, Emmeline's secretive behaviour as she tries to conceal Adelina's secret leads to misinterpretation of her relationship with Fitz-Edward...
83lyzard
Emmeline's involvement with Adelina is one of the most interesting things about this novel, in terms of illustrating shifting social views of what what appropriate for young women.
We see here (even allowing for Smith's "advanced" ideas) no suggestion that Emmeline is ignorant of "the facts of life", or in the broad sense shocked by what has happened. This matter-of-factness would disappear across the 19th century, with female ignorance and female modesty (real or feigned) becoming a premium. The Regency novels of Jane Austen perhaps mark a turning point: such things mean complete ruin for a woman, but no-one is shocked by the fact that they do happen.
On the other hand there is a suggestion, if only a faint (and rather critical) one, that Emmeline's own reputation may be damaged by her association with Adelina. This Smith handles in a rather pragmatic manner: instead of being good cause why Emmeline should not associate with Adelina in the first place, it is, rather, good cause why she and Mrs Stafford should be so careful at keeping the secret.
This too is something that would change drastically into the 19th century, where "fallen women" would be increasingly treated as a source of contamination, such that any such association could render another woman "impure". This is why Victorian women were often so harsh and unfeeling towards prostitutes and seduced women: any softness of attitude was supposed to be indicative of a flawed sense of morals, rather than proper sympathy or charity, and could lead to a loss of reputation. It was particularly unforgivable in unmarried women, who weren't supposed to even know about such things, and could ruin themselves socially if they showed that they did.
If you have read many Victorian novels, Emmeline's wholehearted plunge into the conspiracy of silence surrounding Adelina is startling.
We see here (even allowing for Smith's "advanced" ideas) no suggestion that Emmeline is ignorant of "the facts of life", or in the broad sense shocked by what has happened. This matter-of-factness would disappear across the 19th century, with female ignorance and female modesty (real or feigned) becoming a premium. The Regency novels of Jane Austen perhaps mark a turning point: such things mean complete ruin for a woman, but no-one is shocked by the fact that they do happen.
On the other hand there is a suggestion, if only a faint (and rather critical) one, that Emmeline's own reputation may be damaged by her association with Adelina. This Smith handles in a rather pragmatic manner: instead of being good cause why Emmeline should not associate with Adelina in the first place, it is, rather, good cause why she and Mrs Stafford should be so careful at keeping the secret.
This too is something that would change drastically into the 19th century, where "fallen women" would be increasingly treated as a source of contamination, such that any such association could render another woman "impure". This is why Victorian women were often so harsh and unfeeling towards prostitutes and seduced women: any softness of attitude was supposed to be indicative of a flawed sense of morals, rather than proper sympathy or charity, and could lead to a loss of reputation. It was particularly unforgivable in unmarried women, who weren't supposed to even know about such things, and could ruin themselves socially if they showed that they did.
If you have read many Victorian novels, Emmeline's wholehearted plunge into the conspiracy of silence surrounding Adelina is startling.
84NinieB
>83 lyzard: Yes, yes, yes! Emmeline, a young, unmarried woman, hiding a pregnant adulterous woman? In a Victorian novel this would be unthinkable. Consider Lady Isabel Carlyle in East Lynne and the great lashings of guilt and shame that Mrs Henry Wood heaped upon her. The notion of her even talking to someone in Emmeline's position is unthinkable.
85souloftherose
Just reached the end of Volume II today so catching up on the comments. Agree that Emmeline and Mrs Smith's reaction at the end of Chapter XII was very different to later 19th century novels.
86lyzard
>84 NinieB:
Yes, thank you for mentioning East Lynne, the all-time champion "erring women must be tortured unceasingly" novel. :)
I love that Smith puts Emmeline's support of Adelina in terms of proper womanly (and Christian) compassion: that was the Victorian theory too but women were strongly dissuaded from putting it into practice.
Of course Smith's view of these matters wasn't necessarily society's, even in her time; but the fact that this novel was so popular is very interesting.
>85 souloftherose:
Thank you for checking in, Heather.
I find watching the thinking on various subjects change over time is one of the pleasures of this sort of reading (even if in this case, things had to get a lot worse before they got any better).
Yes, thank you for mentioning East Lynne, the all-time champion "erring women must be tortured unceasingly" novel. :)
I love that Smith puts Emmeline's support of Adelina in terms of proper womanly (and Christian) compassion: that was the Victorian theory too but women were strongly dissuaded from putting it into practice.
Of course Smith's view of these matters wasn't necessarily society's, even in her time; but the fact that this novel was so popular is very interesting.
>85 souloftherose:
Thank you for checking in, Heather.
I find watching the thinking on various subjects change over time is one of the pleasures of this sort of reading (even if in this case, things had to get a lot worse before they got any better).
87lyzard
In Volume III, Chapter II, Smith does two more unusual things: (i) she gives us the man's side of things in detail; and (ii) she makes that man deeply and genuinely remorseful:
"Her gratitude," continued he, "for the little assistance I was able to give her, was boundless; and as pity had already taught me to love her with more ardour than her beauty only, captivating as it is, would have inspired; gratitude led her too easily into tender sentiments for me. I am not a presuming coxcomb; but she was infinitely too artless to conceal her partiality; and neither her misfortunes, or her being the sister of my friend Godolphin, protected her against the libertinism of my principles."
He went on to relate the deep melancholy that seized Lady Adelina; and his own terror and remorse when he found her one morning gone from her lodgings, where she had left no direction; and from her proceeding it was evident she designed to conceal herself from his enquiries.
"God knows," pursued he, "what is now become of her!---perhaps, when most in need of tenderness and attention, she is thrown destitute and friendless among strangers, and will perish in indigence and obscurity. Unused to encounter the slightest hardship, her delicate frame, and still more sensible mind, will sink under those to which her situation will expose her---perhaps I shall be doubly a murderer!"
****
Her eyes were still eagerly fixed on his face; she still held his hand; while he, supposing her extreme emotion arose from the compassionate tenderness of her nature, found the steadiness of his despair softened by the soothing voice of pity, and throwing himself on his knees, he laid his head on one of the chairs, and wept like a woman...
We need to place this in context. There were seductions and affairs and unwanted pregnancies a-plenty in the literature of the time, but always as a cautionary tale to the woman: the man's reaction was either to gloat over his "triumph" and move on, or to spurn the woman in horror at her "weakness" (i.e. "If she'll sleep with me, she'll sleep with anybody!").
Occasionally the man would be remorseful if the woman had died, but not usually while she was still alive. Fitz-Edward's reaction and subsequent behaviour are pretty much unique.
Emmeline's attempts to manage Fitz-Edward while keeping Adelina's secret place her in something of a compromising situation, with Mrs Ashford and her guests getting the wrong idea: something which will have serious consequences down the line...
"Her gratitude," continued he, "for the little assistance I was able to give her, was boundless; and as pity had already taught me to love her with more ardour than her beauty only, captivating as it is, would have inspired; gratitude led her too easily into tender sentiments for me. I am not a presuming coxcomb; but she was infinitely too artless to conceal her partiality; and neither her misfortunes, or her being the sister of my friend Godolphin, protected her against the libertinism of my principles."
He went on to relate the deep melancholy that seized Lady Adelina; and his own terror and remorse when he found her one morning gone from her lodgings, where she had left no direction; and from her proceeding it was evident she designed to conceal herself from his enquiries.
"God knows," pursued he, "what is now become of her!---perhaps, when most in need of tenderness and attention, she is thrown destitute and friendless among strangers, and will perish in indigence and obscurity. Unused to encounter the slightest hardship, her delicate frame, and still more sensible mind, will sink under those to which her situation will expose her---perhaps I shall be doubly a murderer!"
****
Her eyes were still eagerly fixed on his face; she still held his hand; while he, supposing her extreme emotion arose from the compassionate tenderness of her nature, found the steadiness of his despair softened by the soothing voice of pity, and throwing himself on his knees, he laid his head on one of the chairs, and wept like a woman...
We need to place this in context. There were seductions and affairs and unwanted pregnancies a-plenty in the literature of the time, but always as a cautionary tale to the woman: the man's reaction was either to gloat over his "triumph" and move on, or to spurn the woman in horror at her "weakness" (i.e. "If she'll sleep with me, she'll sleep with anybody!").
Occasionally the man would be remorseful if the woman had died, but not usually while she was still alive. Fitz-Edward's reaction and subsequent behaviour are pretty much unique.
Emmeline's attempts to manage Fitz-Edward while keeping Adelina's secret place her in something of a compromising situation, with Mrs Ashford and her guests getting the wrong idea: something which will have serious consequences down the line...
88lyzard
Meanwhile, Volume III, Chapter II also introduces a character who will significantly influence the subsequent direction of the narrative:
"While I was suffering all the misery which my apprehension for her fate inflicted, her younger brother, William Godolphin, returned from the West Indies, where he has been three years stationed. I was the first person he visited in town; but I was not at my lodgings there. Before I returned from Tylehurst, he had informed himself of all the circumstances of Trelawny's embarrassments, and his sister's absence. He found letters from Lord Westhaven, and from my brother, Lord Clancarryl; who knowing he would about that time return to England, conjured him to assist in the attempt of discovering Lady Adelina; of whose motives for concealing herself from her family they were entirely ignorant, while it filled them with uneasiness and astonishment. As soon as I went back to London, Godolphin, of whose arrival I was ignorant, came to me. He embraced me, and thanked me for my friendship and attention to his unfortunate Adelina---I think if he had held his sword to my heart it would have hurt me less!
"He implored me to help his search after his lost sister, and again said how greatly he was obliged to me---while I, conscious how little I deserved his gratitude, felt like a coward and an assassin, and shrunk from the manly confidence of my friend..."
"While I was suffering all the misery which my apprehension for her fate inflicted, her younger brother, William Godolphin, returned from the West Indies, where he has been three years stationed. I was the first person he visited in town; but I was not at my lodgings there. Before I returned from Tylehurst, he had informed himself of all the circumstances of Trelawny's embarrassments, and his sister's absence. He found letters from Lord Westhaven, and from my brother, Lord Clancarryl; who knowing he would about that time return to England, conjured him to assist in the attempt of discovering Lady Adelina; of whose motives for concealing herself from her family they were entirely ignorant, while it filled them with uneasiness and astonishment. As soon as I went back to London, Godolphin, of whose arrival I was ignorant, came to me. He embraced me, and thanked me for my friendship and attention to his unfortunate Adelina---I think if he had held his sword to my heart it would have hurt me less!
"He implored me to help his search after his lost sister, and again said how greatly he was obliged to me---while I, conscious how little I deserved his gratitude, felt like a coward and an assassin, and shrunk from the manly confidence of my friend..."
89lyzard
It is also around this point, with this influx of new characters, that (as noted by Kathy in >56 kac522:) their relationships to one another, including name changes via marriage for some of the women, become difficult to keep straight.
I have therefore updated the cast of characters to include the marriages and relationships. This makes the list a bit spoilery but hopefully it is more helpful than not.
On an immediate note, it might help to clarify that Fitz-Edward is the brother of Lord Clancarryl, who is married to Camilla Godolphin, the sister of William and Adelina.
I have therefore updated the cast of characters to include the marriages and relationships. This makes the list a bit spoilery but hopefully it is more helpful than not.
On an immediate note, it might help to clarify that Fitz-Edward is the brother of Lord Clancarryl, who is married to Camilla Godolphin, the sister of William and Adelina.
90kac522
This may be a general question for a bit later, so feel free to hold off if it seems appropriate, but I didn't want to forget it.
I don't recall in which Volume all of these families come to light, so I'm going to enclose in spoilers:
The Crofts family are portrayed as selfish and self-serving. The Godolphin family are portrayed as all of good character. BUT--Lord & Lady Montreville as a family are a mixed bag: Lady Montreville & Fanny (the eldest) are so negative; Lord Montreville & Delamere seem inconsistent (although we come to at least feel sorry for Delamere by the end); and Augusta is Emmeline's best buddy. So what gives here?
I don't recall in which Volume all of these families come to light, so I'm going to enclose in spoilers:
91lyzard
(I think that's okay out in the open at this point.)
>90 kac522:
Realism? :D
The Crofts are committed social-climbers who will do anything to get ahead. (Something amusing happens in that respect at the end of the novel which I must remember to highlight.) They also represent Smith's habitual in-novel attack upon the legal profession, and so should probably be taken with a grain of salt.
The Delameres are I think fairly believably mixed, if we take the starting point of Lady Montreville's awful pride and vanity: Lord Montreville - also with a share of family pride - gives in to her and does things he knows are wrong to avoid constant arguments, Fanny is just like her mother only more vain, Delamere has had all the worst features in his character encouraged, and Augusta avoids all this through being neglected and overlooked.
The Goldolphins are set up as a contrast, but while they are "good" (you would have been given an argument about Adelina being good at the time), they also have their differences: Adelina is capable of "falling"; while Lord Westhaven is sternly moral to the point where his sister too scared to have him learn the truth (though his sternness is later helpful to Emmeline). Only William is just generally "good", and even he has a few character weaknesses.
So I would say that Smith is given us an early attempt at much more mixed characters than you usually find in the literature of this time.
(We might remember that critics had trouble with Frances Burney's mixed characters, particularly the good people with a fatal flaw: they were still clinging to a more black-and-white view of fiction.)
>90 kac522:
Realism? :D
The Crofts are committed social-climbers who will do anything to get ahead. (Something amusing happens in that respect at the end of the novel which I must remember to highlight.) They also represent Smith's habitual in-novel attack upon the legal profession, and so should probably be taken with a grain of salt.
The Delameres are I think fairly believably mixed, if we take the starting point of Lady Montreville's awful pride and vanity: Lord Montreville - also with a share of family pride - gives in to her and does things he knows are wrong to avoid constant arguments, Fanny is just like her mother only more vain, Delamere has had all the worst features in his character encouraged, and Augusta avoids all this through being neglected and overlooked.
The Goldolphins are set up as a contrast, but while they are "good" (you would have been given an argument about Adelina being good at the time), they also have their differences: Adelina is capable of "falling"; while Lord Westhaven is sternly moral to the point where his sister too scared to have him learn the truth (though his sternness is later helpful to Emmeline). Only William is just generally "good", and even he has a few character weaknesses.
So I would say that Smith is given us an early attempt at much more mixed characters than you usually find in the literature of this time.
(We might remember that critics had trouble with Frances Burney's mixed characters, particularly the good people with a fatal flaw: they were still clinging to a more black-and-white view of fiction.)
92kac522
>91 lyzard: For me the Godolphins are all portrayed as people of high character, although nuanced (Adelina's weakness, Lord Westhaven's sternness). We know they will all do the right thing in the end, and support one another.
But the text didn't convince me how Augusta could be so completely different from her siblings. Neglected, yes, but that doesn't generally produce good character, so I have trouble finding her believable given her parents' attitudes and opinions. Just my take.
I think also that the first half of the book gives a clear picture of the Montreville/Delameres, but the Godolphins are revealed to us piecemeal, so it was harder to understand the relationships. And it wasn't until close to the end that I really figured out how Fitz-Edward fit in.
But the text didn't convince me how Augusta could be so completely different from her siblings. Neglected, yes, but that doesn't generally produce good character, so I have trouble finding her believable given her parents' attitudes and opinions. Just my take.
I think also that the first half of the book gives a clear picture of the Montreville/Delameres, but the Godolphins are revealed to us piecemeal, so it was harder to understand the relationships. And it wasn't until close to the end that I really figured out how Fitz-Edward fit in.
93lyzard
>92 kac522:
Well---there would have been a nurse and a governess responsible for the early shaping of character, who would have been dismissed when Augusta came out of the schoolroom. Presumably from that point Fanny was taken under her mother's wing, while Augusta was left to her own devices and allowed to develop in her own way, rather as Emmeline did in her isolation.
Smith seems to be making a point about the pernicious influence of bad parenting, in that her least parented characters have turned out best. :)
I think given the often complicated family relations at the time and the very extended families that were recognised and which interacted, contemporary readers would have been more attuned to that sort of thing; also to the multiple names that could be involved where there was a title. Authors probably didn't feel the need to spell those connections out, for instance I think there's only one early mention each of Fitz-Edward being Lord Clancarryl's brother, and Lady Clancarryl being a Godolphin: we're supposed to have taken that in but if we miss it, it can get confusing.
Well---there would have been a nurse and a governess responsible for the early shaping of character, who would have been dismissed when Augusta came out of the schoolroom. Presumably from that point Fanny was taken under her mother's wing, while Augusta was left to her own devices and allowed to develop in her own way, rather as Emmeline did in her isolation.
Smith seems to be making a point about the pernicious influence of bad parenting, in that her least parented characters have turned out best. :)
I think given the often complicated family relations at the time and the very extended families that were recognised and which interacted, contemporary readers would have been more attuned to that sort of thing; also to the multiple names that could be involved where there was a title. Authors probably didn't feel the need to spell those connections out, for instance I think there's only one early mention each of Fitz-Edward being Lord Clancarryl's brother, and Lady Clancarryl being a Godolphin: we're supposed to have taken that in but if we miss it, it can get confusing.
94lyzard
Interesting.
The dogma at this time (found in many novels) was that as long as someone had "conscious innocence", nothing could really hurt them.
This is nonsense, of course, and Smith dares to say so:
Volume III, Chapter III:
And perhaps minds more candid than their's---minds untainted with the odious and hateful envy which ulcerated their's, might, from the circumstances that attended her going and Fitz-Edward's behaviour, have conceived disadvantageous ideas of her conduct. But such was the uneasiness with which Mrs Ashwood ever beheld superior merit, and such the universal delight which Miss Galton took in defamation, that had none of those circumstances existed, they would with equal malignity have studied to ruin the reputation of Emmeline; and probably with equal success---for against such attacks, innocence, however it may console it's possessor, is too frequently a feeble and inadequate defence!
This tart observation is a forerunner to some of Jane Austen's admissions that "doing your duty" is frequently a hard and thankless business, which (like Smith's innocence) may be "consoling" but often does you little practical good.
The dogma at this time (found in many novels) was that as long as someone had "conscious innocence", nothing could really hurt them.
This is nonsense, of course, and Smith dares to say so:
Volume III, Chapter III:
And perhaps minds more candid than their's---minds untainted with the odious and hateful envy which ulcerated their's, might, from the circumstances that attended her going and Fitz-Edward's behaviour, have conceived disadvantageous ideas of her conduct. But such was the uneasiness with which Mrs Ashwood ever beheld superior merit, and such the universal delight which Miss Galton took in defamation, that had none of those circumstances existed, they would with equal malignity have studied to ruin the reputation of Emmeline; and probably with equal success---for against such attacks, innocence, however it may console it's possessor, is too frequently a feeble and inadequate defence!
This tart observation is a forerunner to some of Jane Austen's admissions that "doing your duty" is frequently a hard and thankless business, which (like Smith's innocence) may be "consoling" but often does you little practical good.
95lyzard
In Volume III, Chapter IV, shortly after the removal to Bath, Adelina has her baby, a boy. Though this gives her a new desire to live, her recovery is immediately retarded by the unexpected arrival of her younger brother, William Godolphin:
Godolphin, who was now about five and twenty, had passed the greatest part of his life at sea. The various climates he had visited had deprived his complexion of much of it's English freshness; but his face was animated by dark eyes full of intelligence and spirit; his hair, generally carelessly dressed, was remarkably fine, and his person tall, light, and graceful, yet so commanding, that whoever saw him immediately and involuntarily felt their admiration mingled with respect. His whole figure was such as brought to the mind ideas of the race of heroes from which he was descended; his voice was particularly grateful to the ear, and his address appeared to Emmeline to be a fortunate compound of the insinuating softness of Fitz-Edward with the fire and vivacity of Delamere. Of this, however, she could inadequately judge, as he was now under such depression of spirits: and however pleasing he appeared, Emmeline, who conceived herself absolutely engaged to Delamere, thought of him only as the brother of Lady Adelina; yet insensibly she felt herself more than ever interested for the event of his hearing how little Fitz-Edward had deserved the warm friendship he had felt for him...
I'm intrigued by Smith's choice of a naval career for Godolphin, as far as I know a first in the English novel---and making Godolphin a forerunner of Austen's Captain Wentworth in Persuasion. However, Austen had specific personal reasons for her choice, since she had naval brothers and other relatives; I suspect that with Smith, it was merely an excuse to have Godolphin out of England for a protracted period. The army would have been the usual choice for a younger son but, as we've seen with Fitz-Edward, there wasn't much difficulty at this time getting leave.
As for Emmeline's immediate if more or less unconscious reaction to Godolphin, I suspect it has less to do with his obvious attractions than with the fact that of all the men she knows, he is the only one to listen to what she says and to do as she asks!---
"Surely I shall consider it as an honour to receive, and as happiness to obey, any command of Miss Mowbray's."
"Promise me then to observe the same silence in regard to your sister as I asked of you last night. Trust me with her safety, and believe it will not be neglected. But you must neither speak of her to others, or question me about her."
"Good God! from whence can arise the necessity for these precautions! What dreadful obscurity surrounds her! What am I to fear? What am I to suppose?"
"You will not, then,' said Emmeline, gravely---"you will not oblige me, by desisting from all questions 'till this trifling restraint can be taken off?"
"I will, I do promise to be guided wholly by you; and to bear, however difficult it may be, the suspense, the frightful suspense in which I must remain. Tell me, however, that Adelina is not in immediate danger. But, but" added he, as if recollecting himself, "may I not apply for information on that head to her physician?"
"Not for the world!' answered Emmeline, with unguarded quickness---"not for the world!"
"Not for the world!"---repeated Godolphin, with an accent of astonishment. "Heaven and earth! But I have promised to ask nothing---I must obey---and will now release you, Madam."
Godolphin, who was now about five and twenty, had passed the greatest part of his life at sea. The various climates he had visited had deprived his complexion of much of it's English freshness; but his face was animated by dark eyes full of intelligence and spirit; his hair, generally carelessly dressed, was remarkably fine, and his person tall, light, and graceful, yet so commanding, that whoever saw him immediately and involuntarily felt their admiration mingled with respect. His whole figure was such as brought to the mind ideas of the race of heroes from which he was descended; his voice was particularly grateful to the ear, and his address appeared to Emmeline to be a fortunate compound of the insinuating softness of Fitz-Edward with the fire and vivacity of Delamere. Of this, however, she could inadequately judge, as he was now under such depression of spirits: and however pleasing he appeared, Emmeline, who conceived herself absolutely engaged to Delamere, thought of him only as the brother of Lady Adelina; yet insensibly she felt herself more than ever interested for the event of his hearing how little Fitz-Edward had deserved the warm friendship he had felt for him...
I'm intrigued by Smith's choice of a naval career for Godolphin, as far as I know a first in the English novel---and making Godolphin a forerunner of Austen's Captain Wentworth in Persuasion. However, Austen had specific personal reasons for her choice, since she had naval brothers and other relatives; I suspect that with Smith, it was merely an excuse to have Godolphin out of England for a protracted period. The army would have been the usual choice for a younger son but, as we've seen with Fitz-Edward, there wasn't much difficulty at this time getting leave.
As for Emmeline's immediate if more or less unconscious reaction to Godolphin, I suspect it has less to do with his obvious attractions than with the fact that of all the men she knows, he is the only one to listen to what she says and to do as she asks!---
"Surely I shall consider it as an honour to receive, and as happiness to obey, any command of Miss Mowbray's."
"Promise me then to observe the same silence in regard to your sister as I asked of you last night. Trust me with her safety, and believe it will not be neglected. But you must neither speak of her to others, or question me about her."
"Good God! from whence can arise the necessity for these precautions! What dreadful obscurity surrounds her! What am I to fear? What am I to suppose?"
"You will not, then,' said Emmeline, gravely---"you will not oblige me, by desisting from all questions 'till this trifling restraint can be taken off?"
"I will, I do promise to be guided wholly by you; and to bear, however difficult it may be, the suspense, the frightful suspense in which I must remain. Tell me, however, that Adelina is not in immediate danger. But, but" added he, as if recollecting himself, "may I not apply for information on that head to her physician?"
"Not for the world!' answered Emmeline, with unguarded quickness---"not for the world!"
"Not for the world!"---repeated Godolphin, with an accent of astonishment. "Heaven and earth! But I have promised to ask nothing---I must obey---and will now release you, Madam."
96souloftherose
>87 lyzard:, >88 lyzard: Thanks for those comments Liz, very helpful. I enjoyed discovering that Fitz-Edward was less of a rake than he originally seemed (or rather that he changed I suppose).
97lyzard
>96 souloftherose:
A genuine reformation is rare in this territory. We can see that Fitz-Edward's libertine habits extended to taking advantage of Adelina despite her social status and his connection to her family - and friendship with Godolphin - but the consequences of this particular affair have given him an immense shock that has made him take stock of himself.
Of course he doesn't suffer anywhere near as badly as Adelina, but that he suffers at all - and over an extended period - is unusual.
A genuine reformation is rare in this territory. We can see that Fitz-Edward's libertine habits extended to taking advantage of Adelina despite her social status and his connection to her family - and friendship with Godolphin - but the consequences of this particular affair have given him an immense shock that has made him take stock of himself.
Of course he doesn't suffer anywhere near as badly as Adelina, but that he suffers at all - and over an extended period - is unusual.
98lyzard
In Volume III, Chapter V and Chapter VI, Goldolphin learns the truth about Adelina's situation.
Smith's handling of this is fascinating. Like every other man of his time, Godolphin's first impulse is to challenge Fitz-Edward to a duel, even in the face of Mrs Stafford's contention that this would be a catastrophe for all concerned, unavoidably exposing Adelina's secret. It requires forcing upon Godolphin Adelina's already desperate condition and her evident terror that she will be the cause of such a duel to make him give up the idea---and indeed promise that he will not pursue his revenge; though he does insist upon a complete severance between Adelina and Fitz-Edward:
Emmeline laid the infant in the lap of Lady Adelina, who was yet unable to shed a tear. Godolphin beheld it with mingled horror and pity; but the latter sentiment seemed to predominate; and Emmeline, whose voice was calculated to go to the heart, began to try it's influence; and imploring him to be calm, and to promise his sister an eternal oblivion of the past, she urged every argument that should convince him of it's necessity, and every motive that could affect his reason or his compassion.
He gazed on her with reverence and admiration while she spoke, and seemed greatly affected by what she said. Animated by the hope of success, her eyes were lightened up with new brilliancy, and her glowing cheeks and expressive features became more than ever attractive. A convulsive laugh from Lady Adelina interrupted her, and drew the attention of Godolphin entirely to his sister. Emmeline, who saw her reason again forsaking her, took the sleeping baby from her lap. She had hardly done so, before, trying to rise from her chair, she shrieked aloud---for again the image of Fitz-Edward, dying by the hand of her brother, was before her.
"See!" cried she, "see! there he lies!---he is already expiring! yet William forgives him not! What? would you strike him again? now! while he is dying?---Go! cruel, cruel brother!" attempting to put Godolphin from her---"Go!---Oh! touch me not with those polluted hands, they are stained with human blood!" A convulsive shudder and a deep sigh seemed to exhaust all her remaining strength, and she fell back in her chair, pale and faint; and with fixed, unmeaning eyes, appeared no longer conscious even of the terrors which pursued her.
But the look of incurable anguish which her features wore; the wild import of her words; and the sight of the unfortunate child, who seemed born only to share her wretchedness; could not long be beheld unmoved by a heart like Godolphin's, which possessed all that tenderness that distinguishes the truly brave. Again he threw his arms round his sister, and sobbing, said---
"Hear me, Adelina---hear me and be tranquil! I will promise to be guided by your excellent friends---I will do nothing that shall give pain to them or to you!"
Moreover, he commits himself to keeping the secret, and to caring for both Adelina and the baby. Both of these things are effectively unparalleled in the literature of this time, which demanded that a "fallen woman" be sent into exile and, quite often, further punished by having her baby taken away from her. Smith makes her opinion of such treatment clear in the matter-of-fact way Godolphin does the opposite.
Godolphin's behaviour, particularly the fact that, having given his promise, he is able to control himself even under such extreme provocation, tacitly illustrates the distance between him and Delamere---of which we will get an even more dramatic illustration shortly...
Smith's handling of this is fascinating. Like every other man of his time, Godolphin's first impulse is to challenge Fitz-Edward to a duel, even in the face of Mrs Stafford's contention that this would be a catastrophe for all concerned, unavoidably exposing Adelina's secret. It requires forcing upon Godolphin Adelina's already desperate condition and her evident terror that she will be the cause of such a duel to make him give up the idea---and indeed promise that he will not pursue his revenge; though he does insist upon a complete severance between Adelina and Fitz-Edward:
Emmeline laid the infant in the lap of Lady Adelina, who was yet unable to shed a tear. Godolphin beheld it with mingled horror and pity; but the latter sentiment seemed to predominate; and Emmeline, whose voice was calculated to go to the heart, began to try it's influence; and imploring him to be calm, and to promise his sister an eternal oblivion of the past, she urged every argument that should convince him of it's necessity, and every motive that could affect his reason or his compassion.
He gazed on her with reverence and admiration while she spoke, and seemed greatly affected by what she said. Animated by the hope of success, her eyes were lightened up with new brilliancy, and her glowing cheeks and expressive features became more than ever attractive. A convulsive laugh from Lady Adelina interrupted her, and drew the attention of Godolphin entirely to his sister. Emmeline, who saw her reason again forsaking her, took the sleeping baby from her lap. She had hardly done so, before, trying to rise from her chair, she shrieked aloud---for again the image of Fitz-Edward, dying by the hand of her brother, was before her.
"See!" cried she, "see! there he lies!---he is already expiring! yet William forgives him not! What? would you strike him again? now! while he is dying?---Go! cruel, cruel brother!" attempting to put Godolphin from her---"Go!---Oh! touch me not with those polluted hands, they are stained with human blood!" A convulsive shudder and a deep sigh seemed to exhaust all her remaining strength, and she fell back in her chair, pale and faint; and with fixed, unmeaning eyes, appeared no longer conscious even of the terrors which pursued her.
But the look of incurable anguish which her features wore; the wild import of her words; and the sight of the unfortunate child, who seemed born only to share her wretchedness; could not long be beheld unmoved by a heart like Godolphin's, which possessed all that tenderness that distinguishes the truly brave. Again he threw his arms round his sister, and sobbing, said---
"Hear me, Adelina---hear me and be tranquil! I will promise to be guided by your excellent friends---I will do nothing that shall give pain to them or to you!"
Moreover, he commits himself to keeping the secret, and to caring for both Adelina and the baby. Both of these things are effectively unparalleled in the literature of this time, which demanded that a "fallen woman" be sent into exile and, quite often, further punished by having her baby taken away from her. Smith makes her opinion of such treatment clear in the matter-of-fact way Godolphin does the opposite.
Godolphin's behaviour, particularly the fact that, having given his promise, he is able to control himself even under such extreme provocation, tacitly illustrates the distance between him and Delamere---of which we will get an even more dramatic illustration shortly...
99lyzard
One more intriguing (and exasperating) detail in Volume III, Chapter VI:
As to the child, he asked if Mrs. Stafford would have the goodness to see that it was taken care of at some cottage in her neighbourhood, 'till he could adjust matters with the Trelawny family, and put an end to all those fears which might tempt them to enquire into it's birth; after which he said he would take it to his own house, and call it a son of his own; a precaution that would throw an obscurity over the truth which would hardly ever be removed, when none were particularly interested to remove it...
Because if a man turns up with an illegitimate child, who cares, right?
Smith offers no editorialisation around this point, but having this touch is so casually tossed in, when the entire novel is devoted to an illustration of Emmeline's situation as a result of her father's behaviour, is intriguing.
As to the child, he asked if Mrs. Stafford would have the goodness to see that it was taken care of at some cottage in her neighbourhood, 'till he could adjust matters with the Trelawny family, and put an end to all those fears which might tempt them to enquire into it's birth; after which he said he would take it to his own house, and call it a son of his own; a precaution that would throw an obscurity over the truth which would hardly ever be removed, when none were particularly interested to remove it...
Because if a man turns up with an illegitimate child, who cares, right?
Smith offers no editorialisation around this point, but having this touch is so casually tossed in, when the entire novel is devoted to an illustration of Emmeline's situation as a result of her father's behaviour, is intriguing.
100lyzard
Volume III, Chapter VI contains two more pivotal narrative touches.
In the first place, seeing that Godolphin is falling in love with Emmeline, Mrs Stafford undertakes the nasty but necessary task of letting him know that Emmeline is engaged to Delamere.
It is important here that we understand how seriously engagements were taken at the time, both socially and legally: effectively, an engaged person was considered married already. No gentleman of honour would approach an engaged woman. An engaged man, meanwhile, could break his engagement only under the most extreme of circumstances; and though judgement was a little less harsh on a woman who did so, she could seriously damage her reputation.
Furthermore, if the money settlements had been drawn up and signed when a woman changed her mind, the man was entitled to sue on the grounds that that money was legally his already.
So what Mrs Stafford tells Godolphin, in essence, is that he has no hope at all of Emmeline:
While Mrs Stafford was making this recital, she saw, by the variations of Godolphin's countenance, that she had too truly guessed the state of his heart. Expressive as his features were, it was not in his power to conceal what he felt in being convinced that he had irrecoverably fixed his affections on a woman who was the destined wife of another: and awaking from the soft visions which Hope had offered, to certain despondence, he found himself too cruelly hurt to be able to continue the conversation; and after a few faint efforts, which only betrayed his internal anguish, he hurried away.
Such, however, was the opinion Mrs Stafford conceived of his honour and his understanding, that she had no apprehension that he would attempt imparting to the heart of Emmeline any portion of that pain with which his own was penetrated; and she hoped that absence and reflection, together with the conviction of it's being hopeless, would conquer this infant passion before it could gather strength wholly to ruin his repose...
However---
...Mrs Stafford was unhappy, and Emmeline was not gay; nor were her spirits greatly heightened by finding that in spite of herself she thought as much of the brother as the sister, and with a degree of softness and complacency which could not be favourable to her happiness.
When she first discovered in Godolphin those admirable qualities of heart and understanding which he so eminently possessed, she asked herself whether she might indulge the admiration they excited without prejudice to him whom she considered as her husband? And she fancied that she might safely give him that esteem which his tenderness to his unhappy sister, the softness of his manners, the elegance of his mind, and the generosity of his heart, could hardly fail of extorting from the most indifferent observer.
But insensibly his idea obtruded itself more frequently on her imagination; and she determined to attempt to forget him, and no longer to allow any partiality to rob Delamere of that pure and sincere attachment with which he would expect her to meet him at the altar...
Yeah. Good luck with that.
This is EXTREMELY daring stuff on Smith's part. It doesn't matter that, as we know, Emmeline was never in love with Delamere, and never really wanted to marry him: her engagement means that she is obliged to think of him as her husband, and consequently to think of no other man.
At least that was the theory, and the social demand; but it didn't always work in practice, even with someone as morally upright and self-controlled as Emmeline.
That Smith manipulates her narrative to, in effect, have her heroine in love with one man while engaged to another, is unprecedented in the literature of this time, and would have been considered very shocking.
In the first place, seeing that Godolphin is falling in love with Emmeline, Mrs Stafford undertakes the nasty but necessary task of letting him know that Emmeline is engaged to Delamere.
It is important here that we understand how seriously engagements were taken at the time, both socially and legally: effectively, an engaged person was considered married already. No gentleman of honour would approach an engaged woman. An engaged man, meanwhile, could break his engagement only under the most extreme of circumstances; and though judgement was a little less harsh on a woman who did so, she could seriously damage her reputation.
Furthermore, if the money settlements had been drawn up and signed when a woman changed her mind, the man was entitled to sue on the grounds that that money was legally his already.
So what Mrs Stafford tells Godolphin, in essence, is that he has no hope at all of Emmeline:
While Mrs Stafford was making this recital, she saw, by the variations of Godolphin's countenance, that she had too truly guessed the state of his heart. Expressive as his features were, it was not in his power to conceal what he felt in being convinced that he had irrecoverably fixed his affections on a woman who was the destined wife of another: and awaking from the soft visions which Hope had offered, to certain despondence, he found himself too cruelly hurt to be able to continue the conversation; and after a few faint efforts, which only betrayed his internal anguish, he hurried away.
Such, however, was the opinion Mrs Stafford conceived of his honour and his understanding, that she had no apprehension that he would attempt imparting to the heart of Emmeline any portion of that pain with which his own was penetrated; and she hoped that absence and reflection, together with the conviction of it's being hopeless, would conquer this infant passion before it could gather strength wholly to ruin his repose...
However---
...Mrs Stafford was unhappy, and Emmeline was not gay; nor were her spirits greatly heightened by finding that in spite of herself she thought as much of the brother as the sister, and with a degree of softness and complacency which could not be favourable to her happiness.
When she first discovered in Godolphin those admirable qualities of heart and understanding which he so eminently possessed, she asked herself whether she might indulge the admiration they excited without prejudice to him whom she considered as her husband? And she fancied that she might safely give him that esteem which his tenderness to his unhappy sister, the softness of his manners, the elegance of his mind, and the generosity of his heart, could hardly fail of extorting from the most indifferent observer.
But insensibly his idea obtruded itself more frequently on her imagination; and she determined to attempt to forget him, and no longer to allow any partiality to rob Delamere of that pure and sincere attachment with which he would expect her to meet him at the altar...
Yeah. Good luck with that.
This is EXTREMELY daring stuff on Smith's part. It doesn't matter that, as we know, Emmeline was never in love with Delamere, and never really wanted to marry him: her engagement means that she is obliged to think of him as her husband, and consequently to think of no other man.
At least that was the theory, and the social demand; but it didn't always work in practice, even with someone as morally upright and self-controlled as Emmeline.
That Smith manipulates her narrative to, in effect, have her heroine in love with one man while engaged to another, is unprecedented in the literature of this time, and would have been considered very shocking.
101lyzard
Meanwhile, partly out of spite, but mostly to be of service to Lord and Lady Montreville (and consequently themselves), the Crofts have carried out a double, partly anonymous attack upon Emmeline---which results in this:
Volume III, Chapter VII:
There was hardly time for Emmeline to feel surprise at this bustle, before the door opened, and Delamere stood before her! In his countenance was an expression compounded of rage, fierceness and despair, which extorted from Emmeline an involuntary shriek! Unable to arise, she remained motionless in her chair, clasping the baby to her bosom: Delamere seemed trying to stifle his anger in contempt; vengeance, disdain, and pride, were struggling for superiority: while with his eyes sternly turned upon Emmeline, and smiling indignantly, he exclaimed---"Till I saw this---" inarticulately and tremulously he spoke--- "till I saw this, all the evidence they brought me was insufficient to cure my blind attachment. But now---oh! infamy---madness---damnation! It is then possible---It is then true! But what is it to me? Torn---torn for ever from this outraged heart---never, never shall this sight blast me again!---But what?" continued he, speaking with more quickness, "what? for Fitz-Edward! for the infamous plunderer of his friend's happiness! However, Madam, on you I intrude no longer. Oh! lost---lost---wretched!"---He could not go on; but in the speechless agony of contending passions he leaned his head against the frame of the door near which he stood, and gazed wildly on Emmeline; who, pale as death, and trembling like a leaf, still sat before him unable to recall her scattered spirits.
He waited a moment, gasping for breath, and as if he had still some feeble expectation of hearing her speak. But the child which she held in her arms was like a basilisk to his sight, and made in his opinion all vindication impossible. Again conviction appeared to drive him to desperation; and looking in a frantic manner round the room, as if entirely bereft of reason, he dashed his hands furiously against his head, and running, or rather flying out of the house, he immediately disappeared...
Of course from one point of view, nothing could be better for Emmeline; but as she soon realises it isn't that simple: Delamere still holds her written promise---and therefore, though he is no longer engaged to her, she is still engaged to him; at least, he has the power to decide whether she is or not.
This anomalous situation sets the central characters at cross-purposes, and holds them there while the rest of the plot plays out, chiefly in Europe.
Volume III, Chapter VII:
There was hardly time for Emmeline to feel surprise at this bustle, before the door opened, and Delamere stood before her! In his countenance was an expression compounded of rage, fierceness and despair, which extorted from Emmeline an involuntary shriek! Unable to arise, she remained motionless in her chair, clasping the baby to her bosom: Delamere seemed trying to stifle his anger in contempt; vengeance, disdain, and pride, were struggling for superiority: while with his eyes sternly turned upon Emmeline, and smiling indignantly, he exclaimed---"Till I saw this---" inarticulately and tremulously he spoke--- "till I saw this, all the evidence they brought me was insufficient to cure my blind attachment. But now---oh! infamy---madness---damnation! It is then possible---It is then true! But what is it to me? Torn---torn for ever from this outraged heart---never, never shall this sight blast me again!---But what?" continued he, speaking with more quickness, "what? for Fitz-Edward! for the infamous plunderer of his friend's happiness! However, Madam, on you I intrude no longer. Oh! lost---lost---wretched!"---He could not go on; but in the speechless agony of contending passions he leaned his head against the frame of the door near which he stood, and gazed wildly on Emmeline; who, pale as death, and trembling like a leaf, still sat before him unable to recall her scattered spirits.
He waited a moment, gasping for breath, and as if he had still some feeble expectation of hearing her speak. But the child which she held in her arms was like a basilisk to his sight, and made in his opinion all vindication impossible. Again conviction appeared to drive him to desperation; and looking in a frantic manner round the room, as if entirely bereft of reason, he dashed his hands furiously against his head, and running, or rather flying out of the house, he immediately disappeared...
Of course from one point of view, nothing could be better for Emmeline; but as she soon realises it isn't that simple: Delamere still holds her written promise---and therefore, though he is no longer engaged to her, she is still engaged to him; at least, he has the power to decide whether she is or not.
This anomalous situation sets the central characters at cross-purposes, and holds them there while the rest of the plot plays out, chiefly in Europe.
102NinieB
>100 lyzard: I found myself thinking of the revisions in Belinda. Edgeworth changed the plot so that Belinda's first and true love was the man she ultimately married. Here, Smith seemed to be repeatedly emphasizing Emmeline's lack of love. Perhaps to avoid the same problem?
...just edited in case I'm spoiling . . .
...just edited in case I'm spoiling . . .
103lyzard
>102 NinieB:
That probably is a bit spoilery at this stage. A very good point, though, and one I'll come back to a bit later. :)
That probably is a bit spoilery at this stage. A very good point, though, and one I'll come back to a bit later. :)
106lyzard
The confrontation between Emmeline and Delamere in Volume III, Chapter VII sets the plot in motion again (literally), eventually sending Emmeline to France with Mrs Stafford just as the Montreville family resettles in England, and Delamere starts lurking around Ireland in the hope of killing (or being killed by) Fitz-Edward.
First, however, the ladies help to transport Adelina and the baby to the Isle of Wight, where Godolphin has a house, and where Adelina's secret can be more easily concealed.
We spoke at the outset of Smith's challenging attitude to the treatment of the illegitimate; that gets reiterated here, in Volume III, Chapter IX:
...Godolphin followed her with the little boy in his arms. In contemplating the beauty of his nephew, he had forgotten the misery of which his birth had been the occasion; for with all the humanity of a brave man, Godolphin possessed a softness of heart, which the helpless innocence of the son, and the repentant sorrow of the mother, melted into more than feminine tenderness. He carried the child to his sister, and put it into her arms---
"Take him, my Adelina!" said he---"take our dear boy..."
It's hard to convey how revolutionary this stuff is. Scenes like this were not supposed to happen.
Meanwhile, Emmeline is put in a difficult spot by Adelina's questions about Delamere and their engagement. Smith takes the opportunity also to reiterate one of her main themes:
"An affair of that sort," replied Emmeline, assuming as much unconcern as she could, "is always doubtful where so many clashing interests and opposite wishes are to be reconciled, and where so very young a man as Mr Delamere is to decide."
"Do you suspect that he wavers then?" very earnestly asked Lady Adelina, fixing her eyes on the blushing face of Emmeline.
"I really am not sure," answered she---"you know my promise, reluctantly given, was only conditional. I am far from being anxious to anticipate by firmer engagements the certainty of it's being fulfilled; much better contented I should be, if he yet took a few years longer to consider of it. You, Lady Adelina," continued she, smiling, "are surely no advocate for early marriages; and Mrs Stafford is greatly averse to them. You must therefore suppose that what my two friends have found inimical to their happiness, I cannot consider as being likely to constitute mine."
First, however, the ladies help to transport Adelina and the baby to the Isle of Wight, where Godolphin has a house, and where Adelina's secret can be more easily concealed.
We spoke at the outset of Smith's challenging attitude to the treatment of the illegitimate; that gets reiterated here, in Volume III, Chapter IX:
...Godolphin followed her with the little boy in his arms. In contemplating the beauty of his nephew, he had forgotten the misery of which his birth had been the occasion; for with all the humanity of a brave man, Godolphin possessed a softness of heart, which the helpless innocence of the son, and the repentant sorrow of the mother, melted into more than feminine tenderness. He carried the child to his sister, and put it into her arms---
"Take him, my Adelina!" said he---"take our dear boy..."
It's hard to convey how revolutionary this stuff is. Scenes like this were not supposed to happen.
Meanwhile, Emmeline is put in a difficult spot by Adelina's questions about Delamere and their engagement. Smith takes the opportunity also to reiterate one of her main themes:
"An affair of that sort," replied Emmeline, assuming as much unconcern as she could, "is always doubtful where so many clashing interests and opposite wishes are to be reconciled, and where so very young a man as Mr Delamere is to decide."
"Do you suspect that he wavers then?" very earnestly asked Lady Adelina, fixing her eyes on the blushing face of Emmeline.
"I really am not sure," answered she---"you know my promise, reluctantly given, was only conditional. I am far from being anxious to anticipate by firmer engagements the certainty of it's being fulfilled; much better contented I should be, if he yet took a few years longer to consider of it. You, Lady Adelina," continued she, smiling, "are surely no advocate for early marriages; and Mrs Stafford is greatly averse to them. You must therefore suppose that what my two friends have found inimical to their happiness, I cannot consider as being likely to constitute mine."
107lyzard
As I said up above, I think the main impetus for Godolphin's naval career was merely to get him out of England wile Adelina's marriage and its consequences were unfolding. Still, the way Smith has him speak of it in Volume III, Chapter X suggests that she had some deeper intentions.
One of the most interesting things to me about 19th century literature is watching, over the course of it, the social attitude towards work undergo a complete revolution: from "no gentleman should soil his hands" to "all men should do something useful".
Prior to this (as Godolphin acknowledges here) only younger sons worked, and only in a stiflingly limited number of professions: the army, the church, or the law. (The navy makes an interesting variant: it was not generally considered "gentlemanly" at the time, that came a bit later thanks to Horatio Nelson.)
This is one of the earliest passages I have seen, to argue for the virtues of work outside its simple financial necessity; and also that someone might work for the pleasure of it:
The gust grew more vehement, and deafened her with it's fury; while the mountainous waves it had raised, burst thundering against the rocks and seemed to shake their very foundation. Emmeline, at the picture her imagination drew of their united powers of desolation, shuddered involuntarily and sighed.
"What disturbs Miss Mowbray?" said Godolphin.
Emmeline, unwilling to acknowledge that she had been so extremely absent as not to know he was in the room, answered, without expressing her surprise to see him there---"I was thinking how fatal this storm which we are contemplating, may be to the fortunes and probably the lives of thousands."
"The gale," returned Godolphin, "is heavy, but by no means of such fatal power as you apprehend. I have been at sea in several infinitely more violent, and shall probably be in many others."
"I hope not," answered Emmeline, without knowing what she said---"Surely you do not mean it?"
"A professional man," said he, smiling, and flattered by the eagerness with which she spoke, "has, you know, no will of his own. I certainly should not seek danger; but it is not possible in such service as ours to avoid it."
"Why then do you not quit it?"
"If I intended to give you a high idea of my prudence, I should say, because I am a younger brother. But to speak honestly, that is not my only motive; my fortune, limited as it is, is enough for all my wishes, and will probably suffice for any I shall now ever form; but a man of my age ought not surely to waste in torpid idleness, or trifling dissipation, time that may be usefully employed. Besides, I love the profession to which I have been brought up..."
One of the most interesting things to me about 19th century literature is watching, over the course of it, the social attitude towards work undergo a complete revolution: from "no gentleman should soil his hands" to "all men should do something useful".
Prior to this (as Godolphin acknowledges here) only younger sons worked, and only in a stiflingly limited number of professions: the army, the church, or the law. (The navy makes an interesting variant: it was not generally considered "gentlemanly" at the time, that came a bit later thanks to Horatio Nelson.)
This is one of the earliest passages I have seen, to argue for the virtues of work outside its simple financial necessity; and also that someone might work for the pleasure of it:
The gust grew more vehement, and deafened her with it's fury; while the mountainous waves it had raised, burst thundering against the rocks and seemed to shake their very foundation. Emmeline, at the picture her imagination drew of their united powers of desolation, shuddered involuntarily and sighed.
"What disturbs Miss Mowbray?" said Godolphin.
Emmeline, unwilling to acknowledge that she had been so extremely absent as not to know he was in the room, answered, without expressing her surprise to see him there---"I was thinking how fatal this storm which we are contemplating, may be to the fortunes and probably the lives of thousands."
"The gale," returned Godolphin, "is heavy, but by no means of such fatal power as you apprehend. I have been at sea in several infinitely more violent, and shall probably be in many others."
"I hope not," answered Emmeline, without knowing what she said---"Surely you do not mean it?"
"A professional man," said he, smiling, and flattered by the eagerness with which she spoke, "has, you know, no will of his own. I certainly should not seek danger; but it is not possible in such service as ours to avoid it."
"Why then do you not quit it?"
"If I intended to give you a high idea of my prudence, I should say, because I am a younger brother. But to speak honestly, that is not my only motive; my fortune, limited as it is, is enough for all my wishes, and will probably suffice for any I shall now ever form; but a man of my age ought not surely to waste in torpid idleness, or trifling dissipation, time that may be usefully employed. Besides, I love the profession to which I have been brought up..."
108cbl_tn
>107 lyzard: And this is why I loved Godolphin! I think everyone else would have been better off if they had useful employment. But then the novel would have been very short.
109lyzard
:D
Well, that was just the way of the world at the time, but I don't think there's much doubt Smith was of the opinion that more working men (and fewer idle, drinking, gambling men) would be a good thing.
Well, that was just the way of the world at the time, but I don't think there's much doubt Smith was of the opinion that more working men (and fewer idle, drinking, gambling men) would be a good thing.
110souloftherose
>99 lyzard: Am I right in thinking there would be slightly less stigma attached to the child as a male child too?
>100 lyzard: Appreciating your comments on how unusual this book is on these points - I can sort of pick up that this is a less common approach when reading but not the extent of how controversial this would be.
>100 lyzard: Appreciating your comments on how unusual this book is on these points - I can sort of pick up that this is a less common approach when reading but not the extent of how controversial this would be.
111lyzard
>110 souloftherose:
Yes and no. As a man he will be less dependent upon what his connections choose to do for him and more able to find his own place in the world. He is still vulnerable as a child, though, and as an adult his prospects in terms of "a good marriage" and/or any inheritance will be poor to limited.
(Although in novels at least, maybe also in reality, there are often instances of guilty unknown fathers leaving a bequest in their wills, much to the horror of their "real" children.)
Yes, that's the importance of this book (and Smith's novels generally). She was pretty radical in her ideas and less afraid of pursuing them in print than most female authors of the time. It was a daring approach given that she was writing for money first, but she obviously struck a chord.
Yes and no. As a man he will be less dependent upon what his connections choose to do for him and more able to find his own place in the world. He is still vulnerable as a child, though, and as an adult his prospects in terms of "a good marriage" and/or any inheritance will be poor to limited.
(Although in novels at least, maybe also in reality, there are often instances of guilty unknown fathers leaving a bequest in their wills, much to the horror of their "real" children.)
Yes, that's the importance of this book (and Smith's novels generally). She was pretty radical in her ideas and less afraid of pursuing them in print than most female authors of the time. It was a daring approach given that she was writing for money first, but she obviously struck a chord.
112lyzard
A couple of minor but interesting side issues (one of which I think is ultimately Smith playing games with literary conventions, but I'll come back to that later):
Lady Montreville's pride and snobbery have seen her nag her husband into applying to have an extinct title from her own family revived. This could be done by petition to Parliament, and was often done if a title had died out in a family due a lack of male heirs.
As a result, in Volume III, Chapter XI, Lord Montreville - who was previously a viscount - is "promoted" to become the Marquis of Montreville: a marquis was the second-highest level of the nobility.
This promotion works its way down the family: Delamere inherits his father's now-secondary title of viscount, and becomes Lord Delamere.
The change means nothing to Augusta, as she is already Countess of Westhaven, but it transforms her sister from merely "Mrs Crofts" into "Lady Frances Crofts".
With the latter, we find Smith making another point about the marriage conditions of the time, in this throwaway remark about Frances' secret marriage to Crofts:
Volume III, Chapter XII
Mr Crofts, who had received twelve thousand pounds with his wife, (whose clandestine marriage had prevented it's being secured in settlement,) used it, as his father directed, in gaming in the stocks, with equal avidity and equal success...
Marriage at the time, amongst the upper classes, could be a rather sordid, money-focused business; but there was at least some protection of the wife built into the manoeuvring. Here Smith quietly reminds us that because Frances has been silly enough to agree to a secret marriage - that is, a marriage without settlements - her fortune has gone directly to her husband, leaving her with no independent support or provision.
Lady Montreville's pride and snobbery have seen her nag her husband into applying to have an extinct title from her own family revived. This could be done by petition to Parliament, and was often done if a title had died out in a family due a lack of male heirs.
As a result, in Volume III, Chapter XI, Lord Montreville - who was previously a viscount - is "promoted" to become the Marquis of Montreville: a marquis was the second-highest level of the nobility.
This promotion works its way down the family: Delamere inherits his father's now-secondary title of viscount, and becomes Lord Delamere.
The change means nothing to Augusta, as she is already Countess of Westhaven, but it transforms her sister from merely "Mrs Crofts" into "Lady Frances Crofts".
With the latter, we find Smith making another point about the marriage conditions of the time, in this throwaway remark about Frances' secret marriage to Crofts:
Volume III, Chapter XII
Mr Crofts, who had received twelve thousand pounds with his wife, (whose clandestine marriage had prevented it's being secured in settlement,) used it, as his father directed, in gaming in the stocks, with equal avidity and equal success...
Marriage at the time, amongst the upper classes, could be a rather sordid, money-focused business; but there was at least some protection of the wife built into the manoeuvring. Here Smith quietly reminds us that because Frances has been silly enough to agree to a secret marriage - that is, a marriage without settlements - her fortune has gone directly to her husband, leaving her with no independent support or provision.
113lyzard
From this point forward in the novel, we get perhaps more geographical movement than plot.
This speaks to Carrie's complaint in >76 cbl_tn: and >79 cbl_tn: that the book is more or less "spinning its wheels" in its latter stages, which I think is a reasonable criticism.
It's also something not uncommonly the case in books of this time, since publishers tended to demand four volumes whether or not the plot could sustain them. It very often happens that, late in a novel, a whole new subplot will suddenly emerge in order to fill out the necessary pages. Smith doesn't do that here, but she certainly could have wrapped things up more efficiently if she had been writing to suit herself.
I think, too, that this reflects the fact that it was a first novel, that perhaps Smith was struggling to control her material in the final phase of the book.
This speaks to Carrie's complaint in >76 cbl_tn: and >79 cbl_tn: that the book is more or less "spinning its wheels" in its latter stages, which I think is a reasonable criticism.
It's also something not uncommonly the case in books of this time, since publishers tended to demand four volumes whether or not the plot could sustain them. It very often happens that, late in a novel, a whole new subplot will suddenly emerge in order to fill out the necessary pages. Smith doesn't do that here, but she certainly could have wrapped things up more efficiently if she had been writing to suit herself.
I think, too, that this reflects the fact that it was a first novel, that perhaps Smith was struggling to control her material in the final phase of the book.
114lyzard
Anyhoo---
Adelina has recovered sufficiently to start worrying about her brother, and persuades him to do some travelling of his own. Godolphin has to refuse the Westhavens' invitations, both to avoid Emmeline and for fear of Adelina's secret coming out, and instead travels to Ireland to stay with the Clancarryls (Lady Clancarryl is the elder Godolphin sister).
Here he also finds, of all people, Delamere---still skulking around in the hope of confronting Fitz-Edward:
Volume III, Chapter XII
He seemed, however, to seek a closer intimacy with Godolphin, whose excellent character he had often heard, and whose appearance and conversation confirmed all that had been reported in his favour. Godolphin neither courted him or evaded his advances; but could not help looking with astonishment on a man, who on the point of being the husband of the most lovely woman on earth, could saunter in a country where he appeared to have neither attachments or satisfaction....
But this already awkward encounter takes a nasty turn when Delamere confides his situation to Godolphin---who can only restore Emmeline's reputation by revealing Adelina's secret, and who knows too that doing so will heal the breach between Emmeline and Delamere (from the latter's point of view, at least):
But tho' in relinquishing these delightful visions he relinquished all that gave a value to life, so truly did he love and revere her, that to have the spotless purity of her name sullied even by a doubt seemed an insupportable injustice to himself; and his affection was of a nature too noble to owe it's success to a misrepresentation injurious to it's object. That the compassion which had saved his sister, should be the cause of her having suffered from the malicious malice of the Crofts' and the rash jealousy of Delamere, redoubled all his concern; and he was so much agitated and hurt, that without farther consideration he was on the point of relating the truth instantly, had not the entry of Lord Clancarryl for that time put an end to their discourse: from this resolution, formed in the integrity of his upright heart, nothing could long divert him; yet he reflected, as soon as he was alone, on the violent and ungovernable passions which seemed to render Delamere, unguided by reason and incapable of hearing it. He was apprehensive that the discovery, if made to him at Lough Carryl, might influence him to say or do something that might discover to Lady Clancarryl the unhappy story of her sister...
Godolphin therefore puts off his explanation, which becomes more delayed as he is unable to have an immediate meeting with Delamere...
Adelina has recovered sufficiently to start worrying about her brother, and persuades him to do some travelling of his own. Godolphin has to refuse the Westhavens' invitations, both to avoid Emmeline and for fear of Adelina's secret coming out, and instead travels to Ireland to stay with the Clancarryls (Lady Clancarryl is the elder Godolphin sister).
Here he also finds, of all people, Delamere---still skulking around in the hope of confronting Fitz-Edward:
Volume III, Chapter XII
He seemed, however, to seek a closer intimacy with Godolphin, whose excellent character he had often heard, and whose appearance and conversation confirmed all that had been reported in his favour. Godolphin neither courted him or evaded his advances; but could not help looking with astonishment on a man, who on the point of being the husband of the most lovely woman on earth, could saunter in a country where he appeared to have neither attachments or satisfaction....
But this already awkward encounter takes a nasty turn when Delamere confides his situation to Godolphin---who can only restore Emmeline's reputation by revealing Adelina's secret, and who knows too that doing so will heal the breach between Emmeline and Delamere (from the latter's point of view, at least):
But tho' in relinquishing these delightful visions he relinquished all that gave a value to life, so truly did he love and revere her, that to have the spotless purity of her name sullied even by a doubt seemed an insupportable injustice to himself; and his affection was of a nature too noble to owe it's success to a misrepresentation injurious to it's object. That the compassion which had saved his sister, should be the cause of her having suffered from the malicious malice of the Crofts' and the rash jealousy of Delamere, redoubled all his concern; and he was so much agitated and hurt, that without farther consideration he was on the point of relating the truth instantly, had not the entry of Lord Clancarryl for that time put an end to their discourse: from this resolution, formed in the integrity of his upright heart, nothing could long divert him; yet he reflected, as soon as he was alone, on the violent and ungovernable passions which seemed to render Delamere, unguided by reason and incapable of hearing it. He was apprehensive that the discovery, if made to him at Lough Carryl, might influence him to say or do something that might discover to Lady Clancarryl the unhappy story of her sister...
Godolphin therefore puts off his explanation, which becomes more delayed as he is unable to have an immediate meeting with Delamere...
115lyzard
Emmeline, meanwhile, having travelled to France with Mrs Stafford in the first place, has by now acquired something she is in desperate need of: a disinterested male protector, in the shape of Lord Westhaven.
Emmeline accompanies the Westhavens into Switzerland where - in the book's only really outrageous coincidence* - the party discovers and succours the destitute Baptiste La Fere, aka "Le Limosen", who turns out to have been the servant of Emmeline's father...
(*Of course at the time this was not considered "an outrageous coincidence" at all, but "an act of Providence"! :D )
Smith juggles her subplots here for maximum irony. It is only at this point that Emmeline is able to finish reading the old letters that she started reading all the way back in Volume I, Chapter V: at that time, the first couple "filled her heart with the most painful sensations and her eyes with tears", and she does not persist. We finally find out why here, in Volume IV, Chapter I
They were from her grandmother, Mrs Mowbray, to her father; and were filled with reproaches so warm and severe, and such pointed censures of his conduct in regard to Miss Stavordale, her mother, to whom one letter yet more bitter was addressed, that after reading three of them, Emmeline believed that the further inspection of the casket was likely to produce for her only unavailing regret...
But as it turns out---
After having read which, Emmeline imagined she had seen all the box contained, a few loosely folded papers only remaining; but on opening one of these, what was her astonishment to find in it two certificates of her mother's marriage; one under the hand of a Catholic priest, by whom she had been married immediately on their arrival at Dunkirk; the other signed a few days before the birth of Emmeline by an English clergyman, who had again performed the ceremony in the chapel of the English Ambassador at Paris...
In some ways it is disappointing that Smith reneges on her illegitimacy subplot, however we do see that she manages to have her cake and eat it too: all those people who disregarded Emmeline's status and only cared for her are rewarded, whereas those who shunned and rejected her are fittingly punished.
(And of course, the overarching point of this material is maintained via Adelina's subplot, where there is no doubt about her and her child's situation.)
But this revelation isn't just about Emmeline's birth: the papers also reveal that she is her father's heiress---and is consequently owed both an estate and nineteen years' back-income by Lord Montreville, who has been so busy preventing her marriage to his son...
I find it extra amusing that Smith so prosaically translates this situation into cold hard cash... :D
Emmeline accompanies the Westhavens into Switzerland where - in the book's only really outrageous coincidence* - the party discovers and succours the destitute Baptiste La Fere, aka "Le Limosen", who turns out to have been the servant of Emmeline's father...
(*Of course at the time this was not considered "an outrageous coincidence" at all, but "an act of Providence"! :D )
Smith juggles her subplots here for maximum irony. It is only at this point that Emmeline is able to finish reading the old letters that she started reading all the way back in Volume I, Chapter V: at that time, the first couple "filled her heart with the most painful sensations and her eyes with tears", and she does not persist. We finally find out why here, in Volume IV, Chapter I
They were from her grandmother, Mrs Mowbray, to her father; and were filled with reproaches so warm and severe, and such pointed censures of his conduct in regard to Miss Stavordale, her mother, to whom one letter yet more bitter was addressed, that after reading three of them, Emmeline believed that the further inspection of the casket was likely to produce for her only unavailing regret...
But as it turns out---
After having read which, Emmeline imagined she had seen all the box contained, a few loosely folded papers only remaining; but on opening one of these, what was her astonishment to find in it two certificates of her mother's marriage; one under the hand of a Catholic priest, by whom she had been married immediately on their arrival at Dunkirk; the other signed a few days before the birth of Emmeline by an English clergyman, who had again performed the ceremony in the chapel of the English Ambassador at Paris...
In some ways it is disappointing that Smith reneges on her illegitimacy subplot, however we do see that she manages to have her cake and eat it too: all those people who disregarded Emmeline's status and only cared for her are rewarded, whereas those who shunned and rejected her are fittingly punished.
(And of course, the overarching point of this material is maintained via Adelina's subplot, where there is no doubt about her and her child's situation.)
But this revelation isn't just about Emmeline's birth: the papers also reveal that she is her father's heiress---and is consequently owed both an estate and nineteen years' back-income by Lord Montreville, who has been so busy preventing her marriage to his son...
I find it extra amusing that Smith so prosaically translates this situation into cold hard cash... :D
116lyzard
And as her crowning irony, Smith has these astonishing discoveries immediately precede the arrival of a letter from Lord Montreville himself:
Volume IV, Chapter III
Emmeline now saw by the seal and the address that the second letter was from Lord Montreville. It appeared to have been written in great haste; and as she unfolded it, infinite was her amazement to find, instead of a remittance, which about this time she expected, the promise she had given Delamere, torn in two pieces and put into a blank paper.
The astonishment and agitation she felt at this sight, hardly left her power to read the letter which she held.
"Berkley-Square, May 5, 17—
"Dear Miss Mowbray,
"My son, Lord Delamere, convinced at length of the impropriety of a marriage so unwelcome to his family, allows me to release you from the promise which he obtained. I do myself the pleasure to enclose it, and shall be glad to hear you receive it safe by an early post. My Lord Delamere assures me that you hold no promise of the like nature from him. If he is in this matter forgetful, I doubt not but that you will return it on receipt of this.
"Maddox informs me that he shall in a few days forward to you the payment due: to which I beg leave to add, that if you have occasion for fifty or an hundred pounds more, during your stay on the continent, you may draw on Maddox to that amount. With sincere wishes for your health and happiness, I am, dear Miss Mowbray, your obedient and faithful humble servant,
"Montreville."
:D
But what is remarkable here is that Smith doesn't have Emmeline even pretend to be sorry; on the contrary:
Tho' joy was, in the heart of Emmeline, the predominant emotion, she yet felt some degree of pique and resentment involuntarily arise against Lord Montreville and his son; and tho' the renunciation of the latter was what she had secretly wished ever since she had discovered the capricious violence of Delamere and the merit of Godolphin, the cold and barely civil stile in which his father had acquainted her with it, seemed at once to shock, mortify, and relieve her...
In most novels of this time, you'd probably get a lot of maidenly, false-modesty fluttering about all this, and doubts over "propriety" and whether she is really free, inasmuch as her release rests upon several enormous misapprehensions; but Smith has Emmeline seize her freedom with both hands and cling to it like a life-raft.
AND---she allows her immediately to think of her freedom in terms of Godolphin.
This lack of false sentiment is, in context, quite astonishing.
Volume IV, Chapter III
Emmeline now saw by the seal and the address that the second letter was from Lord Montreville. It appeared to have been written in great haste; and as she unfolded it, infinite was her amazement to find, instead of a remittance, which about this time she expected, the promise she had given Delamere, torn in two pieces and put into a blank paper.
The astonishment and agitation she felt at this sight, hardly left her power to read the letter which she held.
"Berkley-Square, May 5, 17—
"Dear Miss Mowbray,
"My son, Lord Delamere, convinced at length of the impropriety of a marriage so unwelcome to his family, allows me to release you from the promise which he obtained. I do myself the pleasure to enclose it, and shall be glad to hear you receive it safe by an early post. My Lord Delamere assures me that you hold no promise of the like nature from him. If he is in this matter forgetful, I doubt not but that you will return it on receipt of this.
"Maddox informs me that he shall in a few days forward to you the payment due: to which I beg leave to add, that if you have occasion for fifty or an hundred pounds more, during your stay on the continent, you may draw on Maddox to that amount. With sincere wishes for your health and happiness, I am, dear Miss Mowbray, your obedient and faithful humble servant,
"Montreville."
:D
But what is remarkable here is that Smith doesn't have Emmeline even pretend to be sorry; on the contrary:
Tho' joy was, in the heart of Emmeline, the predominant emotion, she yet felt some degree of pique and resentment involuntarily arise against Lord Montreville and his son; and tho' the renunciation of the latter was what she had secretly wished ever since she had discovered the capricious violence of Delamere and the merit of Godolphin, the cold and barely civil stile in which his father had acquainted her with it, seemed at once to shock, mortify, and relieve her...
In most novels of this time, you'd probably get a lot of maidenly, false-modesty fluttering about all this, and doubts over "propriety" and whether she is really free, inasmuch as her release rests upon several enormous misapprehensions; but Smith has Emmeline seize her freedom with both hands and cling to it like a life-raft.
AND---she allows her immediately to think of her freedom in terms of Godolphin.
This lack of false sentiment is, in context, quite astonishing.
117kac522
>115 lyzard: I have to say that after that "outrageous coincidence", I had a hard time taking the plot seriously. It happens all the time in Dickens, for example, but perhaps not quite so blatantly (or maybe he was just better at maneuvering these coincidences into the plot).
Something else I noticed, which I hope you can find for me: I have tried to find the passage, which I think is around this time, concerning Mrs. Stafford. She bitterly complains that she is not taken seriously in any business affairs, when she attempts to straighten out her husband's financial and legal problems.
I found that very bold for Mrs Smith to lay out so plainly the discrimination against women in business, money and legal affairs, and I wonder if Smith herself faced the same problems when trying to sort out her own spouse's issues.
Something else I noticed, which I hope you can find for me: I have tried to find the passage, which I think is around this time, concerning Mrs. Stafford. She bitterly complains that she is not taken seriously in any business affairs, when she attempts to straighten out her husband's financial and legal problems.
I found that very bold for Mrs Smith to lay out so plainly the discrimination against women in business, money and legal affairs, and I wonder if Smith herself faced the same problems when trying to sort out her own spouse's issues.
118lyzard
>117 kac522:
Not going to give you much of an argument about that. It really stands out here because Smith has spent so much time bucking the conventions of the contemporary novel, and then suddenly plays along this once. However there are novels from this time that do nothing but string coincidence after coincidence together (such books are part of what Jane Austen was mocking in Love And Freindship), so in comparison it's a mild transgression. :)
And as I say, all of this is always put in terms of "the inscrutable ways of Providence" (so that anyone objecting is being irreligious!). Smith, rather, puts it in terms of the rewards of proper Christian charity and compassion: they help the destitute and promptly get rewarded.
The Stafford subplot is heavily autobiographical, and most of what Mrs Stafford goes through here is what Smith went through in real life---in fact she had it worse, because her husband was jailed for debt, and she spent time in the debtors' prison with him. She also repeatedly paid his debts and arranged to get him out of England when she couldn't do it any more.
Her complaints about the treatment she had met with were from personal experience and therefore perfectly justified, though as I said at the beginning, her frankness about her husband's situation didn't do her any favours with the critics, who thought she shouldn't be exposing his failures that way.
You may have been thinking of various passages in Volume III, Chapter XVIII, where Mrs Stafford is brushed aside by Lord Montreville and then treated harshly by Sir Richard Crofts:
She felt humbled and mortified at the cruel necessity that compelled her to it; but her children's interest conquering her reluctance, she addressed a letter to Lord Montreville, and received a very polite answer, in which he desired the honour of seeing her at two o'clock the following day; an hour, when he said he should be entirely disengaged. She might as well, however, have attended at his levee; for tho' punctual to the hour when he was to be disengaged, she found two rooms adjoining to that where his Lordship was, occupied by a variety of figures; some of whose faces, were faces of negociation and equality, but more, whose expression of fearful suspence marked them for those of petitioners and dependants. Those of the former description were separately called to an audience; and each, after a longer or shorter stay, retired; while Mrs Stafford, tho' with an heart but ill at ease for observation, could not help fancying she discerned in their looks the success of their respective treaties.
As soon as these gentlemen were all departed, Mrs Stafford, who had already waited almost three hours, was introduced into the study...
Not going to give you much of an argument about that. It really stands out here because Smith has spent so much time bucking the conventions of the contemporary novel, and then suddenly plays along this once. However there are novels from this time that do nothing but string coincidence after coincidence together (such books are part of what Jane Austen was mocking in Love And Freindship), so in comparison it's a mild transgression. :)
And as I say, all of this is always put in terms of "the inscrutable ways of Providence" (so that anyone objecting is being irreligious!). Smith, rather, puts it in terms of the rewards of proper Christian charity and compassion: they help the destitute and promptly get rewarded.
The Stafford subplot is heavily autobiographical, and most of what Mrs Stafford goes through here is what Smith went through in real life---in fact she had it worse, because her husband was jailed for debt, and she spent time in the debtors' prison with him. She also repeatedly paid his debts and arranged to get him out of England when she couldn't do it any more.
Her complaints about the treatment she had met with were from personal experience and therefore perfectly justified, though as I said at the beginning, her frankness about her husband's situation didn't do her any favours with the critics, who thought she shouldn't be exposing his failures that way.
You may have been thinking of various passages in Volume III, Chapter XVIII, where Mrs Stafford is brushed aside by Lord Montreville and then treated harshly by Sir Richard Crofts:
She felt humbled and mortified at the cruel necessity that compelled her to it; but her children's interest conquering her reluctance, she addressed a letter to Lord Montreville, and received a very polite answer, in which he desired the honour of seeing her at two o'clock the following day; an hour, when he said he should be entirely disengaged. She might as well, however, have attended at his levee; for tho' punctual to the hour when he was to be disengaged, she found two rooms adjoining to that where his Lordship was, occupied by a variety of figures; some of whose faces, were faces of negociation and equality, but more, whose expression of fearful suspence marked them for those of petitioners and dependants. Those of the former description were separately called to an audience; and each, after a longer or shorter stay, retired; while Mrs Stafford, tho' with an heart but ill at ease for observation, could not help fancying she discerned in their looks the success of their respective treaties.
As soon as these gentlemen were all departed, Mrs Stafford, who had already waited almost three hours, was introduced into the study...
119lyzard
Meanwhile, in Volume IV, Chapter I, Emmeline has found herself the victim of another round of "no means yes":
"What then?" vehemently continued the Chevalier---"what then, charming Emmeline, occasions this long reserve, this barbarous coldness? Since you can form no decided objection; since you have undoubtedly allowed me to hope; why do you thus cruelly prolong my sufferings? Surely you do not, you cannot mean finally to refuse and desert me, after having permitted me so long to speak to you of my passion?"
"It is with some justice," gravely and coldly answered Emmeline---"I own it is with some justice that you impute to me the appearance of coquetry; because I have listened with too much patience, (tho' certainly never with approbation,) to your discourse on this subject. But be assured that whatever I have said, tho' perhaps with insufficient firmness, I now repeat, in the hope that you will understand it as my unalterable resolution---The honour you are so obliging as to offer me, I never can accept; and I beg you will forbear to urge me farther on a subject to which I never can give any other answer."
This dialogue, which happened on the second day of her residence at St. Alpin, and the first moment he could find her alone, did not seem to discourage the Chevalier. He observed her narrowly: the country round St. Alpin, which, as well as the place itself, he thought "triste et insupportable," seemed to delight and attract her. He saw her not only enduring but even fond of his aunt and her plants, which were to him, "les sujets du monde les plus facheux."---His excessive vanity made him persist in believing that she could not admire such a place but thro' some latent partiality to it's master; nor seek the company and esteem of his aunt, but for the sake of her nephew....
We see that Emmeline has learned by now how to handle this sort of thing; not that her "sufficient firmness" is in fact "sufficient".
But while this has both its exasperating and its amusing sides, it also represents a genuine danger---because the Chevalier's behaviour means that when Delamere does, inevitably, show up, he's not going to recognise his real rival when he sees him...
"What then?" vehemently continued the Chevalier---"what then, charming Emmeline, occasions this long reserve, this barbarous coldness? Since you can form no decided objection; since you have undoubtedly allowed me to hope; why do you thus cruelly prolong my sufferings? Surely you do not, you cannot mean finally to refuse and desert me, after having permitted me so long to speak to you of my passion?"
"It is with some justice," gravely and coldly answered Emmeline---"I own it is with some justice that you impute to me the appearance of coquetry; because I have listened with too much patience, (tho' certainly never with approbation,) to your discourse on this subject. But be assured that whatever I have said, tho' perhaps with insufficient firmness, I now repeat, in the hope that you will understand it as my unalterable resolution---The honour you are so obliging as to offer me, I never can accept; and I beg you will forbear to urge me farther on a subject to which I never can give any other answer."
This dialogue, which happened on the second day of her residence at St. Alpin, and the first moment he could find her alone, did not seem to discourage the Chevalier. He observed her narrowly: the country round St. Alpin, which, as well as the place itself, he thought "triste et insupportable," seemed to delight and attract her. He saw her not only enduring but even fond of his aunt and her plants, which were to him, "les sujets du monde les plus facheux."---His excessive vanity made him persist in believing that she could not admire such a place but thro' some latent partiality to it's master; nor seek the company and esteem of his aunt, but for the sake of her nephew....
We see that Emmeline has learned by now how to handle this sort of thing; not that her "sufficient firmness" is in fact "sufficient".
But while this has both its exasperating and its amusing sides, it also represents a genuine danger---because the Chevalier's behaviour means that when Delamere does, inevitably, show up, he's not going to recognise his real rival when he sees him...
120lyzard
We find another of Smith's daring touches in Volume IV, Chapter III, in Emmeline's reaction to being publicly freed from her engagement.
One of the silliest yet most ruthlessly applied conventions was that which insisted that a woman *must not* love - or recognise that she did - before she was told by a man that he loved her: it was considered the height of immodesty.
Yet from the very outset Smith has traced Emmeline's growing feeling for Godolphin, which she is unable to quell in spite of her engagement to Delamere (and another load of social convention that insists that she must); and when she gains her freedom, she indulges her new prospects without hesitation, and certainly without any sense of shame:
The events of the two last days appeared to be visions rather than realities. From being an indigent dependant on the bounty of a relation, whose caprice or avarice might leave her entirely destitute, she was at once found to be heiress to an extensive property. From being bound down to marry, if he pleased, a man for whom she felt only sisterly regard, and who had thrown her from him in the violence of unreasonable jealousy and gloomy suspicion, she was now at liberty to indulge the affections she had so long vainly resisted, and to think, without present self-accusation, or the danger of future repentance, of Godolphin. In imagination, she already beheld him avowing that tenderness which he had before generously struggled to conceal. She saw him, who she believed would have taken her without fortune, receiving in her estate the means of bestowing happiness, and the power of indulging his liberal and noble spirit. She saw the tender, unhappy Adelina, reconciled to life in contemplating the felicity of her dear William; and Lord Westhaven, to whom she was so much obliged, glorying in the good fortune of a brother so deservedly beloved; while still calling her excellent and lovely friend Augusta by the endearing appellation of sister, she saw her forget, in the happiness of Godolphin, the concern she had felt for Delamere...
Though of course, in a novel such as this, it's not going to be that easy or straightforward! - and when Godolphin shows up, it is to bring news of Delamere's presence and illness...
One of the silliest yet most ruthlessly applied conventions was that which insisted that a woman *must not* love - or recognise that she did - before she was told by a man that he loved her: it was considered the height of immodesty.
Yet from the very outset Smith has traced Emmeline's growing feeling for Godolphin, which she is unable to quell in spite of her engagement to Delamere (and another load of social convention that insists that she must); and when she gains her freedom, she indulges her new prospects without hesitation, and certainly without any sense of shame:
The events of the two last days appeared to be visions rather than realities. From being an indigent dependant on the bounty of a relation, whose caprice or avarice might leave her entirely destitute, she was at once found to be heiress to an extensive property. From being bound down to marry, if he pleased, a man for whom she felt only sisterly regard, and who had thrown her from him in the violence of unreasonable jealousy and gloomy suspicion, she was now at liberty to indulge the affections she had so long vainly resisted, and to think, without present self-accusation, or the danger of future repentance, of Godolphin. In imagination, she already beheld him avowing that tenderness which he had before generously struggled to conceal. She saw him, who she believed would have taken her without fortune, receiving in her estate the means of bestowing happiness, and the power of indulging his liberal and noble spirit. She saw the tender, unhappy Adelina, reconciled to life in contemplating the felicity of her dear William; and Lord Westhaven, to whom she was so much obliged, glorying in the good fortune of a brother so deservedly beloved; while still calling her excellent and lovely friend Augusta by the endearing appellation of sister, she saw her forget, in the happiness of Godolphin, the concern she had felt for Delamere...
Though of course, in a novel such as this, it's not going to be that easy or straightforward! - and when Godolphin shows up, it is to bring news of Delamere's presence and illness...
121lyzard
As touched upon in >70 lyzard:, we can judge how pervasive a social custom duelling was at this time by the way it repeatedly intrudes in the narrative, either actually or as an imagined danger.
We see how often it was a man's first thought---and a woman's too, though from a very different perspective.
We have Delamere's insult of Mr Elkerton early on. This fairly silly scene is followed, far more seriously, by Delamere's hunt for Fitz-Edward, when he believes that he has seduced Emmeline. And even the calm and self-controlled Godolphin responds to Adelina's situation in just such a way, until Emmeline and Mrs Stafford show him that he will only hurt Adelina by giving in to his impulse.
And when Emmeline hears from Godolphin that he has "left Delamere ill", she is immediately terrified by the thought that there has been a confrontation between the two of them, and that Delamere has been wounded.
Volume IV, Chapter III
So strongly had the idea of a duel between them taken possession of the mind of Emmeline, that she had no courage to ask particulars of his illness; and shuddering with horror at the supposition that the hand Godolphin held out to assist her was stained with the blood of the unfortunate Delamere, she drew her's hastily and almost involuntarily from him; and taking again Madelon's arm, attempted to hasten towards home...
But of course---Smith is also able to use Emmeline's terrors in this respect to draw out her plot in this fourth volume, since in trying to prevent either a meeting between Delamere and Godolphin, or Delamere and the Chevalier - or even the Chevalier and Godolphin! - she manages to give everyone the wrong idea...
We see how often it was a man's first thought---and a woman's too, though from a very different perspective.
We have Delamere's insult of Mr Elkerton early on. This fairly silly scene is followed, far more seriously, by Delamere's hunt for Fitz-Edward, when he believes that he has seduced Emmeline. And even the calm and self-controlled Godolphin responds to Adelina's situation in just such a way, until Emmeline and Mrs Stafford show him that he will only hurt Adelina by giving in to his impulse.
And when Emmeline hears from Godolphin that he has "left Delamere ill", she is immediately terrified by the thought that there has been a confrontation between the two of them, and that Delamere has been wounded.
Volume IV, Chapter III
So strongly had the idea of a duel between them taken possession of the mind of Emmeline, that she had no courage to ask particulars of his illness; and shuddering with horror at the supposition that the hand Godolphin held out to assist her was stained with the blood of the unfortunate Delamere, she drew her's hastily and almost involuntarily from him; and taking again Madelon's arm, attempted to hasten towards home...
But of course---Smith is also able to use Emmeline's terrors in this respect to draw out her plot in this fourth volume, since in trying to prevent either a meeting between Delamere and Godolphin, or Delamere and the Chevalier - or even the Chevalier and Godolphin! - she manages to give everyone the wrong idea...
122lyzard
In spite of how badly Delamere has treated Emmeline, she soon finds herself placed under enormous pressure to forgive and forget. Part of this is the desire of Augusta really to have Emmeline as her sister, and partly (sigh) the assumption that Emmeline must really care for Delamere, despite everything she has always said to the contrary; but there is something else operating here too.
In this we see intimations of yet another pernicious social convention: the idea that a woman was not supposed to seek her own happiness, but to make others happy.
In other words, Emmeline should "make Delamere happy", regardless of her own feelings.
We judge Smith's opinion of this from the very resolute way Emmeline responds to Lord Westhaven:
Volume IV, Chapter VI
"Lord Delamere has again, Miss Mowbray, been imploring me to apply to you. He wishes you only to hear him. He complains that you fly from him, and will not give him an opportunity of entering on his justification."
"I am extremely concerned at Lord Delamere's unhappiness. But I must repeat that I require of his Lordship no justification; that I most sincerely forgive him if he supposes he has injured me; but that as to any proposals such as he once honoured me with, I am absolutely resolved never to listen to them; and I entreat him to believe that any future application on the subject must be entirely fruitless."
"Poor young man!" said Lord Westhaven. "However you must consent to see him alone, and to tell him so yourself; for from me he will not believe you so very inflexible---so very cruel."
"I am inflexible, my Lord, but surely not cruel. The greatest cruelty of which I could be guilty, either to Lord Delamere or myself, would be to accept his offers, feeling as I feel, and thinking as I think."
In this we see intimations of yet another pernicious social convention: the idea that a woman was not supposed to seek her own happiness, but to make others happy.
In other words, Emmeline should "make Delamere happy", regardless of her own feelings.
We judge Smith's opinion of this from the very resolute way Emmeline responds to Lord Westhaven:
Volume IV, Chapter VI
"Lord Delamere has again, Miss Mowbray, been imploring me to apply to you. He wishes you only to hear him. He complains that you fly from him, and will not give him an opportunity of entering on his justification."
"I am extremely concerned at Lord Delamere's unhappiness. But I must repeat that I require of his Lordship no justification; that I most sincerely forgive him if he supposes he has injured me; but that as to any proposals such as he once honoured me with, I am absolutely resolved never to listen to them; and I entreat him to believe that any future application on the subject must be entirely fruitless."
"Poor young man!" said Lord Westhaven. "However you must consent to see him alone, and to tell him so yourself; for from me he will not believe you so very inflexible---so very cruel."
"I am inflexible, my Lord, but surely not cruel. The greatest cruelty of which I could be guilty, either to Lord Delamere or myself, would be to accept his offers, feeling as I feel, and thinking as I think."
123souloftherose
>116 lyzard:, >120 lyzard: Just finished Volume IV, Chapter III and really finding your comments on how unusual these elements of the story are to be very helpful.
Despite the coincidences I am enjoying this very much (although given how many pages I have left I echo your 'of course, it won't be that easy')
Despite the coincidences I am enjoying this very much (although given how many pages I have left I echo your 'of course, it won't be that easy')
124lyzard
>123 souloftherose:
That's why I wanted to highlight this novel, and Smith's fiction generally: we get material in her books that English fiction generally wouldn't regularly dare to touch for another sixty or seventy years.
I'm glad you're enjoying it. :)
That's why I wanted to highlight this novel, and Smith's fiction generally: we get material in her books that English fiction generally wouldn't regularly dare to touch for another sixty or seventy years.
I'm glad you're enjoying it. :)
125lyzard
I thought at this point we might revert to the point raised by Ninie up above, which I think we can now have without spoiler tags---
---although I will stress that if anyone has not read Maria Edgeworth's Belinda but is thinking of doing so, you should skip this post because it does contain spoilers for that---
Okay? :)
>102 NinieB:
I found myself thinking of the revisions in Belinda. Edgeworth changed the plot so that Belinda's first and true love was the man she ultimately married. Here, Smith seemed to be repeatedly emphasizing Emmeline's lack of love. Perhaps to avoid the same problem?
As we discussed with respect to Belinda, it was an extremely strong convention at this time that a woman never did / could / should get over her first love, and love someone else: it was another of the endless list of things considered "indelicate".
Male authors bought into this wholeheartedly. Female authors knew how false and silly it was, although most of them criticised it without bucking it too hard. Only a very few novels have the heroine washing her hands of one man who she did love, and turning to another.
Ultimately, both Maria Edgeworth and Charlotte Smith follow the convention by having their heroine marry her first love. However, both of them also question the convention by creating a difficult triangular situation which the heroine must navigate first.
In Belinda, as we saw, it is not a matter of Belinda getting over the man she loves, but accepting she can't have him and moving on. Critics of the time found even this shocking, since it amounts to her planning on marrying a man she likes and respects but admittedly does not love.
In Emmeline, Smith does something different again, by manoeuvring Emmeline into an engagement with a man she does not love, with her youth and difficult social situation acting as an excuse for what otherwise would have been very much disapproved*.
(*To be clear, many didactic novelists at this time disapproved of passionate love, at least for young women - it was, you guessed it, considered "indelicate" - and argued for marriage based upon "esteem**" and a recognition of the man's "superiority". But even in this case, there was certainly supposed to be a more positive feeling than Emmeline's tepid, "sisterly" regard for Delamere.)
(**Apropos, in Volume IV, Chapter X, Adelina says of her marriage to Trelawny, "Tho' I never either loved or esteemed him..." Note the distinction; the absence of both dooms the marriage from the outset.)
But---Smith uses this in an amusing and practical way, since her engagement to Delamere teaches Emmeline exactly what she does not want. From the moment Godolphin shows up, Emmeline starts comparing him with Delamere; and having had a full measure of Delamere's hysteria and selfishness, she is in a perfect position to appreciate Goldolphin's self-control and generosity.
Conversely, however, Smith also uses the prevailing conventions to delay the understanding between Emmeline and Godolphin. Emmeline is fully aware of the social implications of her situation, and the, sigh, indelicacy of accepting Godolphin's attentions the moment she is free of Delamere, and it makes her withdraw rather than open up to him.
---although I will stress that if anyone has not read Maria Edgeworth's Belinda but is thinking of doing so, you should skip this post because it does contain spoilers for that---
Okay? :)
>102 NinieB:
I found myself thinking of the revisions in Belinda. Edgeworth changed the plot so that Belinda's first and true love was the man she ultimately married. Here, Smith seemed to be repeatedly emphasizing Emmeline's lack of love. Perhaps to avoid the same problem?
As we discussed with respect to Belinda, it was an extremely strong convention at this time that a woman never did / could / should get over her first love, and love someone else: it was another of the endless list of things considered "indelicate".
Male authors bought into this wholeheartedly. Female authors knew how false and silly it was, although most of them criticised it without bucking it too hard. Only a very few novels have the heroine washing her hands of one man who she did love, and turning to another.
Ultimately, both Maria Edgeworth and Charlotte Smith follow the convention by having their heroine marry her first love. However, both of them also question the convention by creating a difficult triangular situation which the heroine must navigate first.
In Belinda, as we saw, it is not a matter of Belinda getting over the man she loves, but accepting she can't have him and moving on. Critics of the time found even this shocking, since it amounts to her planning on marrying a man she likes and respects but admittedly does not love.
In Emmeline, Smith does something different again, by manoeuvring Emmeline into an engagement with a man she does not love, with her youth and difficult social situation acting as an excuse for what otherwise would have been very much disapproved*.
(*To be clear, many didactic novelists at this time disapproved of passionate love, at least for young women - it was, you guessed it, considered "indelicate" - and argued for marriage based upon "esteem**" and a recognition of the man's "superiority". But even in this case, there was certainly supposed to be a more positive feeling than Emmeline's tepid, "sisterly" regard for Delamere.)
(**Apropos, in Volume IV, Chapter X, Adelina says of her marriage to Trelawny, "Tho' I never either loved or esteemed him..." Note the distinction; the absence of both dooms the marriage from the outset.)
But---Smith uses this in an amusing and practical way, since her engagement to Delamere teaches Emmeline exactly what she does not want. From the moment Godolphin shows up, Emmeline starts comparing him with Delamere; and having had a full measure of Delamere's hysteria and selfishness, she is in a perfect position to appreciate Goldolphin's self-control and generosity.
Conversely, however, Smith also uses the prevailing conventions to delay the understanding between Emmeline and Godolphin. Emmeline is fully aware of the social implications of her situation, and the, sigh, indelicacy of accepting Godolphin's attentions the moment she is free of Delamere, and it makes her withdraw rather than open up to him.
126lyzard
Also apropos, and also in Volume IV, Chapter X, Godolphin finally gets the chance to say what he's wanted to for about two volumes. :)
Smith's description of Emmeline's feelings make her own opinion of the appropriate basis for marriage clear: though she brings in that necessary word, "esteem", she also adds what is, for the time, a pretty explicit indication of passionate love on the part of her heroine:
"Pardon me then, dearest Miss Mowbray, if I solicit leave to renew the conversation his abrupt entrance broke off. You had the goodness to say you had some esteem for my character---Ah! tell me, if on that esteem I may presume to build those hopes which alone can give value to the rest of my life?"
Emmeline, who saw he expected an answer, attempted to speak; but the half-formed words died away on her lips. It was not thus she was used to receive the addresses of Delamere: her heart then left her reason and her resolution at liberty, but now the violence of it's sensations deprived her of all power of uttering sentiments foreign to it, or concealing those it really felt...
Smith's description of Emmeline's feelings make her own opinion of the appropriate basis for marriage clear: though she brings in that necessary word, "esteem", she also adds what is, for the time, a pretty explicit indication of passionate love on the part of her heroine:
"Pardon me then, dearest Miss Mowbray, if I solicit leave to renew the conversation his abrupt entrance broke off. You had the goodness to say you had some esteem for my character---Ah! tell me, if on that esteem I may presume to build those hopes which alone can give value to the rest of my life?"
Emmeline, who saw he expected an answer, attempted to speak; but the half-formed words died away on her lips. It was not thus she was used to receive the addresses of Delamere: her heart then left her reason and her resolution at liberty, but now the violence of it's sensations deprived her of all power of uttering sentiments foreign to it, or concealing those it really felt...
127SassyLassy
My copy finally arrived at the end of last week. I have just finished Volume I, so have read no further in this thread than >61 lyzard:. I did wonder though, as I read the passage you quoted there, if Smith is not only demonstrating just how odious Crofts (and by extension all lawyers) is, but also having some fun as she rattles off his speech. Try reading it aloud paying attention to all commas, and it is a wonderful spoof. Maybe that was not her intention though.
Reading thus far, I am sorry I haven't read anything by Burney. I missed the Cecilia read and haven't read any of her other books.
Reading thus far, I am sorry I haven't read anything by Burney. I missed the Cecilia read and haven't read any of her other books.
128lyzard
It's obvious here how the novel's romantic subplot is going to be wrapped up, so we might leave that and have a quick look at how some of the other strands are finally resolved, or not.
Smith has some wry fun with Lord Montreville's appalled reaction to discovering the truth about Emmeline. She also paints an interesting psychological balance here, Montreville's deep reluctance - from all points - to concede what is owed to Emmeline, against a streak of fundamental (if often well-hidden) honesty that makes him unable even to pretend he really thinks any of the people involved could be attempting fraud.
There is fraud at work here, however; though Smith absolves Lord Montreville, with Sir Richard Crofts emerging as the real villain.
Well, of course: he's a lawyer:
Volume IV, Chapter XIII
Sir Richard had reflected on the great advantage that would accrue to his patron from the possession of this estate; to which, besides it's annual income, several boroughs belonged. He thought it was very probable that the little girl, then only a few weeks old, and without a mother or any other than mercenary attendants, might die in her infancy: if she did not, that Lord Montreville might easily provide for her, and that it would be doing his friend a great service, and be highly advantageous to himself, should he conceal the legal claim of the child, even unknown to her uncle, and put him in immediate possession of his paternal estate.
Having again strictly questioned Williamson; repressed his curiosity by law jargon; and frightened him by threats of his Lord's displeasure if he made any effort to prove the legitimacy of Emmeline; he very tranquilly destroyed the paper, and Lord Montreville never knew that such a paper had existed...
Fascinatingly, though, it is Lord Montreville who is ultimately punished---for keeping such creatures as Crofts around and allowing him to speak for him.
Crofts himself, however, not only escapes but thrives: this is one of the things about Smith that disconcerted the critics, her prosaic acceptance that the guilty are not always brought to justice.
Volume IV, Chapter XV
When she was allowed to pay her duty to him, he conjured her to keep from him the sight of any of the Crofts', and that she would prevent even their name being repeated in his presence. With their visits there was no danger of his Lordship's being offended; for as he had, in consequence of this family calamity, resigned all the places he held, Sir Richard and his two sons were already eagerly paying their court to his successor; and had entered into new views, and formed new political connections, with an avidity which made them equally forgetful of their patron's personal afflictions and of that favour to which they owed their sudden and unmerited elevation...
Smith has some wry fun with Lord Montreville's appalled reaction to discovering the truth about Emmeline. She also paints an interesting psychological balance here, Montreville's deep reluctance - from all points - to concede what is owed to Emmeline, against a streak of fundamental (if often well-hidden) honesty that makes him unable even to pretend he really thinks any of the people involved could be attempting fraud.
There is fraud at work here, however; though Smith absolves Lord Montreville, with Sir Richard Crofts emerging as the real villain.
Well, of course: he's a lawyer:
Volume IV, Chapter XIII
Sir Richard had reflected on the great advantage that would accrue to his patron from the possession of this estate; to which, besides it's annual income, several boroughs belonged. He thought it was very probable that the little girl, then only a few weeks old, and without a mother or any other than mercenary attendants, might die in her infancy: if she did not, that Lord Montreville might easily provide for her, and that it would be doing his friend a great service, and be highly advantageous to himself, should he conceal the legal claim of the child, even unknown to her uncle, and put him in immediate possession of his paternal estate.
Having again strictly questioned Williamson; repressed his curiosity by law jargon; and frightened him by threats of his Lord's displeasure if he made any effort to prove the legitimacy of Emmeline; he very tranquilly destroyed the paper, and Lord Montreville never knew that such a paper had existed...
Fascinatingly, though, it is Lord Montreville who is ultimately punished---for keeping such creatures as Crofts around and allowing him to speak for him.
Crofts himself, however, not only escapes but thrives: this is one of the things about Smith that disconcerted the critics, her prosaic acceptance that the guilty are not always brought to justice.
Volume IV, Chapter XV
When she was allowed to pay her duty to him, he conjured her to keep from him the sight of any of the Crofts', and that she would prevent even their name being repeated in his presence. With their visits there was no danger of his Lordship's being offended; for as he had, in consequence of this family calamity, resigned all the places he held, Sir Richard and his two sons were already eagerly paying their court to his successor; and had entered into new views, and formed new political connections, with an avidity which made them equally forgetful of their patron's personal afflictions and of that favour to which they owed their sudden and unmerited elevation...
129lyzard
It was always going to happen, wasn't it?
The narrative threatens a duel from its earliest stages; although when violence erupts it is in an unexpected quarter, where none of the central characters have a hope of pouring oil on troubled waters.
It is also, in a sense, the inevitable conclusion to Delamere's subplot. There is, nevertheless, some unkind irony that for once he is in the right (as his society would have seen it), defending his sister's tarnished honour, rather than going off on an hysterical tangent on false or imperfect evidence, or simply losing his temper, both of which we've already seen him do.
But the justice of Delamere's cause does not dictate the outcome. This was a very female view of duelling, which rejected utterly the excuse / justification that a duel would favour honour and justice, an idea evolved out of the medieval view of trial-by-combat, that God would guide the combatant whose cause was just.
Volume IV, Chapter XV
Even the late hours when fashionable parties break up, now passed by. Every coach that approached made them tremble between hope and fear; but it rolled away to a distance. Another and another passed, and their dreadful suspence still continued. Emmeline would have persuaded Lady Westhaven to go to bed; but nothing could induce her to think of it. She sometimes traversed the room with hurried steps; sometimes sat listening at the window; and sometimes ran out to the stair case, where all the servants except those who had been dispatched in pursuit of Lord Delamere were assembled.
The streets were now quiet; the watch called a quarter past five; and convinced that if something fatal had not happened some body would have returned to them by this time, their terror grew insupportable. A quick rap was now heard at the door. Emmeline flew to the stairs---"Is it Lord Delamere?" "No, Madam," replied a servant, "it is Captain Godolphin." Afraid of asking, yet unable to bear another moment of suspence, she flew down part of the stairs. Godolphin, with a countenance paler than death, caught her in his arms---"Whither would you go?" cried he, trembling as he spoke.
"Have you found---Delamere?"
"I have."
"Alive and well?"
"Alive---but---"
The narrative threatens a duel from its earliest stages; although when violence erupts it is in an unexpected quarter, where none of the central characters have a hope of pouring oil on troubled waters.
It is also, in a sense, the inevitable conclusion to Delamere's subplot. There is, nevertheless, some unkind irony that for once he is in the right (as his society would have seen it), defending his sister's tarnished honour, rather than going off on an hysterical tangent on false or imperfect evidence, or simply losing his temper, both of which we've already seen him do.
But the justice of Delamere's cause does not dictate the outcome. This was a very female view of duelling, which rejected utterly the excuse / justification that a duel would favour honour and justice, an idea evolved out of the medieval view of trial-by-combat, that God would guide the combatant whose cause was just.
Volume IV, Chapter XV
Even the late hours when fashionable parties break up, now passed by. Every coach that approached made them tremble between hope and fear; but it rolled away to a distance. Another and another passed, and their dreadful suspence still continued. Emmeline would have persuaded Lady Westhaven to go to bed; but nothing could induce her to think of it. She sometimes traversed the room with hurried steps; sometimes sat listening at the window; and sometimes ran out to the stair case, where all the servants except those who had been dispatched in pursuit of Lord Delamere were assembled.
The streets were now quiet; the watch called a quarter past five; and convinced that if something fatal had not happened some body would have returned to them by this time, their terror grew insupportable. A quick rap was now heard at the door. Emmeline flew to the stairs---"Is it Lord Delamere?" "No, Madam," replied a servant, "it is Captain Godolphin." Afraid of asking, yet unable to bear another moment of suspence, she flew down part of the stairs. Godolphin, with a countenance paler than death, caught her in his arms---"Whither would you go?" cried he, trembling as he spoke.
"Have you found---Delamere?"
"I have."
"Alive and well?"
"Alive---but---"
130lyzard
There's an additional and nasty sting in the tail to this subplot.
Early in the novel, Lady Montreville bemoans the fact that England has no equivalent of the French letter de cachet, a system under which someone could be imprisoned indefinitely without charge or trial. It was, as you might imagine, very open to abuse: it was supposedly for enemies of the state (rather, in fact, like the detention of suspected terrorists under the Patriot Act), but in practice allowed the aristocracy to "remove" anyone who annoyed them:
Volume II, Chapter I
Poor Emmeline however, who was the cause of it, was the principal object of her resentment and disdain. Even this last instance of her rectitude, could not diminish the prejudice which embittered the mind of Lady Montreville against her. She lamented, whenever she deigned to speak of her, that the laws of this country, unlike those of better regulated kingdoms, did not give people of fashion power to remove effectually those who interfered with their happiness, or were inimical to their views. "If this little wretch," said she, "was in France, it would not be difficult to put an end to the trouble she has dared to give us. A lettre de cachet would cure the creature of her presumption, and place her where her art and affectation should not disturb the peace of families of high rank."
Much later, wrapping up her threads, Smith gives us this, with respect to Lady Montreville's elder and best-loved daughter:
Volume IV, Volume XV
In this interval, they heard that Lady Frances Crofts, infatuated still with her passion for Bellozane, had followed him to Paris, whither he had fled after his fatal encounter with her brother. Bellozane, stung with guilt, and pursued by remorse, hurried from her with detestation; and concealing himself in Switzerland, saw her no more. For some time she continued to live in France in a style the most disgraceful to her family and herself. Nobody dared name her to her unhappy father. But Lord Westhaven at length interposed with Crofts, who, influenced by his authority, and still more by his own desire to lessen her expences, went over, and found no great difficulty in procuring a lettre de cachet, which confined her during pleasure to a convent...
Early in the novel, Lady Montreville bemoans the fact that England has no equivalent of the French letter de cachet, a system under which someone could be imprisoned indefinitely without charge or trial. It was, as you might imagine, very open to abuse: it was supposedly for enemies of the state (rather, in fact, like the detention of suspected terrorists under the Patriot Act), but in practice allowed the aristocracy to "remove" anyone who annoyed them:
Volume II, Chapter I
Poor Emmeline however, who was the cause of it, was the principal object of her resentment and disdain. Even this last instance of her rectitude, could not diminish the prejudice which embittered the mind of Lady Montreville against her. She lamented, whenever she deigned to speak of her, that the laws of this country, unlike those of better regulated kingdoms, did not give people of fashion power to remove effectually those who interfered with their happiness, or were inimical to their views. "If this little wretch," said she, "was in France, it would not be difficult to put an end to the trouble she has dared to give us. A lettre de cachet would cure the creature of her presumption, and place her where her art and affectation should not disturb the peace of families of high rank."
Much later, wrapping up her threads, Smith gives us this, with respect to Lady Montreville's elder and best-loved daughter:
Volume IV, Volume XV
In this interval, they heard that Lady Frances Crofts, infatuated still with her passion for Bellozane, had followed him to Paris, whither he had fled after his fatal encounter with her brother. Bellozane, stung with guilt, and pursued by remorse, hurried from her with detestation; and concealing himself in Switzerland, saw her no more. For some time she continued to live in France in a style the most disgraceful to her family and herself. Nobody dared name her to her unhappy father. But Lord Westhaven at length interposed with Crofts, who, influenced by his authority, and still more by his own desire to lessen her expences, went over, and found no great difficulty in procuring a lettre de cachet, which confined her during pleasure to a convent...
131lyzard
There's really only one more point to touch upon now ("Thank goodness!" I hear you cry), but before I do, I wanted just to note this:
Volume IV, Chapter XIV
The transports with which Lord Westhaven received his sister, were considerably checked by her melancholy air and faded form. The beauty and vivacity which she possessed when he last saw her, were quite gone, tho' she was now only in her twenty second year; and tears and sighs were the only language by which she could express the pleasure she felt at again seeing him. Imputing, however, this dejection entirely to her late unfortunate marriage, his Lordship expressed rather sorrow than wonder. He admired the little boy, whom he believed to be the son of Godolphin; and he met Emmeline with that unreserved and generous kindness he had ever shewn her...
Really? Did he REALLY believe that?
Again we get this uneditorialised but infuriating suggestion that even the best of men can have an illegitimate child, and that it's no stain on such a person's honour; whereas a woman must be hounded out of society for the same sin.
But still---I can't help wondering about Lord Westhaven's thought processes. Are we supposed to accept that it never crossed his mind that Adelina's disappearance and subsequent ill-health could be related to the illegitimate baby that mysteriously appears in Godolphin's household?
Or is Lord Westhaven simply playing along with the least painful and confronting version of events?
Volume IV, Chapter XIV
The transports with which Lord Westhaven received his sister, were considerably checked by her melancholy air and faded form. The beauty and vivacity which she possessed when he last saw her, were quite gone, tho' she was now only in her twenty second year; and tears and sighs were the only language by which she could express the pleasure she felt at again seeing him. Imputing, however, this dejection entirely to her late unfortunate marriage, his Lordship expressed rather sorrow than wonder. He admired the little boy, whom he believed to be the son of Godolphin; and he met Emmeline with that unreserved and generous kindness he had ever shewn her...
Really? Did he REALLY believe that?
Again we get this uneditorialised but infuriating suggestion that even the best of men can have an illegitimate child, and that it's no stain on such a person's honour; whereas a woman must be hounded out of society for the same sin.
But still---I can't help wondering about Lord Westhaven's thought processes. Are we supposed to accept that it never crossed his mind that Adelina's disappearance and subsequent ill-health could be related to the illegitimate baby that mysteriously appears in Godolphin's household?
Or is Lord Westhaven simply playing along with the least painful and confronting version of events?
132lyzard
This ugly but typical resolution to an adultery subplot throws a fascinating light on Smith's handing of the far more important subplot involving Adelina and Fitz-Edward---in which she dares to intimate that this adulterous couple might just get married and live happily ever after.
Smith even dares to draw a sharp distinction between the purely sexual affair of Lady Frances Crofts and the chevalier, and that between Fitz-Edward and Adelina, which is based on love even if it is adulterous.
It is hard to convey how genuinely shocking - how literally revolutionary - such an idea was at the time. I know of no other instance of this in either 18th or 19th century literature, certainly not until very late in the latter.
By all contemporary literary conventions, what should have happened was that Adelina finally died of grief and shame, most likely after the death of her baby; and then Fitz-Edward should have gone off and died on the battlefield.
Instead we get Fitz-Edward turning out to be an eager father, he and Godolphin resolving their differences peaceably, and Adelina brought to think about a second marriage, once her period of enforced mourning for Trelawny is over.
In some ways Fitz-Edward's persisting love for Adelina and his desire to marry her are the most daring aspects of this outcome. Plenty of novels of this time deal with adulterous love, but the others invariably end with the rejection of one party by the other---usually the woman by the man, since she is now "tainted" even though he did the tainting.
That such a woman might be capable of honest love, and being a good wife and mother, was almost unimaginable; that the woman's family might wish for such a marriage completely so.
And yet---
Volume IV, Chapter XVI
Emmeline, having now no longer a subterfuge, was obliged to let Godolphin take his own way. He exerted himself so anxiously to get the deeds completed, that before the end of three weeks they were finished. Lord and Lady Clancarryl prolonged their stay on purpose; and they, together with Lady Adelina and Fitz-Edward, were present at the ceremony. When it was over, Lord and Lady Clancarryl took an affectionate leave of the bride and bridegroom, and set out for Ireland, accompanied by Fitz-Edward; who, with the most painful reluctance tearing himself from Lady Adelina by her express desire, was yet allowed to carry with him the hope, that at the end of her mourning she would relent, and accede to the entreaties of all her family...
Smith even dares to draw a sharp distinction between the purely sexual affair of Lady Frances Crofts and the chevalier, and that between Fitz-Edward and Adelina, which is based on love even if it is adulterous.
It is hard to convey how genuinely shocking - how literally revolutionary - such an idea was at the time. I know of no other instance of this in either 18th or 19th century literature, certainly not until very late in the latter.
By all contemporary literary conventions, what should have happened was that Adelina finally died of grief and shame, most likely after the death of her baby; and then Fitz-Edward should have gone off and died on the battlefield.
Instead we get Fitz-Edward turning out to be an eager father, he and Godolphin resolving their differences peaceably, and Adelina brought to think about a second marriage, once her period of enforced mourning for Trelawny is over.
In some ways Fitz-Edward's persisting love for Adelina and his desire to marry her are the most daring aspects of this outcome. Plenty of novels of this time deal with adulterous love, but the others invariably end with the rejection of one party by the other---usually the woman by the man, since she is now "tainted" even though he did the tainting.
That such a woman might be capable of honest love, and being a good wife and mother, was almost unimaginable; that the woman's family might wish for such a marriage completely so.
And yet---
Volume IV, Chapter XVI
Emmeline, having now no longer a subterfuge, was obliged to let Godolphin take his own way. He exerted himself so anxiously to get the deeds completed, that before the end of three weeks they were finished. Lord and Lady Clancarryl prolonged their stay on purpose; and they, together with Lady Adelina and Fitz-Edward, were present at the ceremony. When it was over, Lord and Lady Clancarryl took an affectionate leave of the bride and bridegroom, and set out for Ireland, accompanied by Fitz-Edward; who, with the most painful reluctance tearing himself from Lady Adelina by her express desire, was yet allowed to carry with him the hope, that at the end of her mourning she would relent, and accede to the entreaties of all her family...
134SassyLassy
Have just finished Volume II last evening, so have read down to post 86. One of the things I am wondering about is the matter of consanguinity.
As I understand it, Emmeline's father and Delamere's father are brothers, making Emmeline and Delamere first cousins. Would there have been any concern over such a union? None seems to have been expressed on those grounds.
As I understand it, Emmeline's father and Delamere's father are brothers, making Emmeline and Delamere first cousins. Would there have been any concern over such a union? None seems to have been expressed on those grounds.
135lyzard
>134 SassyLassy:
Great to finally have you here! :D
No, none at the time; in fact, cousin-marriage was often encouraged as a way of keeping money and property in the family. Across the 19th century and into the 20th there was a growing recognition that it wasn't entirely a good idea, but it was still legal in most territories. It stopped more because of the changes to women's lives and choices than because there was a crackdown.
(Actually, cousin-marriage has no deleterious effects unless there's a genetic anomaly already affecting a family, or it happens repeatedly over generations. Whether it is considered incestuous or not is a social / legal construct, not a biological one.)
Great to finally have you here! :D
No, none at the time; in fact, cousin-marriage was often encouraged as a way of keeping money and property in the family. Across the 19th century and into the 20th there was a growing recognition that it wasn't entirely a good idea, but it was still legal in most territories. It stopped more because of the changes to women's lives and choices than because there was a crackdown.
(Actually, cousin-marriage has no deleterious effects unless there's a genetic anomaly already affecting a family, or it happens repeatedly over generations. Whether it is considered incestuous or not is a social / legal construct, not a biological one.)
136souloftherose
I finished this weekend!
>131 lyzard:, >132 lyzard: Those were the points that struck me most in the final volume. I thought it was interesting that Smith had Adelina give the 'correct' answer to the marriage proposal at first but then left it more open-ended with hints that Fitz-Edward might prevail. Although I did agree with Adelina that the situation with her son would be very difficult - he could never openly be acknowledged as hers and Fitz-Edward's without exposing Adelina to censure. So even if she did marry Fitz-Edward her son would probably still live with Emmeline and Godolphin?
>131 lyzard:, >132 lyzard: Those were the points that struck me most in the final volume. I thought it was interesting that Smith had Adelina give the 'correct' answer to the marriage proposal at first but then left it more open-ended with hints that Fitz-Edward might prevail. Although I did agree with Adelina that the situation with her son would be very difficult - he could never openly be acknowledged as hers and Fitz-Edward's without exposing Adelina to censure. So even if she did marry Fitz-Edward her son would probably still live with Emmeline and Godolphin?
137lyzard
>136 souloftherose:
Well done!
...and of course, while I *say* I'm finished, there are actually two more points I wanted to make and you've just reminded me of one of them. :D
Regarding Fitz-Edward and Adelina, it is important to remember that there will be no question of either a title or an inheritance, so there's nothing to complicate the child's status or make outsiders take a interest: Fitz-Edward is a younger son, and Adelina has already given up what she might have inherited from Trelawny.
That being the case, I can imagine going forward that there would just be an assumption that the boy was Adelina's from her first marriage, supposing anyone learns of his existence (I don't imagine Adelina would be much of a socialiser). If they lived retired, the only people who would know are the people who *do* know.
It is possible that Adelina might try to punish herself by giving the boy up, but from what we see of Fitz-Edward, I can't picture him going along with that.
We should note that by a perverse twist of law, only the mothers of illegitimate children had any legal rights where their own children were concerned: all children born in wedlock were the legal property of their father.
I'm not altogether sure what the legal standing of a child like William would be, if his parents married after the event.
Well done!
...and of course, while I *say* I'm finished, there are actually two more points I wanted to make and you've just reminded me of one of them. :D
Regarding Fitz-Edward and Adelina, it is important to remember that there will be no question of either a title or an inheritance, so there's nothing to complicate the child's status or make outsiders take a interest: Fitz-Edward is a younger son, and Adelina has already given up what she might have inherited from Trelawny.
That being the case, I can imagine going forward that there would just be an assumption that the boy was Adelina's from her first marriage, supposing anyone learns of his existence (I don't imagine Adelina would be much of a socialiser). If they lived retired, the only people who would know are the people who *do* know.
It is possible that Adelina might try to punish herself by giving the boy up, but from what we see of Fitz-Edward, I can't picture him going along with that.
We should note that by a perverse twist of law, only the mothers of illegitimate children had any legal rights where their own children were concerned: all children born in wedlock were the legal property of their father.
I'm not altogether sure what the legal standing of a child like William would be, if his parents married after the event.
138lyzard
Related to that, I found it interesting that there is no realistic possibility of Godolphin ever inheriting the family title, and that consequently Emmeline will spend her life as plain "Mrs".
That is NOT a situation commonly found in the romantic / sentimental literature of the time! :)
(Smith does something even more interesting along these lines in her later novel, The Old Manor House.)
That is NOT a situation commonly found in the romantic / sentimental literature of the time! :)
(Smith does something even more interesting along these lines in her later novel, The Old Manor House.)
139lyzard
...but the other point I wanted to make, which struck me while I was reviewing the novel on my thread, is that this is really a novel about the consequences of irresponsible parenting.
Lord and Lady Montreville are terrible parents; Emmeline's father never bothers to ratify his marriage or properly secure his daughter's inheritance; and the novel is studded with young women being pushed into marriage by their parents regardless of the character of the other party. And Mr Stafford is by definition a terrible father!
(You could even add Adelina and Fitz-Edward to the list.)
Obviously this was a subject close to Smith's heart. Thankfully she gives us the promise of better in the next generation. :)
Lord and Lady Montreville are terrible parents; Emmeline's father never bothers to ratify his marriage or properly secure his daughter's inheritance; and the novel is studded with young women being pushed into marriage by their parents regardless of the character of the other party. And Mr Stafford is by definition a terrible father!
(You could even add Adelina and Fitz-Edward to the list.)
Obviously this was a subject close to Smith's heart. Thankfully she gives us the promise of better in the next generation. :)
140souloftherose
>137 lyzard: I can imagine going forward that there would just be an assumption that the boy was Adelina's from her first marriage, supposing anyone learns of his existence (I don't imagine Adelina would be much of a socialiser).
That makes sense from a general society perspective, but what about the family (those who don't officially 'know')? I suppose that lends more weight to the idea in >131 lyzard: that Lord Westhaven does know, but prefers to pretend he doesn't...
>139 lyzard: 'this is really a novel about the consequences of irresponsible parenting.'
Good point! Which is another connection to Austen's novels.
What was also interesting was that the introduction to my edition of Emmeline (Oxford edition with introduction by Anne Henry Ehrenpreis) talked a lot about how a number of passages in Northanger Abbey could be seen as a response to Emmeline.
That makes sense from a general society perspective, but what about the family (those who don't officially 'know')? I suppose that lends more weight to the idea in >131 lyzard: that Lord Westhaven does know, but prefers to pretend he doesn't...
>139 lyzard: 'this is really a novel about the consequences of irresponsible parenting.'
Good point! Which is another connection to Austen's novels.
What was also interesting was that the introduction to my edition of Emmeline (Oxford edition with introduction by Anne Henry Ehrenpreis) talked a lot about how a number of passages in Northanger Abbey could be seen as a response to Emmeline.
141lyzard
>140 souloftherose:
Well, yes: Lord Westhaven will have to KNOW, as opposed to possibly just "knowing"; but I think we can trust Godolphin to manage the situation.
Certainly both Austen and Smith use the conventions of the Gothic novel for their own purposes: "castle" and "abbey" at the time would have suggested that form of novel, while both authors had other fish to fry. :)
Well, yes: Lord Westhaven will have to KNOW, as opposed to possibly just "knowing"; but I think we can trust Godolphin to manage the situation.
Certainly both Austen and Smith use the conventions of the Gothic novel for their own purposes: "castle" and "abbey" at the time would have suggested that form of novel, while both authors had other fish to fry. :)
142SassyLassy
Just finished the novel yesterday. For me, Part IV, once you knew where everything was going, was somewhat slow, however, this was mitigated somewhat by wondering how Smith was going to pull it all off.
Going back to >137 lyzard: and >140 souloftherose:, I too was wondering about William's future. I thought Godolphin had formally adopted him. Legally he would be his heir. Should he pass to Adelina and Fitz-Edward, how would that complicate the earlier arrangement with him? Also, while Emmeline now becomes a "mere Mrs", would any title from her father pass to her sons (if any should appear, which of course they will)?
Have really enjoyed your setting the novel in feminist terms against the conventions of the day. Will now have to read the intro and all the appendices to my Broadview edition.
This novel is really reminding me of another one, which refuses to come to the surface and be named: frustrating. I also have the strong sense that I read this book around the age of twelve or so, thus missing much of the underlying material. Perhaps I found the idea of an "orphan of the Castle" romantic at that age and was drawn to the book.
I will have to reread Northanger Abbey soon.
Going back to >137 lyzard: and >140 souloftherose:, I too was wondering about William's future. I thought Godolphin had formally adopted him. Legally he would be his heir. Should he pass to Adelina and Fitz-Edward, how would that complicate the earlier arrangement with him? Also, while Emmeline now becomes a "mere Mrs", would any title from her father pass to her sons (if any should appear, which of course they will)?
Have really enjoyed your setting the novel in feminist terms against the conventions of the day. Will now have to read the intro and all the appendices to my Broadview edition.
This novel is really reminding me of another one, which refuses to come to the surface and be named: frustrating. I also have the strong sense that I read this book around the age of twelve or so, thus missing much of the underlying material. Perhaps I found the idea of an "orphan of the Castle" romantic at that age and was drawn to the book.
I will have to reread Northanger Abbey soon.
143lyzard
>142 SassyLassy:
Congratulations! I agree that Smith struggled to wrap up her fourth volume (not an unusual thing at the time!), but I thought she managed a few unexpected twists too.
We should note that there actually was no such thing as "legal adoption", as we now understand it, until very much later: American states began enacting laws in the middle of the 19th century, but the process wasn't formalised in Britain until the 1920s. You could take a child in and even make that child your heir, financially, but the relationship was not recognised under the law (and many wills were contested on such a basis).
Conversely such arrangements could be undone on a whim, with no requirement for any provision (which is why we see, for instance, Frank Churchill having to suck up to Mrs Churchill in Austen's Emma: she has raised him as her heir but can cut him off if he crosses her).
So Goldolphin "acknowledging" William doesn't mean anything legally, and his oldest son with Emmeline (if any) would still be his heir. And if Fitz-Edward and Adelina do take William back, Fitz-Edward will have to be careful about phrasing any inheritance in his will.
The titles in Emmeline's family, Viscount Montreville, the Marquis of Montreville and Viscount Delamere, all derive from the family of Lady Montreville, so it is unlikely that any attempt to revive them in a son of Godolphin and Emmeline would succeed. (In any case, in practice getting a title revived took quite a lot of political pull.)
This was my third reading of Emmeline over the last (yike!) thirty years; I think the fact that I remembered so much of it speaks well to its qualities.
Ooh, you have me intrigued over what that other novel could be! - though realistically, there were so many novels at this time with "castle" (or "abbey") in the title that it's impossible to keep them all straight.
Anyhoo---thank you again for joining us, even if belatedly! :)
Congratulations! I agree that Smith struggled to wrap up her fourth volume (not an unusual thing at the time!), but I thought she managed a few unexpected twists too.
We should note that there actually was no such thing as "legal adoption", as we now understand it, until very much later: American states began enacting laws in the middle of the 19th century, but the process wasn't formalised in Britain until the 1920s. You could take a child in and even make that child your heir, financially, but the relationship was not recognised under the law (and many wills were contested on such a basis).
Conversely such arrangements could be undone on a whim, with no requirement for any provision (which is why we see, for instance, Frank Churchill having to suck up to Mrs Churchill in Austen's Emma: she has raised him as her heir but can cut him off if he crosses her).
So Goldolphin "acknowledging" William doesn't mean anything legally, and his oldest son with Emmeline (if any) would still be his heir. And if Fitz-Edward and Adelina do take William back, Fitz-Edward will have to be careful about phrasing any inheritance in his will.
The titles in Emmeline's family, Viscount Montreville, the Marquis of Montreville and Viscount Delamere, all derive from the family of Lady Montreville, so it is unlikely that any attempt to revive them in a son of Godolphin and Emmeline would succeed. (In any case, in practice getting a title revived took quite a lot of political pull.)
This was my third reading of Emmeline over the last (yike!) thirty years; I think the fact that I remembered so much of it speaks well to its qualities.
Ooh, you have me intrigued over what that other novel could be! - though realistically, there were so many novels at this time with "castle" (or "abbey") in the title that it's impossible to keep them all straight.
Anyhoo---thank you again for joining us, even if belatedly! :)
144souloftherose
>142 SassyLassy: Congratulations on finishing!
I know I was really slow with this read, and I don't want to derail the Virago chronological read project any further, but...
... I would be interested in reading more Charlotte Turner Smith at some point. My library's reserve collection has a copy of The Old Manor House and I noticed Valancourt books had republished The Story of Henrietta which is both relatively short and set in the British colony of Jamaica and looks at the slave trade, as well as Ethelinde (although the latter sounds quite similar to Emmeline in plot).
http://www.valancourtbooks.com/the-story-of-henrietta-1800.html
http://www.valancourtbooks.com/ethelinde-1789.html
I know I was really slow with this read, and I don't want to derail the Virago chronological read project any further, but...
... I would be interested in reading more Charlotte Turner Smith at some point. My library's reserve collection has a copy of The Old Manor House and I noticed Valancourt books had republished The Story of Henrietta which is both relatively short and set in the British colony of Jamaica and looks at the slave trade, as well as Ethelinde (although the latter sounds quite similar to Emmeline in plot).
http://www.valancourtbooks.com/the-story-of-henrietta-1800.html
http://www.valancourtbooks.com/ethelinde-1789.html
145lyzard
>144 souloftherose:
Sounds good to me. :D
I am intending to get our neglected Virago project back on track (there has been a real albeit entirely selfish reason for the neglect on my part), but that doesn't mean we couldn't also return to Smith at another time.
I am very familiar with The Old Manor House but I don't believe I've read either of the other two: many more of her works are fairly readily available now, compared to when I was first reading her, which is great! Ethelinde was Smith's follow-up to Emmeline, and after the success of her first novel it wouldn't be surprising if her publisher advised her to try for more of the same. :)
Sounds good to me. :D
I am intending to get our neglected Virago project back on track (there has been a real albeit entirely selfish reason for the neglect on my part), but that doesn't mean we couldn't also return to Smith at another time.
I am very familiar with The Old Manor House but I don't believe I've read either of the other two: many more of her works are fairly readily available now, compared to when I was first reading her, which is great! Ethelinde was Smith's follow-up to Emmeline, and after the success of her first novel it wouldn't be surprising if her publisher advised her to try for more of the same. :)
