| This blog explores social attitudes in Jane Austen's time, discusses her novels, reviews forgotten 18th century novels, and throws some occasional shade at the modern academy. The introductory post is here. My "six simple questions for academics" post is here. |
CMP#185: Book Review: The Woman of Colour, by Anonymous
The Woman of Colour, first published in 1809, has drawn a lot of interest in academic circles because the heroine is a mixed-race woman of colour. It was certainly an unusual and perhaps daring choice to have a main character who is a sympathetic, intelligent, educated woman of colour who can quote Shakespeare, Cowper and Milton, The novel is remarkable in that sense, and it is unusual because it does not end with a marriage, but it is not, as we will see, remarkable for its literary quality. It is in other respects a typical sentimental and didactic novel of the long 18th century.
Olivia is the illegitimate daughter of an enslaved woman and a plantation-owner. This sounds like a pretty serious bar to admittance in "good" society. But she is also heiress to 60 thousand pounds, three times more than Mary Crawford had in Mansfield Park, and ten thousand more than Miss Grey had in Sense and Sensibility. Further, we should not be surprised to learn that Olivia’s mother was “majestic,” beautiful,” “sprung from a race of native kings and heroes,” and a convert to Christianity.
Once you know Olivia’s mother is descended from African royalty and she's an artless and confiding Christian girl in love with a white man, and if you know your 18th century tropes, you will know she's dead: “In giving birth to me she paid the debt of nature and went down to that grave, where the captive is made free!”
This is an epistolary novel, so the voice you hear is Olivia Fairfield, writing to her “earliest and best friend," her governess Mrs. Milbanke. Let's hope the ship she's sailing on has fewer holes in its hull than this book has plot-holes, the first one being: If Mrs. Milbanke is a governess, why doesn't Olivia just pay for her to come along on the voyage? She really does need a respectable older escort in a situation like this. But of course Mrs. Milbanke is a device for exposition, not a character in the novel.
Olivia is the illegitimate daughter of an enslaved woman and a plantation-owner. This sounds like a pretty serious bar to admittance in "good" society. But she is also heiress to 60 thousand pounds, three times more than Mary Crawford had in Mansfield Park, and ten thousand more than Miss Grey had in Sense and Sensibility. Further, we should not be surprised to learn that Olivia’s mother was “majestic,” beautiful,” “sprung from a race of native kings and heroes,” and a convert to Christianity.
Once you know Olivia’s mother is descended from African royalty and she's an artless and confiding Christian girl in love with a white man, and if you know your 18th century tropes, you will know she's dead: “In giving birth to me she paid the debt of nature and went down to that grave, where the captive is made free!”
This is an epistolary novel, so the voice you hear is Olivia Fairfield, writing to her “earliest and best friend," her governess Mrs. Milbanke. Let's hope the ship she's sailing on has fewer holes in its hull than this book has plot-holes, the first one being: If Mrs. Milbanke is a governess, why doesn't Olivia just pay for her to come along on the voyage? She really does need a respectable older escort in a situation like this. But of course Mrs. Milbanke is a device for exposition, not a character in the novel.
“You will ask me why I recapitulate these events? Events which are so well known to you.”
And why is Olivia explaining biographical facts to her governess, facts Mrs. Milbanke would be perfectly aware of?
Umm, because the author isn't skilled enough to work the exposition naturally into the narrative, maybe? Nope, it’s because “I love to dwell on the character of my mother; it is that here I see the distributions of Providence are equally bestowed, and that it is culture not capacity which the negro wants!”
So right away we have strong references to Christianity and a plea explicitly founded on that religion for the natural rights of people of color. We'll return to that.
Olivia writes to Mrs. Milbanke that her father’s last will and testament ordained that she can keep her inheritance only if she settles down in England and marries her (white, of course) cousin Augustus Merton; if they don’t marry, the money goes to his (already married) older brother George, who will decide how much of the money Olivia gets to keep. That's why she's sailing for England.
Why did dad make such a strange will? Because reasons. Let’s just roll with it...
At any rate, our heroine is enjoying the company of some fellow passengers on the journey to England: the ailing Mrs. Honeywood and her adult son, who looks at Olivia and sighs a lot, heaven only knows why. At least, Olivia doesn't know why.
The good ship ***** docks in Bristol, where Olivia parts with the Honeywoods (for now) and, with understandable trepidation, meets her uncle Merton, her sister-in-law, Mrs. George (Letitia) Merton, and her intended bridegroom Augustus. She likes Augustus! She thinks they might be compatible. He doesn’t seem that enthused though, which she fears might be his reluctance to marry a woman of color. He is melancholy and he sighs a lot.
Next we have the most-discussed scene in the novel, where the despicable sister-in-law makes a point of serving Olivia a big bowl of rice at dinner, with the professed but insincere objective of making her comfortable, because rice is what negroes eat. Then the Mertons’ little boy comes in exclaiming over the dirtiness of her servant Dido’s skin. Olivia sweetly and calmly explains to him that their darker skin colors are not caused by dirt.
The scene with little George reminded me of other books I have read, aimed at children, in which a wise adult explains to a startled or disdainful white child that negroes are normal human beings who just happen to look different. If I come across any other examples, I will list them. [see below]. The difference between this scene and similar scenes is that Olivia is advocating for herself--no helpful white person is doing it for her.
And why is Olivia explaining biographical facts to her governess, facts Mrs. Milbanke would be perfectly aware of?
Umm, because the author isn't skilled enough to work the exposition naturally into the narrative, maybe? Nope, it’s because “I love to dwell on the character of my mother; it is that here I see the distributions of Providence are equally bestowed, and that it is culture not capacity which the negro wants!”
So right away we have strong references to Christianity and a plea explicitly founded on that religion for the natural rights of people of color. We'll return to that.
Olivia writes to Mrs. Milbanke that her father’s last will and testament ordained that she can keep her inheritance only if she settles down in England and marries her (white, of course) cousin Augustus Merton; if they don’t marry, the money goes to his (already married) older brother George, who will decide how much of the money Olivia gets to keep. That's why she's sailing for England.
Why did dad make such a strange will? Because reasons. Let’s just roll with it...
At any rate, our heroine is enjoying the company of some fellow passengers on the journey to England: the ailing Mrs. Honeywood and her adult son, who looks at Olivia and sighs a lot, heaven only knows why. At least, Olivia doesn't know why.
The good ship ***** docks in Bristol, where Olivia parts with the Honeywoods (for now) and, with understandable trepidation, meets her uncle Merton, her sister-in-law, Mrs. George (Letitia) Merton, and her intended bridegroom Augustus. She likes Augustus! She thinks they might be compatible. He doesn’t seem that enthused though, which she fears might be his reluctance to marry a woman of color. He is melancholy and he sighs a lot.
Next we have the most-discussed scene in the novel, where the despicable sister-in-law makes a point of serving Olivia a big bowl of rice at dinner, with the professed but insincere objective of making her comfortable, because rice is what negroes eat. Then the Mertons’ little boy comes in exclaiming over the dirtiness of her servant Dido’s skin. Olivia sweetly and calmly explains to him that their darker skin colors are not caused by dirt.
The scene with little George reminded me of other books I have read, aimed at children, in which a wise adult explains to a startled or disdainful white child that negroes are normal human beings who just happen to look different. If I come across any other examples, I will list them. [see below]. The difference between this scene and similar scenes is that Olivia is advocating for herself--no helpful white person is doing it for her.
In-laws in trade (shudder)
Olivia and Augustus tie the knot within the allotted time set out in her father’s will, even though it is clear he is harbouring a secret sorrow. He treats her well. They take a honeymoon trip to visit the “lions” of London, which is a slang term for the sights of London. She enjoys London, but no more than is proper for a heroine, because heroines must have a decided preference for the country. We also have some samples of the rude things that people say about the "sable goddess" behind her back but within her hearing in public places.
George Merton and his wife are objectionable company. Letitia is lazy, languid and obviously holds Olivia in contempt; George is engaged in grubby commerce, which holds no interest for Augustus. Olivia, whose fortune, let’s remember, comes from the labour of enslaved people, says this of her intended spouse and she evidently means it as a compliment:
“The plodding track of cent. per cent. and addition on addition, never suited the taste of Augustus, and leaving his brother to accumulate thousands upon thousands, he is content to live on the fortune which my father’s will bequeathed to him with his wife. The wise father [that is, Mr. Merton, Sr.] and the plodding brother, may laugh, but they cannot persuade him, that a ‘man’s life consisteth in the abundance of things which he possesseth,’ when the Word of God, and his own heart, both teach him the contrary.”
Olivia shows similar disdain for other characters in the book who are from the merchant classes.
Olivia and Augustus tie the knot within the allotted time set out in her father’s will, even though it is clear he is harbouring a secret sorrow. He treats her well. They take a honeymoon trip to visit the “lions” of London, which is a slang term for the sights of London. She enjoys London, but no more than is proper for a heroine, because heroines must have a decided preference for the country. We also have some samples of the rude things that people say about the "sable goddess" behind her back but within her hearing in public places.
George Merton and his wife are objectionable company. Letitia is lazy, languid and obviously holds Olivia in contempt; George is engaged in grubby commerce, which holds no interest for Augustus. Olivia, whose fortune, let’s remember, comes from the labour of enslaved people, says this of her intended spouse and she evidently means it as a compliment:
“The plodding track of cent. per cent. and addition on addition, never suited the taste of Augustus, and leaving his brother to accumulate thousands upon thousands, he is content to live on the fortune which my father’s will bequeathed to him with his wife. The wise father [that is, Mr. Merton, Sr.] and the plodding brother, may laugh, but they cannot persuade him, that a ‘man’s life consisteth in the abundance of things which he possesseth,’ when the Word of God, and his own heart, both teach him the contrary.”
Olivia shows similar disdain for other characters in the book who are from the merchant classes.
Mutton Dressed as Lamb, Fashion History Museum And objectionable neighbours
So it’s off to the countryside, living on the interest of a mere 60,000 pounds (3,000 a year, more than Bingley’s fortune in Pride and Prejudice) where: “the conversation of my husband, a contemplation of the beauties of nature, the society of rational and well-informed friends; books, music, drawing, the power of being useful to my fellow creatures,--to my poorer neighbours;--the exercise of religious duties,--and the grateful heart, pouring out its thanks to the Almighty Bestower of such felicity!”
It turns out that rational and well-informed friends are a little thin on the ground in the country, or at least, Olivia’s letters to Mrs. Milbanke back in Jamaica are taken up with describing the objectionable and ridiculous characters: there’s Colonel Singleton, an ageing lothario who thinks he’s devastating to the ladies. His spinster sister, Miss Singleton, makes herself “ridiculous” with her “poor shriveled and thin neck“ on display, along with her “bared ears, and elbows, and back, and bosom.” She plays no significant part in the story and is just there to be laughed at and held up as an example to avoid.
Of slightly more importance to an upcoming sub-plot are Lord and Lady Ingot, a couple with an immense East Indian fortune. More grubby commerce. A reminder though, that it's typical for novels of this era to feature a gallery of kooky characters who exhibit a variety of faults, as we find in Austen as well (just think of the people Anne Elliott has to contend with in Persuasion). It's also typical for people who made their money in trade to be portrayed as vulgar social climbers. At any rate, the antics of these characters fill out the pages between Olivia's wedding and the big Surprise that is coming.
On the "rational and well-informed" neighbours side, we have Mr. Bellfield, (the upright and old-fashioned uncle to Lord Ingot), plus a few other characters who are barely sketched in: Mr. Waller, (tutor to the Ingot’s teenage son), the clergyman Rev. Lumley, and his family. Mr. Waller is sweet on Caroline Lumley, which gives us a minor romantic subplot.
Olivia and Caroline, as good heroines, engage in acts of charity. They work on establishing a “School of Industry” for the poor of the village, and all their doings are relayed back to Mrs. Millbanke in Jamaica.
So it’s off to the countryside, living on the interest of a mere 60,000 pounds (3,000 a year, more than Bingley’s fortune in Pride and Prejudice) where: “the conversation of my husband, a contemplation of the beauties of nature, the society of rational and well-informed friends; books, music, drawing, the power of being useful to my fellow creatures,--to my poorer neighbours;--the exercise of religious duties,--and the grateful heart, pouring out its thanks to the Almighty Bestower of such felicity!”
It turns out that rational and well-informed friends are a little thin on the ground in the country, or at least, Olivia’s letters to Mrs. Milbanke back in Jamaica are taken up with describing the objectionable and ridiculous characters: there’s Colonel Singleton, an ageing lothario who thinks he’s devastating to the ladies. His spinster sister, Miss Singleton, makes herself “ridiculous” with her “poor shriveled and thin neck“ on display, along with her “bared ears, and elbows, and back, and bosom.” She plays no significant part in the story and is just there to be laughed at and held up as an example to avoid.
Of slightly more importance to an upcoming sub-plot are Lord and Lady Ingot, a couple with an immense East Indian fortune. More grubby commerce. A reminder though, that it's typical for novels of this era to feature a gallery of kooky characters who exhibit a variety of faults, as we find in Austen as well (just think of the people Anne Elliott has to contend with in Persuasion). It's also typical for people who made their money in trade to be portrayed as vulgar social climbers. At any rate, the antics of these characters fill out the pages between Olivia's wedding and the big Surprise that is coming.
On the "rational and well-informed" neighbours side, we have Mr. Bellfield, (the upright and old-fashioned uncle to Lord Ingot), plus a few other characters who are barely sketched in: Mr. Waller, (tutor to the Ingot’s teenage son), the clergyman Rev. Lumley, and his family. Mr. Waller is sweet on Caroline Lumley, which gives us a minor romantic subplot.
Olivia and Caroline, as good heroines, engage in acts of charity. They work on establishing a “School of Industry” for the poor of the village, and all their doings are relayed back to Mrs. Millbanke in Jamaica.
Spoilers ahead! Spoilers ahead!
This happy life in the country doesn’t last long. First, a mysterious woman, a “fair incognita,” comes to stay with a small child in a cottage nearby, arousing the curiosity of the entire neighbourhood. Olivia's sister-in-law Letitia comes for a visit, even though it’s obvious she hates Olivia and Olivia despises her.
An extremely fierce storm rages through the neighbourhood, and the next morning, Mrs. Merton is strangely happy and interested when Olivia and Augustus decide they had better visit the fair incognita to see if she is all right. Just as they arrive, the F.I. rushes out, distressed (we later learn it is because the lothario Colonel Singleton has been pestering her) and runs into Augustus, who is… her husband!!!
Olivia is “ruined,” because she is not married after all. She refuses to believe that Augustus could have willfully deceived her, but she receives no explanation for how this could have happened.
This happy life in the country doesn’t last long. First, a mysterious woman, a “fair incognita,” comes to stay with a small child in a cottage nearby, arousing the curiosity of the entire neighbourhood. Olivia's sister-in-law Letitia comes for a visit, even though it’s obvious she hates Olivia and Olivia despises her.
An extremely fierce storm rages through the neighbourhood, and the next morning, Mrs. Merton is strangely happy and interested when Olivia and Augustus decide they had better visit the fair incognita to see if she is all right. Just as they arrive, the F.I. rushes out, distressed (we later learn it is because the lothario Colonel Singleton has been pestering her) and runs into Augustus, who is… her husband!!!
Olivia is “ruined,” because she is not married after all. She refuses to believe that Augustus could have willfully deceived her, but she receives no explanation for how this could have happened.
The sure refuge of the poor but virtuous heroine, a cottage in Wales. Moss Cottage, by John Steeple Where do you go in a case like this? Wales, of course!
Olivia removes herself swiftly from her once-happy home, not before receiving a letter from the leering Colonel Singleton, offering to take her “under his protection,” if you get my drift. Her in-laws George and Letitia receive her fortune, and she has only a small pension to live on. She takes a cottage in Wales with the faithful Dido.
But ere long, the faithful Dido discovers that Mr. Honeywood, their old shipboard companion, is one of the neighbours. When he visits to condole with Olivia, she responds: (and this is the theology of the author in a nutshell): “It is not for us, narrow-sighted beings as we are, to inquire into the dispensations of an all-wise and all-just God! Afflictions fit us for another world—for a statement of enjoyment; they make us eager to quit these scenes of transient sorrow, and to go to the regions of eternal bliss!”
Olivia’s mulatto skin and her “ruined” state do not dissuade Honeywood from proposing marriage because he fell in love with her on the voyage to England, though Olivia had no idea! He also has a convenient inheritance due to the convenient death of a hitherto-unmentioned relative, which is certainly more genteel than just earning the money in trade. Honeywood proposes marriage in an impassioned and lengthy speech, which Olivia transcribes for Mrs. Millbanke back in Jamaica, but she rejects him: “I now, and to the last moment of my existence, shall consider myself the widowed wife of Augustus Merton.” (That doesn't mean she wishes him dead. She wishes him happy, but he is dead to her.)
Further, she asks Mr. Honeywood not to visit any more; it would not be proper for her to receive him as a visitor, since they are both single, and the neighbours would talk.
Olivia removes herself swiftly from her once-happy home, not before receiving a letter from the leering Colonel Singleton, offering to take her “under his protection,” if you get my drift. Her in-laws George and Letitia receive her fortune, and she has only a small pension to live on. She takes a cottage in Wales with the faithful Dido.
But ere long, the faithful Dido discovers that Mr. Honeywood, their old shipboard companion, is one of the neighbours. When he visits to condole with Olivia, she responds: (and this is the theology of the author in a nutshell): “It is not for us, narrow-sighted beings as we are, to inquire into the dispensations of an all-wise and all-just God! Afflictions fit us for another world—for a statement of enjoyment; they make us eager to quit these scenes of transient sorrow, and to go to the regions of eternal bliss!”
Olivia’s mulatto skin and her “ruined” state do not dissuade Honeywood from proposing marriage because he fell in love with her on the voyage to England, though Olivia had no idea! He also has a convenient inheritance due to the convenient death of a hitherto-unmentioned relative, which is certainly more genteel than just earning the money in trade. Honeywood proposes marriage in an impassioned and lengthy speech, which Olivia transcribes for Mrs. Millbanke back in Jamaica, but she rejects him: “I now, and to the last moment of my existence, shall consider myself the widowed wife of Augustus Merton.” (That doesn't mean she wishes him dead. She wishes him happy, but he is dead to her.)
Further, she asks Mr. Honeywood not to visit any more; it would not be proper for her to receive him as a visitor, since they are both single, and the neighbours would talk.
Backstory time
Next, Olivia learns the backstory of Augustus, which explains everything. We turn back the clock a few years: her evil sister-in-law was the spoilt daughter of a rich tradesman in the city of London. Letitia was sent to the wrong kind of boarding school, the kind which only feeds her vanity. The family takes in a poor orphaned niece, the daughter of a clergyman, Angelina Forrester, who becomes the Cinderella of the household. Angelina is forced to read sentimental novels from the circulating library aloud to Letitia by the hour.
Letitia's father and old Mr. Merton are business partners and they hit on the idea of marriage between their offspring. Letitia prefers the youngest son, Augustus, but Augustus refuses the match because he doesn't like her. He falls in love with Angelina. They secretly marry.
When Letitia and her mother find out, they arrange for Augustus to be sent to Ireland on business. Then they deceive Angelina into believing that Augustus tricked her into a sham marriage ceremony with a fake minister. The Fate worse than Death! That means she's a ruined woman! They pay for Angelina, now pregnant, to go away into Wales. “She only wished to hide her shame and sorrow in obscurity!” A convenient bout of smallpox kills all the servants with any knowledge of what has transpired, and Augustus is told that Angelina is dead, too.
Augustus is therefore acquitted of having deceived Olivia as to the existence of his first wife.
So… instead of being a knave, he’s a bit of a fool? Never mind, let’s roll with it.
Letitia goes on to marry the eldest son, George, yet she still burns to revenge herself further on Augustus for rejecting her. With the news about the Jamaican heiress, her opportunity comes, plus she has the chance to poach Olivia’s fortune.
But... wait a minute... the sister-in-law could have revealed that Angelina was alive right away, and she’d have gotten the money right away, because Augustus couldn't marry Olivia if he was already married.
Then we wouldn’t have the central drama of the story, would we?
Next, Olivia learns the backstory of Augustus, which explains everything. We turn back the clock a few years: her evil sister-in-law was the spoilt daughter of a rich tradesman in the city of London. Letitia was sent to the wrong kind of boarding school, the kind which only feeds her vanity. The family takes in a poor orphaned niece, the daughter of a clergyman, Angelina Forrester, who becomes the Cinderella of the household. Angelina is forced to read sentimental novels from the circulating library aloud to Letitia by the hour.
Letitia's father and old Mr. Merton are business partners and they hit on the idea of marriage between their offspring. Letitia prefers the youngest son, Augustus, but Augustus refuses the match because he doesn't like her. He falls in love with Angelina. They secretly marry.
When Letitia and her mother find out, they arrange for Augustus to be sent to Ireland on business. Then they deceive Angelina into believing that Augustus tricked her into a sham marriage ceremony with a fake minister. The Fate worse than Death! That means she's a ruined woman! They pay for Angelina, now pregnant, to go away into Wales. “She only wished to hide her shame and sorrow in obscurity!” A convenient bout of smallpox kills all the servants with any knowledge of what has transpired, and Augustus is told that Angelina is dead, too.
Augustus is therefore acquitted of having deceived Olivia as to the existence of his first wife.
So… instead of being a knave, he’s a bit of a fool? Never mind, let’s roll with it.
Letitia goes on to marry the eldest son, George, yet she still burns to revenge herself further on Augustus for rejecting her. With the news about the Jamaican heiress, her opportunity comes, plus she has the chance to poach Olivia’s fortune.
But... wait a minute... the sister-in-law could have revealed that Angelina was alive right away, and she’d have gotten the money right away, because Augustus couldn't marry Olivia if he was already married.
Then we wouldn’t have the central drama of the story, would we?
Deathbed repentance Confession and Repentance
Olivia learns all this weeks later, after Letitia Merton--wait a minute, when Angelina ran into the arms of Augustus, why didn't he exclaim: “They told me you were dead!” and why didn't she say, “Well, did you ask where I was buried, or speak to the attending physician when you got back from Ireland, or anything?” This could have been cleared up in two minutes and it dragged out for weeks and weeks?
That's right, the full story doesn't come out until Letitia Merton “was seized by a violent and alarming illness" and confessed the entire plot. She produced “proofs of her guilt.”
Oh, now we’re asking for proof? Why didn't anyone ask for proof before?
Facing Almighty judgement, Mrs. Merton repents, and Olivia forgives her.
We also discover that the upright and decent old Mr. Bellfield--wait a minute. If Augustus thought he was a widower, why didn't Olivia notice when he signed the marriage register as a "widower." He had nothing to hide in that respect. So why--
Never mind. As I was saying, decent, upright Mr. Bellfield turns out to be the great-uncle of Mr. Honeywood and the nephew of the Ingots. Mr. Bellfield moves to Wales to live with Honeywood, because he is much kinder than those vulgar Ingots. He visits Olivia and pleads Honeywood’s suit, but she refuses again.
Olivia is called upon throughout to exert the highest levels of moral fortitude, which calls for a lot of referring to herself in the third person. Her faithful servant Dido also speaks of herself as “Dido” and in the third person, (“me don’t mind that though”). Olivia does it out of literary convention and Dido is doing it because, although she's lived amongst English-speaking people all her life, she hasn't mastered subject versus object pronouns--and no wonder, if the people around her start talking to each other third-person style whenever they get worked up.
Olivia learns all this weeks later, after Letitia Merton--wait a minute, when Angelina ran into the arms of Augustus, why didn't he exclaim: “They told me you were dead!” and why didn't she say, “Well, did you ask where I was buried, or speak to the attending physician when you got back from Ireland, or anything?” This could have been cleared up in two minutes and it dragged out for weeks and weeks?
That's right, the full story doesn't come out until Letitia Merton “was seized by a violent and alarming illness" and confessed the entire plot. She produced “proofs of her guilt.”
Oh, now we’re asking for proof? Why didn't anyone ask for proof before?
Facing Almighty judgement, Mrs. Merton repents, and Olivia forgives her.
We also discover that the upright and decent old Mr. Bellfield--wait a minute. If Augustus thought he was a widower, why didn't Olivia notice when he signed the marriage register as a "widower." He had nothing to hide in that respect. So why--
Never mind. As I was saying, decent, upright Mr. Bellfield turns out to be the great-uncle of Mr. Honeywood and the nephew of the Ingots. Mr. Bellfield moves to Wales to live with Honeywood, because he is much kinder than those vulgar Ingots. He visits Olivia and pleads Honeywood’s suit, but she refuses again.
Olivia is called upon throughout to exert the highest levels of moral fortitude, which calls for a lot of referring to herself in the third person. Her faithful servant Dido also speaks of herself as “Dido” and in the third person, (“me don’t mind that though”). Olivia does it out of literary convention and Dido is doing it because, although she's lived amongst English-speaking people all her life, she hasn't mastered subject versus object pronouns--and no wonder, if the people around her start talking to each other third-person style whenever they get worked up.
| "Is it the venerable, the good Mr. Bellfield that seeks to persuade this beating heart to become an apostate to its first love?" {Olivia says to Mr. Bellfield] "Is it Miss Fairfield," [Bellfield responds sternly] "is it Miss Fairfield who talks of a passion [for Augustus, married to someone else] which she ought never to name?--which she ought to exert all her fortitude, all her resolution, to extirpate for ever from her heart?" |
Missionaries spreading Christianity Religious moral
After all the unhappy marriages we've read about in this book (including Mrs. Honeywood’s ill-starred marriage to a West Indian planter), the wrap-up gives us some happy unions. In addition to the reunited Augustus and Angelina, Mr. Waller is given a good living and he marries Charlotte Lumley.
But what about Olivia? Will she relent and marry Mr. Honeywood? No, she says that had Augustus died, she would never have remarried: "this bosom could never have known another lord." The fact that he is not dead makes no difference to her. She explains this several times.
She returns to Jamaica and her friend Mrs. Milbanke, with some of her fortune restored, to do some Uplifting: “I shall again zealously engage myself in ameliorating the situation, in instructing the minds—in mending the morals of our poor blacks.” Despite what's happened to her in England, Olivia gives the nation a respectful benediction because it has produced a few excellent men, like Augustus, Mr. Bellfield, and Rev. Lumley.
We conclude with the double lessons the author hoped to convey: (1) “there is no situation in which the mind (which is strongly imbued with the truths of our most holy faith, and the consciousness of a divine Disposer of Events) may not resist itself against misfortune, and become resigned to its fate" (and 2) "teach one skeptical European to look with a compassionate eye towards the despised native of Africa..."
After all the unhappy marriages we've read about in this book (including Mrs. Honeywood’s ill-starred marriage to a West Indian planter), the wrap-up gives us some happy unions. In addition to the reunited Augustus and Angelina, Mr. Waller is given a good living and he marries Charlotte Lumley.
But what about Olivia? Will she relent and marry Mr. Honeywood? No, she says that had Augustus died, she would never have remarried: "this bosom could never have known another lord." The fact that he is not dead makes no difference to her. She explains this several times.
She returns to Jamaica and her friend Mrs. Milbanke, with some of her fortune restored, to do some Uplifting: “I shall again zealously engage myself in ameliorating the situation, in instructing the minds—in mending the morals of our poor blacks.” Despite what's happened to her in England, Olivia gives the nation a respectful benediction because it has produced a few excellent men, like Augustus, Mr. Bellfield, and Rev. Lumley.
We conclude with the double lessons the author hoped to convey: (1) “there is no situation in which the mind (which is strongly imbued with the truths of our most holy faith, and the consciousness of a divine Disposer of Events) may not resist itself against misfortune, and become resigned to its fate" (and 2) "teach one skeptical European to look with a compassionate eye towards the despised native of Africa..."
I surmise that the author was bold enough to suggest that a woman of color could marry a white man on a basis of social equality, but in the end, she did not insist upon the point. Olivia's notable piety and her life of celibacy can be compared to Yamboo, another novel with a saintly black main character. He inherits an English estate but does not dream of presuming to marry the (white) woman he loves. The person of color can be accepted into English society--but only so far...
Modern approaches to the novel
The modern reissue of The Woman of Colour is issued by Broadview Press, edited and with an introduction by Lyndon J. Dominique. This edition includes some valuable appendices with a listing of other books of the era which include people of colour. You can find some more examples here as well in my earlier posts. In his introduction, Dominique points out that the Jamaican legislature strictly limited the amount of monies the mixed-race children of white Jamaicans, or blacks in general, could inherit. Although this isn't spelled out in the book, perhaps this accounts for Olivia's father's strange will.
Lyndon J. Dominique discusses The Woman in Colour in this online lecture, adroitly managing to interpret the motivations of the main character without once referencing the Christian faith she explicitly cites throughout the novel. He also defines the word "accursed" as meaning "a strong dislike for someone." The book discussion starts at 17:00.
About the author
The question of authorship of A Woman of Colour is an open question because of a tangled history of attributions of titles, including some deceptive attributions, on the title pages of other novels of the period, coupled with the common custom of using anonymity. This is why several now-obscure authors have been credited with this title, such as Mrs. E.M. Foster and Mrs. E.G. Bayfield. I discussed another novel attributed to Bayfield, The Splendour of Adversity (1814), here. This article by the Women's Print History Project explains the tangled attribution chain and even includes a flowchart!
Although written in the first person, which implies that it was written by a woman of color, the novel is presented in the "here are some letters which I've found/been given" style, aka a framing device. The author presents herself as the "editor" of the work, and leaves it open as to whether Olivia Fairchild is a "real or imagined" person. Presenting a novel as a collection of real letters, or somebody's real diary, was not uncommon in the 18th century, but I think both epistolary novels and the "this is a true story" gambit were outdated by 1809.
The modern reissue of The Woman of Colour is issued by Broadview Press, edited and with an introduction by Lyndon J. Dominique. This edition includes some valuable appendices with a listing of other books of the era which include people of colour. You can find some more examples here as well in my earlier posts. In his introduction, Dominique points out that the Jamaican legislature strictly limited the amount of monies the mixed-race children of white Jamaicans, or blacks in general, could inherit. Although this isn't spelled out in the book, perhaps this accounts for Olivia's father's strange will.
Lyndon J. Dominique discusses The Woman in Colour in this online lecture, adroitly managing to interpret the motivations of the main character without once referencing the Christian faith she explicitly cites throughout the novel. He also defines the word "accursed" as meaning "a strong dislike for someone." The book discussion starts at 17:00.
About the author
The question of authorship of A Woman of Colour is an open question because of a tangled history of attributions of titles, including some deceptive attributions, on the title pages of other novels of the period, coupled with the common custom of using anonymity. This is why several now-obscure authors have been credited with this title, such as Mrs. E.M. Foster and Mrs. E.G. Bayfield. I discussed another novel attributed to Bayfield, The Splendour of Adversity (1814), here. This article by the Women's Print History Project explains the tangled attribution chain and even includes a flowchart!
Although written in the first person, which implies that it was written by a woman of color, the novel is presented in the "here are some letters which I've found/been given" style, aka a framing device. The author presents herself as the "editor" of the work, and leaves it open as to whether Olivia Fairchild is a "real or imagined" person. Presenting a novel as a collection of real letters, or somebody's real diary, was not uncommon in the 18th century, but I think both epistolary novels and the "this is a true story" gambit were outdated by 1809.
His "black face quite frightens me"
In Prejudice Overcome (1802) Young Charlotte refuses to be in the same room with the well-educated and virtuous Asmet, a convert to Christianity, because of his appearance. After he rescues her from drowning, she changes her tune. A short story in Features of the youthful mind; or, tales for juvenile readers by Anne Stone (1802).
In Prejudice Overcome (1802) Young Charlotte refuses to be in the same room with the well-educated and virtuous Asmet, a convert to Christianity, because of his appearance. After he rescues her from drowning, she changes her tune. A short story in Features of the youthful mind; or, tales for juvenile readers by Anne Stone (1802).
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