In my previous blog post, I gave a synopsis of Volume I of Selina Davenport's four-volume epic The Sons of the Viscount and the Daughters of the Earl (1813). That post lays out the scandalous events that led to a lasting feud between the Fortescues and the De Courcis. Viscount Fortescue sternly forbids his two sons and his daughter to have anything to do with the De Courcis, which is unfortunate, as each of them is in love with a member of the De Courci family.
    Meanwhile, Emma, Lady Desmond, formerly Emma De Courci, is back from Ireland. She had to give up her first love, none other than Viscount Fortescue. Now that she is a widow and he is a widower, you would think they'd fly to each other's arms. Or at least meet for lunch. But no. As she explains (?) to her son Robert, "I will never obtrude myself on the notice of the Viscount.”
   Nor will Viscount Fortescue obtrude himself on her notice because.... because.... oh, it's because he's obeying the edict of his late father, who told him to never speak to a De Courci again. Even though dad is long gone, he won't break his promise. So that's our impediment.
    As a result of the feud, Emma's son Robert, Lord Desmond, pines in vain for the lovely Cecil Fortescue.  His uncle, the current Earl Fortescue, hoped Robert would marry his ward and niece Angeline. (If it's confusing for you, check out the family tree after the break). But no, there's no spark there between the cousins. they are just very good friends and they hang out together. Angeline is quietly and decorously pining for Henry Fortescue, a married man.

    ​During the French Revolution in the 1790s, when Jane Austen was a young woman, the British establishment was terrified that the revolution would spread to Britain’s shores. A strong pushback movement, the Anti-Jacobins, took up their pens to defend the monarchy and the British way of life. They were not just worried about the overthrow of the monarchy, they were worried about the “New Philosophy," personified by William Godwin and his wife Mary Wollstonecraft, allied to atheism, the end of class distinctions, and the overthrow of the strict legal, ecclesiastical, and social restrictions surrounding  marriage.
    One way people showed their support for traditional values was to crowdfund (as we would say to today) appropriate literature, such as Sir Samuel Egerton Leigh’s Munster Abbey. 
​    Despite its title, Munster Abbey is not a gothic novel. Like Mr. Knightley’s Donwell Abbey, Munster Abbey is a fine old British home that’s been in the family for generations, possibly since the dissolution of the monasteries. The novel depicts an ideal governing class ruling over a harmonious England with a picture of perfection heroine: “Aurelia was, in person, dress, and manner, everything that was elegant and engaging: --For she had been taught, from early life, by her amiable and accomplished mother, those soft and attractive virtues that command the esteem, and irresistibly captivate the affections of men of sense.” (His italics, not mine but Janeites will recognize what this reminds me of).

    In an earlier post, I shared some strong feminist characters I had saved up from various novels to present all at once. This week, it's time for homosexuals to step up. Yes, they feature in some old novels. 
   The thing is, they didn't have a word for it back then, not in polite society, anyway. Yes, if you consult a Georgian slang dictionary, they had words for everything, but no words a well-bred lady or gentleman would use in company or even in print. The act, between men, was referred to as "the abominable vice" or the "unspeakable vice." 
    My aim is to give you some examples of how homosexuality was depicted in novels read by young ladies, as compared to the inferences being drawn by modern scholars. Frankly, some 18th-century habits and expressions strike us differently today and I think some people are misinterpreting behaviour that was normal between the sexes back then. Mr. Elton walks arm-in-arm with Mr. Cole in Emma, and Sir Walter walked arm in arm with his heir, W.W. Elliot, in Persuasion. One modern scholar looks at the affectionate loyalty Emma has toward Miss Taylor/Mrs. Weston and concludes their relationship had a sexual component. As for Harriet, "her beauty happened to be of a sort which Emma particularly admired" and this is enough for some moderns to conclude that there's an erotic attraction there--Emma likes girls. How was Emma supposed to react to a pretty girl? With jealousy? Is that the only natural and authentic reaction they think girls have toward another beautiful girl? I mean, what are the options here?

    Very often, when reading old novels, I come across some striking passage when the author or authoress, or one of their characters, delivers their strong views about something, such as slavery or empire or women's rights.  I've long since realized that Jane Austen was not outspoken about any of these issues, compared to her peers. I conclude that people who think she was outspoken or radical have not read enough of the popular literature of the time to have a basis for comparison. 
    But if I bang on that drum every time I review an old novel, I'll sound like a broken record. (ooh, mixed metaphors).  So I've  excerpted these three examples about feminism from novels I've recently read, to present them together. The first two are examples of feminists--okay, tragic, doomed, feminists, but they are given the chance to have their say. The third is a speech from a "mixed character," someone presented as flawed, but essentially good.
    The feminist message is delivered not by the heroine, but by a side character. Then it is made clear to us that this side character may be sympathetic, but is not entirely admirable.
​     The word "subversive" is widely used in academia these days, often when arguing that the author has a message which she barely hints at, but i think introducing feminism in this way is truly subversive...