| 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. “[D]o not impose on yourself false hopes, which may never be realized. You well know I allude to your genius for writing… let the chief part of the day be dedicated to the humble, but truly respectable employments of the needle.” --well-meant advice in What Has Been which was probably given to the actual authoress. |
CMP#187 What Has Been and the sad life of Eliza Kirkham Mathews, part one
Following her Muse no matter what I’ve tried twice before to read What Has Been (1801), a sentimental novel by Eliza Kirkham Mathews (1772-1802), but couldn’t get past the trite and mawkish prose of the opening scene. The heroine, Emily, only eighteen years old, weeps at the deathbed of her sister Matilda, the last member of her family.
“Emily! Emily!” replied the almost exhausted Matilda, “forbear to embitter the last hours of my existence by useless regrets, or vain ebullitions of passion. Alas! My sister, let not your affection for me prompt you to execrate the unhappy Herbert, for unhappy he must be, since he has… forgotten the solemn vows he once made me, and in the hour of pain and misery, left me to reflect on his broken faith. But mine, Emily, is a death of triumph, for I die innocent.”
Raised in genteel circumstances, Emily is left alone and practically destitute.
But once I learned the real-life circumstances of Eliza Kirkham Mathews, I harbored a soft spot for her. She actually lived through the harrowing family loss and fall from gentility to poverty that she depicts in What Has Been. After losing her father, mother, and brother, she watched her sister Mary sink into a consumptive's grave, leaving her for a time alone in the world. She married, but poor Eliza coughed herself to death in rented rooms in York, scribbling away to the end. Okay, so she was not a great talent--she is no Keats--but the sad tale always stayed with me, and it caught Virginia Woolf’s attention as well, because she tells it in a short story called “Sterne’s Ghost” which you can read here.
“Emily! Emily!” replied the almost exhausted Matilda, “forbear to embitter the last hours of my existence by useless regrets, or vain ebullitions of passion. Alas! My sister, let not your affection for me prompt you to execrate the unhappy Herbert, for unhappy he must be, since he has… forgotten the solemn vows he once made me, and in the hour of pain and misery, left me to reflect on his broken faith. But mine, Emily, is a death of triumph, for I die innocent.”
Raised in genteel circumstances, Emily is left alone and practically destitute.
But once I learned the real-life circumstances of Eliza Kirkham Mathews, I harbored a soft spot for her. She actually lived through the harrowing family loss and fall from gentility to poverty that she depicts in What Has Been. After losing her father, mother, and brother, she watched her sister Mary sink into a consumptive's grave, leaving her for a time alone in the world. She married, but poor Eliza coughed herself to death in rented rooms in York, scribbling away to the end. Okay, so she was not a great talent--she is no Keats--but the sad tale always stayed with me, and it caught Virginia Woolf’s attention as well, because she tells it in a short story called “Sterne’s Ghost” which you can read here.
Unregulated sensibility We know about Eliza’s life through the memoir of her husband, Charles Mathews, a celebrated Regency-era comic actor. His memoirs were written by his second wife. Anne Jackson Mathews, who knew Eliza. She gives a sympathetic yet condescending account of Eliza’s aspirations: “[H]er habits of confinement, (for she still clung to the fallacious hope of gain by her pen, and was constantly devoted to its exercise,) and her anxiety to contribute to her husband’s narrow and inadequate means was such, that she neither allowed herself air nor proper exercise… she grew weaker and weaker….”
Both Eliza and her alter-ego Emily in her novel What Has Been came from Exeter, both had good educations, both hoped to make money by writing a novel. Eliza’s true-life story reminds us that the orphaned heroine narratives of the sentimental novel have their basis in the grim reality of the times. However, I doubt that Eliza in real life was pursued by a relentless villain intent upon her seduction and ruin, nor that her mother's family owned a tumble-down castle maintained by a pair of garrulous but loyal old domestics, and we know that a convenient fortune did not arrive like manna from heaven to save her from destruction.
Was Eliza inspired to write a typical sentimental novel plot or was she writing to the market? I suspect the latter. What Has Been is a Minerva Press novel; a publishing house that specialized in sentimentality and gothic thrills bound up with conventional morality. The heroine Emily's need to make money is one of the recurring motifs of the novel, and like her creator, she hopes to become a professional writer. We can learn about the social attitudes of the time from even third-rate novels. Other themes in the novel are:
Both Eliza and her alter-ego Emily in her novel What Has Been came from Exeter, both had good educations, both hoped to make money by writing a novel. Eliza’s true-life story reminds us that the orphaned heroine narratives of the sentimental novel have their basis in the grim reality of the times. However, I doubt that Eliza in real life was pursued by a relentless villain intent upon her seduction and ruin, nor that her mother's family owned a tumble-down castle maintained by a pair of garrulous but loyal old domestics, and we know that a convenient fortune did not arrive like manna from heaven to save her from destruction.
Was Eliza inspired to write a typical sentimental novel plot or was she writing to the market? I suspect the latter. What Has Been is a Minerva Press novel; a publishing house that specialized in sentimentality and gothic thrills bound up with conventional morality. The heroine Emily's need to make money is one of the recurring motifs of the novel, and like her creator, she hopes to become a professional writer. We can learn about the social attitudes of the time from even third-rate novels. Other themes in the novel are:
- sensibility is harmful if not regulated, and
- life is a vale of tears which only religious fortitude can help you endure.
Good advice from Mrs. Elton Okay, get your hankies ready!
After burying the last member of her family, Emily accepts an offer to stay with an impoverished aunt and cousin, even though they really can’t afford to support her. Her cousin Dorothea politely but honestly tells Emily that her dream of supporting herself as a writer is just that, a pipe dream. "What publisher will buy a first work unrecommended?" The female villain of the novel, a wealthy aunt named Mrs. Elton, also discourages Eliza. She once made Eliza's late mother's life miserable with her jealousy and gossip. Now she drops in to say: “So, Emily Ormond, you have been writing I see, child; but a needle, in my opinion, would become your fingers infinitely better—you that are dependent on the bounty of those who can scarcely support themselves… I cannot see what hinders you from working.” She thinks Emily should apprentice herself to a milliner or mantua-maker (hatmaker or dressmaker.)
“‘Indeed, Madam,’ returned Emily, checking the pride which swelled in her bosom, and crimsoned her cheeks, ‘I have no taste for those professions… it would be more respectable to superintend the education of some genteel children, or—my pen might procure me a comfortable subsistence.’”
“‘Ha! Ha! Ha!” vociferated Mrs. Elton. “Miss Emily will commence author, and live upon the produce of her prolific brain in an apartment next the sky… I really beg your pardon… I knew not that I was in the company of a genius.”
But for now, Emily feels too afflicted after nursing her dying sister ”from taking a situation honourable and independent… In which I can preserve my character and my conscience unsullied, and live unassisted by those, who, when my prospects in life were bright and alluring, called themselves my friends, but who now, in the days darkened by sorrow and poverty, regard me not; or if they do, it is only to wound my feelings by insulting pity or satirical advice!”
In other words, “go sit on a tack, Aunt Elton.”
After burying the last member of her family, Emily accepts an offer to stay with an impoverished aunt and cousin, even though they really can’t afford to support her. Her cousin Dorothea politely but honestly tells Emily that her dream of supporting herself as a writer is just that, a pipe dream. "What publisher will buy a first work unrecommended?" The female villain of the novel, a wealthy aunt named Mrs. Elton, also discourages Eliza. She once made Eliza's late mother's life miserable with her jealousy and gossip. Now she drops in to say: “So, Emily Ormond, you have been writing I see, child; but a needle, in my opinion, would become your fingers infinitely better—you that are dependent on the bounty of those who can scarcely support themselves… I cannot see what hinders you from working.” She thinks Emily should apprentice herself to a milliner or mantua-maker (hatmaker or dressmaker.)
“‘Indeed, Madam,’ returned Emily, checking the pride which swelled in her bosom, and crimsoned her cheeks, ‘I have no taste for those professions… it would be more respectable to superintend the education of some genteel children, or—my pen might procure me a comfortable subsistence.’”
“‘Ha! Ha! Ha!” vociferated Mrs. Elton. “Miss Emily will commence author, and live upon the produce of her prolific brain in an apartment next the sky… I really beg your pardon… I knew not that I was in the company of a genius.”
But for now, Emily feels too afflicted after nursing her dying sister ”from taking a situation honourable and independent… In which I can preserve my character and my conscience unsullied, and live unassisted by those, who, when my prospects in life were bright and alluring, called themselves my friends, but who now, in the days darkened by sorrow and poverty, regard me not; or if they do, it is only to wound my feelings by insulting pity or satirical advice!”
In other words, “go sit on a tack, Aunt Elton.”
Bing AI image Enter romance
Mrs. Elton blames Emily for being too proud to work, thanks to having a mother who was the daughter of a baronet, and being educated above her station in life. And truth to tell, Emily can’t abide the thought of becoming a governess, and dreads it as much as Jane Fairfax does in Emma.
While Emily hesitates, our hero appears, in the form of a young man who is the ward of a relative on her mother’s side. Frederick Mandred is "descended from an ancient family" but has no fortune. He is a ward of Mr. St. Ives and works for him as a clerk. Mrs. St. Ives sends Frederick to escort Emily to visit them, and she gratefully accepts. (Frederick also lives with the St. Ives family). Emily's visit stretches out to an unspecified number of months, I think for the better part of a year, while Emily occasionally tries to talk herself into looking for work.
Mr. St. Ives, being in trade, is not completely genteel. Emily is quite indignant on Frederick’s behalf when he and she come in late for breakfast from a ramble on the beach and he is scolded for being late for work: “‘my counting-house is always opened at eight o’clock, and at that hour I expect to find all my clerks at their duty.’”
“Emily felt her hand tremble; and she had nearly spilt her coffee, when, timidly lifting her eyes towards Frederick, she beheld his cheeks clothed with the blush of indignation, and his whole frame agitated with restrained passion, which each moment she expected to hear burst from his bosom; but a manly silence sealed his lips.”
More trouble arises because Frederick falls in love with Emily and she with him. They have much in common: they both feel “rapturous enthusiasm” for “the enchanting scenery around them." “While her beauty pleased the eye, her ingenuous mind and excellent understanding captivated the heart, and interested the judgment.” And her forlorn situation is like catnip to him, because he is a man of sensibility.
Mrs. Elton blames Emily for being too proud to work, thanks to having a mother who was the daughter of a baronet, and being educated above her station in life. And truth to tell, Emily can’t abide the thought of becoming a governess, and dreads it as much as Jane Fairfax does in Emma.
While Emily hesitates, our hero appears, in the form of a young man who is the ward of a relative on her mother’s side. Frederick Mandred is "descended from an ancient family" but has no fortune. He is a ward of Mr. St. Ives and works for him as a clerk. Mrs. St. Ives sends Frederick to escort Emily to visit them, and she gratefully accepts. (Frederick also lives with the St. Ives family). Emily's visit stretches out to an unspecified number of months, I think for the better part of a year, while Emily occasionally tries to talk herself into looking for work.
Mr. St. Ives, being in trade, is not completely genteel. Emily is quite indignant on Frederick’s behalf when he and she come in late for breakfast from a ramble on the beach and he is scolded for being late for work: “‘my counting-house is always opened at eight o’clock, and at that hour I expect to find all my clerks at their duty.’”
“Emily felt her hand tremble; and she had nearly spilt her coffee, when, timidly lifting her eyes towards Frederick, she beheld his cheeks clothed with the blush of indignation, and his whole frame agitated with restrained passion, which each moment she expected to hear burst from his bosom; but a manly silence sealed his lips.”
More trouble arises because Frederick falls in love with Emily and she with him. They have much in common: they both feel “rapturous enthusiasm” for “the enchanting scenery around them." “While her beauty pleased the eye, her ingenuous mind and excellent understanding captivated the heart, and interested the judgment.” And her forlorn situation is like catnip to him, because he is a man of sensibility.
Bing AI image This totally unexpected turn of events enrages Mr. St. Ives, who had arranged for Frederick to marry a local heiress and bring some money into his failing business. Frederick compounds the trouble by speaking to Emily at her bedroom door one night! “This is no time for the false refinements of delicacy, by Heaven: I shall go mad!” he exclaims. Up pops the master of the house. “Frederick Mandred!” vociferated Mr. St. Ives, “is this the return you make for the kindness I have ever treated you with? But come, leave the chamber of the young serpent who has seduced you from your duty, and robbed me of my peace.”
“Sir,” said Frederick, “breath not a word against her purity, she is spotless as an angel, and by Heaven, shall be my wife!”
Alas, Emily has outstayed her welcome. “To remain longer beneath the same roof with [Frederick] Mandred, after the declaration of love which he had made her, was the height of folly and imprudence; neither could her independent spirit brook the cool looks, and coarse manners of Mr. St. Ives; she saw he wished her to begone [after living at his expense for the better part of a year] but, alas! Whither was she to go? She had no home, no parent, no sister to receive her. Those who paid homage to her [well-born] mother… never now bestowed a thought on the poor orphan, Emily Ormond, unless it was to remark her imprudence in remaining inactive at Mrs. St. Ives’s when so many reputable professions offered themselves to her choice.”
Mrs. St. Ives also drops a hint: “Upon my word… a young woman, so very destitute as you are, ought certainly to exert some of the abilities, which nature has so very liberally bestowed on her, for her own support, and not expect—I beg your pardon, her friends to maintain her.”
“Sir,” said Frederick, “breath not a word against her purity, she is spotless as an angel, and by Heaven, shall be my wife!”
Alas, Emily has outstayed her welcome. “To remain longer beneath the same roof with [Frederick] Mandred, after the declaration of love which he had made her, was the height of folly and imprudence; neither could her independent spirit brook the cool looks, and coarse manners of Mr. St. Ives; she saw he wished her to begone [after living at his expense for the better part of a year] but, alas! Whither was she to go? She had no home, no parent, no sister to receive her. Those who paid homage to her [well-born] mother… never now bestowed a thought on the poor orphan, Emily Ormond, unless it was to remark her imprudence in remaining inactive at Mrs. St. Ives’s when so many reputable professions offered themselves to her choice.”
Mrs. St. Ives also drops a hint: “Upon my word… a young woman, so very destitute as you are, ought certainly to exert some of the abilities, which nature has so very liberally bestowed on her, for her own support, and not expect—I beg your pardon, her friends to maintain her.”
Emily vows (and not for the first time) “From this moment I will depend on myself alone, my own industry shall procure me subsistence, and I will forego all claims on my rich relations…” She decides to “retire to an obscure village, where she knew she could be boarded cheap, and from the production of her needle earn an humble maintenance. “ But she learns that her poverty-stricken aunt is in arrears on her rent (“fine words butter no parsnips” snarls the landlord). Auntie is in danger of eviction or going to debtor’s prison. Emily pledges to give her the small inheritance she’ll earn when she turns nineteen, which, after clearing off her late mother’s debts as well, will leave her with nothing.
The aunt, Emily, and her cousin Dorothea all resolve to move to some cheap cottage, but just then, the aunt has a stroke and lingers on for weeks before dying. Dorothea luckily gets an offer to go to Switzerland as a companion to a wealthy family, but that leaves Emily alone with no money or friends. Emily does have a wealthy uncle but thanks to the malicious gossip of Mrs. Elton, he thinks Emily is a hussy and a fallen woman (that Frederick-at-the-door incident) and has cut off all communication with her. Oh, and did I mention she received a letter telling her Frederick was dead? That he drowned while on a voyage to Ireland on behalf of Mr. St. Ives? (Well, we don’t believe that for a moment, do we, folks?)
The story continues in my next post:
The aunt, Emily, and her cousin Dorothea all resolve to move to some cheap cottage, but just then, the aunt has a stroke and lingers on for weeks before dying. Dorothea luckily gets an offer to go to Switzerland as a companion to a wealthy family, but that leaves Emily alone with no money or friends. Emily does have a wealthy uncle but thanks to the malicious gossip of Mrs. Elton, he thinks Emily is a hussy and a fallen woman (that Frederick-at-the-door incident) and has cut off all communication with her. Oh, and did I mention she received a letter telling her Frederick was dead? That he drowned while on a voyage to Ireland on behalf of Mr. St. Ives? (Well, we don’t believe that for a moment, do we, folks?)
The story continues in my next post:
 Charles Mathews, (1776-1835) courtesy National Portrait Gallery Echoes of Austen Mrs. Elton asks the wealthy uncle Mr. Hartford, “if you liked the apricots which I sent you? I assure you they were [her daughter] Harriet’s own preserving, and never was a being more anxious to suit another’s taste than she is yours.” Anyone mentioning apricots makes me think of Mansfield Park. Mrs. Elton is the same species of bully/fawning flatterer like Mrs. Norris. Emily tries to talk herself into working as a governess, but is repulsed at the idea: “Shall I attend to the education of children… be subjected to the caprice and insolence of parents, listen to the frivolities of visitors, and be admitted into their society as an inferior? Gracious God! I cannot support the thought.” The narrator calls Emily’s pride in her family descent an “error.” When Jane Austen visited her brother Henry in London, she saw Charles Mathews perform on at least two occasions, as we know from her letters. Previous post: Mary Jane Mackenzie's Geraldine Next post: What Has Been, part two |
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