| “[W]hen young women of respectable situation, either tolerate or applaud vice, the wretched morals of the age are fixed beyond redemption.” -- Mr. Delamere, in a typical prosing mood, in Cecily Fitz-Owen |
CMP#184 Book Review & synopsis: Cecily Fitz-Owen; or, a Sketch of Modern Manners (1805)
A kindly advisor Like our previous author, the anonymous author of Cecily Fitz-Owen had a lot he wanted to get off his chest, and so the story of our heroine Cecily’s search for true love is interspersed with much commentary and moralizing on various topics from both the narrator and Cecily's friends the Delameres. Janeites will recall that Austen playfully joked that her novel Pride and Prejudice needed more such digressions: "it wants to be stretched out here and there with a long chapter of sense, if it could be had; if not, of solemn specious nonsense, about something unconnected with the story: an essay on writing, a critique on Walter Scott, or the history of Buonaparté, or anything that would form a contrast." But she didn't mean it, of course. Austen is not as didactic as other authors, as I've learned. The didactic tone and the overall technique of this novel reminds me of Hannah More’s Coelebs in Search of a Wife, except that Cecily Fitz-Owen has a little more plot and arguably is better written than Coelebs.
Another comparison to consider-- are there any intelligent, older people who give excellent advice and admonition to any of our Austen heroines? Mrs. Gardiner comes to mind as playing a small role in that way, but apart from that, I can't think of anything in Austen that's comparable. Leaving out love interest mentors, like Mr. Knightley, that is.
With so many digressions, the author has not left much room to devote to Cecily. I’m going to skip over the digressions, the “Sketch of Modern Manners” part, and focus on Cecily Fitz-Owen for now, then get back to the digressions, because they are of social interest.
Another comparison to consider-- are there any intelligent, older people who give excellent advice and admonition to any of our Austen heroines? Mrs. Gardiner comes to mind as playing a small role in that way, but apart from that, I can't think of anything in Austen that's comparable. Leaving out love interest mentors, like Mr. Knightley, that is.
With so many digressions, the author has not left much room to devote to Cecily. I’m going to skip over the digressions, the “Sketch of Modern Manners” part, and focus on Cecily Fitz-Owen for now, then get back to the digressions, because they are of social interest.
Bing AI image An eligible heiress and the dangers of novel-reading
Cecily, an orphaned underage heiress, has two guardians, a lawyer and an ambitious churchman. She mostly lives with Rev. Trollope and his equally ambitious wife. Cecily’s first venture into romance teaches her how treacherous the world can be. While staying with the Trollopes, a handsome and engaging relative comes to visit. Cecily falls for Captain Thomas Crawford and the Trollopes happily anticipate folding Cecily's fortune into their family.
When Cecily goes to visit another family, the captain follows and urges her to elope with him, but she refuses. Later, she accidentally overhears Crawford arguing with a young woman named Fanny O'Byrne. He had promised Fanny marriage; she lived with him and bore him a daughter. He tells Fanny he will support her and their child with “a liberal allowance” once he marries the heiress. He then discovers Cecily fainted at full length in the grass.
Crawford realizes he has ruined his chances with Cecily forever, (“Eternal furies blast you!”) and we last hear of him shipping out to the East Indies (the novelistic equivalent of exiting stage left).
Cecily consoles poor Fanny and hears her backstory. She is from modest means and was apprenticed to a milliner: “The young women in the shop were in the constant habit of reading novels—The amusement was too gratifying for me not to partake of it; and I here found, in volumes without end, that love was the great object of life—that every woman, the least interesting, must be deeply plunged in the passion.”
Although Fanny is a fallen woman, Cecily and Mrs. Delamere combine to set her up in business “as a person for whom we felt an interest,” on the condition that should she ever receive an offer of marriage, she must disclose “the errors of her youth” to her potential husband. Fanny then drops out of the narrative.
Cecily, an orphaned underage heiress, has two guardians, a lawyer and an ambitious churchman. She mostly lives with Rev. Trollope and his equally ambitious wife. Cecily’s first venture into romance teaches her how treacherous the world can be. While staying with the Trollopes, a handsome and engaging relative comes to visit. Cecily falls for Captain Thomas Crawford and the Trollopes happily anticipate folding Cecily's fortune into their family.
When Cecily goes to visit another family, the captain follows and urges her to elope with him, but she refuses. Later, she accidentally overhears Crawford arguing with a young woman named Fanny O'Byrne. He had promised Fanny marriage; she lived with him and bore him a daughter. He tells Fanny he will support her and their child with “a liberal allowance” once he marries the heiress. He then discovers Cecily fainted at full length in the grass.
Crawford realizes he has ruined his chances with Cecily forever, (“Eternal furies blast you!”) and we last hear of him shipping out to the East Indies (the novelistic equivalent of exiting stage left).
Cecily consoles poor Fanny and hears her backstory. She is from modest means and was apprenticed to a milliner: “The young women in the shop were in the constant habit of reading novels—The amusement was too gratifying for me not to partake of it; and I here found, in volumes without end, that love was the great object of life—that every woman, the least interesting, must be deeply plunged in the passion.”
Although Fanny is a fallen woman, Cecily and Mrs. Delamere combine to set her up in business “as a person for whom we felt an interest,” on the condition that should she ever receive an offer of marriage, she must disclose “the errors of her youth” to her potential husband. Fanny then drops out of the narrative.
Stock character: the gluttonous clergyman Enter our hero--and some mystery
Without any great fanfare--no encounter such as a carriage accident or a near-drowning--Cecily meets another young man, Henry Darleville. Henry is withdrawn and perpetually morose because he was brought up in utter seclusion by his reclusive mother who arrived in the neighbourhood under mysterious circumstances. Henry adored his mother and with her death, he’s left without anyone in his life, having also, as we learn, lost his best friend and his first love (to worldly ambition, not death). Mr. Delamere kindly advises him to get out and mingle in the world.
Meanwhile, Cecily’s two guardians try to pressure Cecily into marriage with Rev. Trollope’s noble relative, Lord Layton. But Layton has led a dissolute life and Cecily, with the backing of the Delameres, firmly refuses him.
Trollope is frustrated because he hoped to benefit from facilitating the match of the heiress and the nobleman: “Thus might all greatness be put a stop to, and everything lost through the idle delicacies of a foolish girl, and the squeamish fastidiousness of a canting moralist [ie Mr. Delamere]."
Trollope still hopes to become a bishop: dreams of preferment “floated in his brain—when the shrill voice of Mrs. Trollope was suddenly heard crying—'Dean, why Dean, the tea has been ready this half hour!' Canons and prebends in long succession—doors suddenly expanded—the organ’s swell echoing along the aisles—the awe-struck multitude—all, all vanished—and the Dean sat down to tea with Mrs. Trollope.” But just like the ambitious Dr. Grant in Mansfield Park, Dean Trollope is soon a victim of his appetite: “The dean sat down to a repast which bishops might have envied. The bottled ale was excellent—the ducks roasted to a turn—the fricasseed veal and scalloped oysters were not to be resisted—and, to crown the whole, such stewed cheese had never been tasted; no, not even at the table of his Grace the Archbishop…”
The following morning, Dean Trollope’s “six brown bays [of his coach and six] were waiting…[but] The Dean was already called another way, had already commenced another journey. In the middle of the night the gout had seized his stomach; and, at half past eight o’clock in the morning—he died!”
Without any great fanfare--no encounter such as a carriage accident or a near-drowning--Cecily meets another young man, Henry Darleville. Henry is withdrawn and perpetually morose because he was brought up in utter seclusion by his reclusive mother who arrived in the neighbourhood under mysterious circumstances. Henry adored his mother and with her death, he’s left without anyone in his life, having also, as we learn, lost his best friend and his first love (to worldly ambition, not death). Mr. Delamere kindly advises him to get out and mingle in the world.
Meanwhile, Cecily’s two guardians try to pressure Cecily into marriage with Rev. Trollope’s noble relative, Lord Layton. But Layton has led a dissolute life and Cecily, with the backing of the Delameres, firmly refuses him.
Trollope is frustrated because he hoped to benefit from facilitating the match of the heiress and the nobleman: “Thus might all greatness be put a stop to, and everything lost through the idle delicacies of a foolish girl, and the squeamish fastidiousness of a canting moralist [ie Mr. Delamere]."
Trollope still hopes to become a bishop: dreams of preferment “floated in his brain—when the shrill voice of Mrs. Trollope was suddenly heard crying—'Dean, why Dean, the tea has been ready this half hour!' Canons and prebends in long succession—doors suddenly expanded—the organ’s swell echoing along the aisles—the awe-struck multitude—all, all vanished—and the Dean sat down to tea with Mrs. Trollope.” But just like the ambitious Dr. Grant in Mansfield Park, Dean Trollope is soon a victim of his appetite: “The dean sat down to a repast which bishops might have envied. The bottled ale was excellent—the ducks roasted to a turn—the fricasseed veal and scalloped oysters were not to be resisted—and, to crown the whole, such stewed cheese had never been tasted; no, not even at the table of his Grace the Archbishop…”
The following morning, Dean Trollope’s “six brown bays [of his coach and six] were waiting…[but] The Dean was already called another way, had already commenced another journey. In the middle of the night the gout had seized his stomach; and, at half past eight o’clock in the morning—he died!”
The mystery unveiled! (ie, spoilers)
Lord Layton, the rejected suitor, goes off and drinks himself to death. His father, Lord Merefield, summons Henry Darleville to his side and asks to hear his backstory. Turns out Merefield was quite struck by how much Darleville resembles.... himself! Henry explains his mother never told him who she was or who his father was, but she left a sealed packet with him that was only to be opened if someone who claimed to know her asked to see it. (Henry is such a mama’s boy). “That mother, that dear and tender mother, fond idol of my affection!-"
“—Was my wife!” groaned Lord Merefield, “my disgraced, my innocent, my murdered wife!” –clasping his hands on his forehead, he rushed out of the room, leaving Darleville aghast, stupefied with horror and surprise.”
Meaning, in other words, that his recently deceased wastrel son was the product of Lord Merefield’s second, bigamous marriage, while Henry, the son of his first wife, is the proper heir.
It turns out Henry’s mother agreed to leave her home after Lord Merefield saw her being embraced by her long-lost first love (who did not die in a shipwreck, as she thought). Since she had fainted when she saw William Daubeney, she was not responsible for the embrace--he embraced her. But Merefield assumed the worst, of course, and even questioned the paternity of the child she was carrying.
Henry’s mother never attempted to reconcile with her husband, she never prevented him from entering into a second, bigamous marriage, she never saw her long-lost love William again. She spent the rest of her life being gently sorrowful behind the high walls of her country home, and condemning her son, the true heir, to COVID-like social isolation for his entire life. Because this, folks, is true feminine delicacy. “”[W]hilst her husband continued to view her as a criminal, could she wish her name, her history, to appear to the world! One thing only she intreated—if, by any happy accident, [her husband] should become convinced of her innocence, she implored him to inform her that her purity was no longer doubted.”
Anyway, now that Henry's the new Lord Layton and the future Lord Merefield, Henry is worthy to address Cecilia. Her guardian, lawyer Fusby, gets busy drawing up the elaborate marriage articles, and the pair are happily wed. Cue the Welsh harpists and dancers legging it to Of Noble Race was Shenkin.
Lord Layton, the rejected suitor, goes off and drinks himself to death. His father, Lord Merefield, summons Henry Darleville to his side and asks to hear his backstory. Turns out Merefield was quite struck by how much Darleville resembles.... himself! Henry explains his mother never told him who she was or who his father was, but she left a sealed packet with him that was only to be opened if someone who claimed to know her asked to see it. (Henry is such a mama’s boy). “That mother, that dear and tender mother, fond idol of my affection!-"
“—Was my wife!” groaned Lord Merefield, “my disgraced, my innocent, my murdered wife!” –clasping his hands on his forehead, he rushed out of the room, leaving Darleville aghast, stupefied with horror and surprise.”
Meaning, in other words, that his recently deceased wastrel son was the product of Lord Merefield’s second, bigamous marriage, while Henry, the son of his first wife, is the proper heir.
It turns out Henry’s mother agreed to leave her home after Lord Merefield saw her being embraced by her long-lost first love (who did not die in a shipwreck, as she thought). Since she had fainted when she saw William Daubeney, she was not responsible for the embrace--he embraced her. But Merefield assumed the worst, of course, and even questioned the paternity of the child she was carrying.
Henry’s mother never attempted to reconcile with her husband, she never prevented him from entering into a second, bigamous marriage, she never saw her long-lost love William again. She spent the rest of her life being gently sorrowful behind the high walls of her country home, and condemning her son, the true heir, to COVID-like social isolation for his entire life. Because this, folks, is true feminine delicacy. “”[W]hilst her husband continued to view her as a criminal, could she wish her name, her history, to appear to the world! One thing only she intreated—if, by any happy accident, [her husband] should become convinced of her innocence, she implored him to inform her that her purity was no longer doubted.”
Anyway, now that Henry's the new Lord Layton and the future Lord Merefield, Henry is worthy to address Cecilia. Her guardian, lawyer Fusby, gets busy drawing up the elaborate marriage articles, and the pair are happily wed. Cue the Welsh harpists and dancers legging it to Of Noble Race was Shenkin.
| As a love story, Cecily Fitz-Owen is rather tqme. You don't really see hero and heroine falling in love with each other. Cecily, our heroine, is no shrinking violet. She is observant, compassionate, and she shows firmness in turning down unwanted suitors. Henry Darleville the hero is not called upon to do anything but try and cheer up a little. He, like Edward Ferrars in Sense and Sensibility, is released by circumstances. Like Edward he shuns a public life and just wants domestic happiness.” | |
The narrator tends to hop from one topic to another, but there are many fine flourishes of prose, such as in the Dickensian opening description of Cecilia’s guardians: “Counsellor Fusby talked! Counsellor Fusby blustered! Counsellor Fusby fumed! But all was going wrong, till, on cross-examining the adversary’s evidence, three witnesses were leered out of their testimony by the wily glance of his eye, and there more were sunk to the bottom of the witness-box by the dignity of his frown."
Other features
- We have many examples of marriages contracted for mercenary or ambitious motives in this novel. Marrying without love is bad, but so is expecting to live on love and romance. Cecily’s wise mentor Mrs. Delamere (who enjoys one of the few happy marriages in the book) advises Cecily to cultivate her own interests and not live exclusively for her husband. This way, they won’t get tired of each other and secondly, if she is widowed, she will have avocations and people to live for.
- Cecily also learns a valuable lesson when she briefly visits an unhappy couple, the Treadrairs: “the systematic art of habitually teasing—of consenting to be perpetually miserable, on condition of being able to inflict perpetual misery on others, was, to her, equally new and horrible. In Mrs. Treadrair was beheld a disposition, wantonly prepared to feel anger at whatever should occur; resolutely bent on being dissatisfied, and the only gratification she could enjoy in return, was the satisfaction to think, that whilst she vented her spleen on others, she, in some degree, decreased her own misery, and, in a still greater degree, created misery in them.”
- I can’t believe what it was like to attend a playhouse in those days. Everybody just chatted throughout the performance! The author describes the conversations that go on all around the heroine and her mentor host and hostess, but the Delameres also carry on long conversations with Cecily, explaining the characters and faults of the people she’s overhearing. We have effete fops from the city: (“Why, just so: --breakfast at two;--Park—Broad-Street—St. James’s—auction—curricle—picture-gallery, till six; --dine till ten;--play—opera—coffee-house, till twelve’ –gaming till four; --and da capo—da capo—da capo.—Oh, tis horrid!”) or ignorant country squires who talk of nothing but horses and hunting. There's gamblers, there's a know-it-all. The women are all equally contemptible or silly.
- Some modern scholars have claimed to find lesbian undertones in Emma and Mansfield Park. Hey guys--check out how Henry talks about parting from his best friend Henry Carlton “the hour of parting was to me an hour of anguish” and reuniting with him: “I folded him in my arms.”
- The author works in an incest tease--oddly popular in those days--because Henry Darleville’s first love Julia is the daughter of Sir William Daubeney. When Henry’s mother hears the name “William Daubeney,” she faints, and Sir William turns pale when he meets Henry. The mystery is only cleared upon later, but leaves the reader to speculate that Julia and Henry are half-siblings.
- Fornication and adultery and social class: Fanny O'Byrne the milliner lived in sin with Captain Crawford. Had she been a woman of higher social standing, I think the author would have been obliged to kill her off. Because of their disparity in social class, Cecily can become Fanny's patron, but never her friend. Julia, the hero's first love, makes a glittering marriage and then commits adultery just one time with Henry Carlton. Out of remorse she goes off and lives in seclusion in the country. She and Henry Darleville, her first love, will never find their way back to each other. She is now beyond the pale.
About the author/contemporary reviews
The author is anonymous and no other novels have been attributed to him/her. Somewhere along the line, the author was identified by one name: “Frank,” but that name does not appear on the title page and I don’t how this suggestion originated.
Novels that "lashed" the manners of the age generally received praise from the reviewers. The European Magazine said: “If a happy talent at delineating characters and catching ‘the manners living as they rise,’ be a claim to praise in the career of Novel-writing, we cannot deny that claim in the instance before us. While the reader is amused by the various portraits that are sketched, he or she may learn useful lessons for their conduct in life, by drawing just inferences from the incidents with which the work abounds.”
If the book does not improve people’s morals, it will certainly do them no harm: “as we give children coral, who will otherwise rub their guns with the first thing at hand, so we recommend such innoxious volumes as the present to those literary babies, novel-readers, who might, if we did not, cut their [teeth on] what would, probably, not even have the merit of being harmless."
Final note, the printer of the novel is one W. Blackader! For all you fans of the Blackadder television series...
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The author is anonymous and no other novels have been attributed to him/her. Somewhere along the line, the author was identified by one name: “Frank,” but that name does not appear on the title page and I don’t how this suggestion originated.
Novels that "lashed" the manners of the age generally received praise from the reviewers. The European Magazine said: “If a happy talent at delineating characters and catching ‘the manners living as they rise,’ be a claim to praise in the career of Novel-writing, we cannot deny that claim in the instance before us. While the reader is amused by the various portraits that are sketched, he or she may learn useful lessons for their conduct in life, by drawing just inferences from the incidents with which the work abounds.”
If the book does not improve people’s morals, it will certainly do them no harm: “as we give children coral, who will otherwise rub their guns with the first thing at hand, so we recommend such innoxious volumes as the present to those literary babies, novel-readers, who might, if we did not, cut their [teeth on] what would, probably, not even have the merit of being harmless."
Final note, the printer of the novel is one W. Blackader! For all you fans of the Blackadder television series...
Previous post: Ellen, the lucky heroine--or is she?
Next post: Olivia, the heroine of colour
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