| 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. Spoilers abound in my discussion of these forgotten novels, and I discuss 18th-century attitudes which I do not necessarily endorse. This post is one in a continuing series in which I look at the novels which were possibly written by the anonymous author who wrote The Woman of Colour (1808). See a list of all the novels in the authorial attribution chain here. |
| “Had the weak, the imbecile Emily, confided her peace, her honor, the welfare of her eternal soul, to the care of a man who avowed, boldly avowed himself a decided sceptic? And had he already staggered the principles of a young creature, who for eighteen years had undeviatingly walked in the religious precepts which were inculcated in her mind? ‘Oh, man?’ cried I, ‘thou tyrant of our sex, is this thy boasted power and dost thou tyrannize only to destroy; to destroy eternally? And dost thou exert thy power to pervert the morals of her whom thou hast sworn to love and cherish?’” -- the heroine inveighing in Concealment, or the Cascade of Llantwarryhn |
CMP#242 Concealment, or the Cascade of Llantwarryhn (1801)
Concealment is an epistolary novel, consisting entirely of letters from the heroine, Matilda Harrison, to her friend Elizabeth who is somewhere far away. While this kind of contrivance is artificial, and downright silly when it requires Matilda to reiterate events that Elizabeth, whoever she is, already knows about, it has one advantage. It restricts the story to Matilda’s limited point of view. As is typical with plots that rely upon misunderstanding, the resolution depends upon coincidence, and boy, we have some humdingers here.
What really struck me, though, was the dark, humorless tone of this novel. There are servants, but they are not comic or garrulous. There is no gallery of fools. In fact, the entire first volume is a catalog of the misery visited upon womankind because of incompetent fathers, foppish suitors, cads and liars. The authoress does not hold back in her opinion of the tyrant man. In other circumstances, academics would regard Concealment as a feminist novel, like Mary Wollstonecraft's Maria, or the Wrongs of Women. But I doubt they would champion this book. Let's find out why.
We begin with the heroine’s precipitate flight to Wales, then we backtrack to the tragedies that led her there...
What really struck me, though, was the dark, humorless tone of this novel. There are servants, but they are not comic or garrulous. There is no gallery of fools. In fact, the entire first volume is a catalog of the misery visited upon womankind because of incompetent fathers, foppish suitors, cads and liars. The authoress does not hold back in her opinion of the tyrant man. In other circumstances, academics would regard Concealment as a feminist novel, like Mary Wollstonecraft's Maria, or the Wrongs of Women. But I doubt they would champion this book. Let's find out why.
We begin with the heroine’s precipitate flight to Wales, then we backtrack to the tragedies that led her there...
Wickham-like Synopsis
Heroine Matilda Harrison’s father is a general. Like most heroines, she loses her mother early in life. The general also takes in an orphaned cousin, Emily, whose father squandered the family money before he died. The two girls grow up happily with the general, but he is blind to the dangers of filling his home with army officers when he has two lovely girls to protect.
Captain Mordant, the son of one of General Harrison’s best friends, arrives in town from India and starts pitching woo to both girls. Matilda sees through him, but Emily falls for him. The general doesn’t realize that Mordant’s real target is his daughter the heiress—when he discovers that Mordant has been insinuating himself into Emily’s affections (he's just doing this to pass the time because he’s an oily Wickham type), he insists that Mordant marry little Emily. The general graciously bestows ten thousand pounds on Emily and the happy couple are married. Matilda holds her tongue about what a double-dealing snake Mordant is, so as not to explode poor Emily’s delusions. After the general’s death, Matilda, having no other guardian, goes to live with Mordant and Emily. She is more than dismayed to discover that her host scoffs at religion and is teaching his impressionable young wife to do the same.
Also, Matilda is pestered by a baronet, Sir James Ellis, who clearly has his eye on her thirty thousand-pound inheritance.
Heroine Matilda Harrison’s father is a general. Like most heroines, she loses her mother early in life. The general also takes in an orphaned cousin, Emily, whose father squandered the family money before he died. The two girls grow up happily with the general, but he is blind to the dangers of filling his home with army officers when he has two lovely girls to protect.
Captain Mordant, the son of one of General Harrison’s best friends, arrives in town from India and starts pitching woo to both girls. Matilda sees through him, but Emily falls for him. The general doesn’t realize that Mordant’s real target is his daughter the heiress—when he discovers that Mordant has been insinuating himself into Emily’s affections (he's just doing this to pass the time because he’s an oily Wickham type), he insists that Mordant marry little Emily. The general graciously bestows ten thousand pounds on Emily and the happy couple are married. Matilda holds her tongue about what a double-dealing snake Mordant is, so as not to explode poor Emily’s delusions. After the general’s death, Matilda, having no other guardian, goes to live with Mordant and Emily. She is more than dismayed to discover that her host scoffs at religion and is teaching his impressionable young wife to do the same.
Also, Matilda is pestered by a baronet, Sir James Ellis, who clearly has his eye on her thirty thousand-pound inheritance.
Magdalen Chapel in the Magdalen Hospital Enter the hero-- or is he?
Another army officer enters the story and stays with the Mordants as a guest. Conway is handsome, intelligent, and sensitive; recently returned from the West Indies, he is mourning the death of a beloved sister. Matilda falls for him like a ton of bricks. He briefly thinks that she is going to marry the empty-headed Sir James. When she sets him straight, he is overjoyed and confesses his love. She agrees to marry him despite his lack of fortune.
One day, the happily engaged couple go with Emily and her husband to the Magdalen Chapel. (Why is the atheist Mordant taking his wife to hear a sermon? Hmmm). There, Conway spots a veiled woman, turns pale, and runs out. He doesn’t return that night and when he comes home the next day, he behaves in a strange, reserved manner. Over the next few days, Matilda receives two anonymous notes warning her that Conway is deceiving her. He often leaves the house but refuses to say where he is going. But when she confronts him, he vows that he loves only her. Now we see how the characters refer to themselves in the third person.
Another army officer enters the story and stays with the Mordants as a guest. Conway is handsome, intelligent, and sensitive; recently returned from the West Indies, he is mourning the death of a beloved sister. Matilda falls for him like a ton of bricks. He briefly thinks that she is going to marry the empty-headed Sir James. When she sets him straight, he is overjoyed and confesses his love. She agrees to marry him despite his lack of fortune.
One day, the happily engaged couple go with Emily and her husband to the Magdalen Chapel. (Why is the atheist Mordant taking his wife to hear a sermon? Hmmm). There, Conway spots a veiled woman, turns pale, and runs out. He doesn’t return that night and when he comes home the next day, he behaves in a strange, reserved manner. Over the next few days, Matilda receives two anonymous notes warning her that Conway is deceiving her. He often leaves the house but refuses to say where he is going. But when she confronts him, he vows that he loves only her. Now we see how the characters refer to themselves in the third person.
| ‘’Rival!’” repeated he, “No; forbid it Heaven.” “Then why, dear Conway,” said I, “why not inform your Matilda the cause of your concealed grief, for a secret grief you have; from you she would not withhold her inmost thought; then does not she deserve the same confidence?” Conway’s countenance changed; at one moment he seemed about to speak, the next he retired to a window, and I softly heard him ejaculate, “Oh! Never, never, never, dear injured angel!” Mordaunt entered the room, and thus ended our conversation. Alas! would I could add, thus ended my unhappiness. |
The mysterious Mrs. Sedly. ChatGPT image Treachery! Attempted Bigamy!
One day when Matilda is out shopping with Emily, she sees Conway across the street, escorting a veiled lady into lodgings. The neighbours describe the woman as his wife.
Heart-broken, shattered, distraught, Matilda leaves a generous bequest for Emily and her little daughter, and flees to live with a clergyman and his wife in a remote cottage in Wales, leaving her forwarding address only with her solicitor. Now the backstory catches up to the narrative.
But wait! There is yet more male perfidy to report. In a minor subplot, Matilda meets an honest old peasant woman whose daughter Patty, abandoned by her village swain, dies of a broken heart: “she is no longer exposed to the troubles of a vain world, or to the woes which man has the power of carving out for the credulous female!”
We also meet Sir Henry Tudor, who rambles around the nearby stately estate, obviously weighed down with a guilty secret. Matilda befriends Sir Henry and tries to uplift him when he confesses that he is utterly despairing and wishes to be done with life.
One day, Rev. Burton informs Matilda that he and his wife are taking on another boarder who, like herself, wishes to retreat from the cruel world, an army wife whose husband is about to be sent to Europe. To Matilda’s utter shock as she spies him from behind a curtain, the army officer is her faithless but still beloved Conway, thin and pale-looking, weighed down by a secret sorrow, and passing himself off as a Captain Sedly. His wife, therefore, must be the mysterious veiled woman she saw in London.
Mrs. Sedly is pale, subdued, lovely and fascinating, but weighed down by a guilty secret. She looks and sounds surprisingly like her husband, or as she puts it, “my…. husband.” Yes, husband, that’s it.
Later, Captain Mordant, who has gone through his money and Emily’s, tricks Matilda into leaving Wales. He kidnaps her with the hope of acquiring her fortune and having his wicked way with her. (Such abduction plots are pretty common in these old novels but the villains don’t force themselves on the heroines, they just threaten and plead). He tells her that Emily has disappeared and has probably become Sir James Ellis’s lover, much to Matilda ’s horror. Mordant keeps Matilda at a remote farmhouse but allows her to roam the gardens. The manservant set to guard her overhears her pining for the scenic, shady glades of Llantwarryhn – by golly, that’s his hometown! How deeply he regrets leaving Llantwarryhn and abandoning his childhood sweetheart Patty to serve a rogue like Mordant! He helps Matilda escape.
One day when Matilda is out shopping with Emily, she sees Conway across the street, escorting a veiled lady into lodgings. The neighbours describe the woman as his wife.
Heart-broken, shattered, distraught, Matilda leaves a generous bequest for Emily and her little daughter, and flees to live with a clergyman and his wife in a remote cottage in Wales, leaving her forwarding address only with her solicitor. Now the backstory catches up to the narrative.
But wait! There is yet more male perfidy to report. In a minor subplot, Matilda meets an honest old peasant woman whose daughter Patty, abandoned by her village swain, dies of a broken heart: “she is no longer exposed to the troubles of a vain world, or to the woes which man has the power of carving out for the credulous female!”
We also meet Sir Henry Tudor, who rambles around the nearby stately estate, obviously weighed down with a guilty secret. Matilda befriends Sir Henry and tries to uplift him when he confesses that he is utterly despairing and wishes to be done with life.
One day, Rev. Burton informs Matilda that he and his wife are taking on another boarder who, like herself, wishes to retreat from the cruel world, an army wife whose husband is about to be sent to Europe. To Matilda’s utter shock as she spies him from behind a curtain, the army officer is her faithless but still beloved Conway, thin and pale-looking, weighed down by a secret sorrow, and passing himself off as a Captain Sedly. His wife, therefore, must be the mysterious veiled woman she saw in London.
Mrs. Sedly is pale, subdued, lovely and fascinating, but weighed down by a guilty secret. She looks and sounds surprisingly like her husband, or as she puts it, “my…. husband.” Yes, husband, that’s it.
Later, Captain Mordant, who has gone through his money and Emily’s, tricks Matilda into leaving Wales. He kidnaps her with the hope of acquiring her fortune and having his wicked way with her. (Such abduction plots are pretty common in these old novels but the villains don’t force themselves on the heroines, they just threaten and plead). He tells her that Emily has disappeared and has probably become Sir James Ellis’s lover, much to Matilda ’s horror. Mordant keeps Matilda at a remote farmhouse but allows her to roam the gardens. The manservant set to guard her overhears her pining for the scenic, shady glades of Llantwarryhn – by golly, that’s his hometown! How deeply he regrets leaving Llantwarryhn and abandoning his childhood sweetheart Patty to serve a rogue like Mordant! He helps Matilda escape.
The truth revealed
As you’ve probably guessed, Conway is innocent of attempted bigamy and this has all been a misunderstanding. Mrs. Sedly is not Conway’s wife, she’s his sister Caroline who did not die. She hid herself away out of shame because she was seduced and abandoned. She made Conway promise not to tell anyone, not even his fiancée-and this concealment led to Matilda abruptly running away to Wales. Sheer coincidence led Conway’s sister to take up her abode under the same roof. As Matilda reflects: “How singular, more how than singular, that three persons, whose fate was so unaccountably blended, should have remained so long in mystery, when a word, a look, would have immediately unravelled”?
By three persons, Matilda means herself, Caroline and Sir Henry. It turns out that Sir Henry is the man who met and seduced Caroline while her brother was out of the country: “accident introduced her to a gentleman, who formed one of a party that had come to the neighborhood to shoot grouse. Polished in manners, prepossessing in appearance, animated in his address, warm in professions of admiration; can you wonder that Caroline yielded her heart to so many specious attractions? Alas! No… this gentleman employed the most seductive arts to secure his triumph over her affections; he read to her the most romantic poetry, in the most impassioned manner, in the most interesting tones, his opinions always assimilated with hers” (sounds rather like Willoughby in Sense and Sensibility, eh?).
Caroline refuses to let Sir Henry make amends: “I swear never to see you more. Thou art the destroyer of my fame, my peace, my honour.” She’s also gotten a letter from Holland telling her that her brother is on his death bed, so she adds that Sir Henry is “The murderer of my Conway—Yes, he is gone for ever to the silent grave.” Sir Henry, aghast at what he has done, rushes off and flings himself into the waterfall, the Cascade of Llantwarryhn.
As Matilda recounts in one of her letters: “Alas! Elizabeth, I reached him not until he had gained the cascade, till he tumbled down the deep abyss, until the rolling waters covered his aching bosom, his feverish brain: I heard the desperate plunge into eternity, I saw the foaming surge close over his hapless form: I made the woods echo to my shriek! I heard, I saw no more!”
Consider what a massive, soul-destroying tragedy the loss of female virtue is in this novel as compared to Austen’s treatment of it in Pride and Prejudice with Lydia and Wickham.
As you’ve probably guessed, Conway is innocent of attempted bigamy and this has all been a misunderstanding. Mrs. Sedly is not Conway’s wife, she’s his sister Caroline who did not die. She hid herself away out of shame because she was seduced and abandoned. She made Conway promise not to tell anyone, not even his fiancée-and this concealment led to Matilda abruptly running away to Wales. Sheer coincidence led Conway’s sister to take up her abode under the same roof. As Matilda reflects: “How singular, more how than singular, that three persons, whose fate was so unaccountably blended, should have remained so long in mystery, when a word, a look, would have immediately unravelled”?
By three persons, Matilda means herself, Caroline and Sir Henry. It turns out that Sir Henry is the man who met and seduced Caroline while her brother was out of the country: “accident introduced her to a gentleman, who formed one of a party that had come to the neighborhood to shoot grouse. Polished in manners, prepossessing in appearance, animated in his address, warm in professions of admiration; can you wonder that Caroline yielded her heart to so many specious attractions? Alas! No… this gentleman employed the most seductive arts to secure his triumph over her affections; he read to her the most romantic poetry, in the most impassioned manner, in the most interesting tones, his opinions always assimilated with hers” (sounds rather like Willoughby in Sense and Sensibility, eh?).
Caroline refuses to let Sir Henry make amends: “I swear never to see you more. Thou art the destroyer of my fame, my peace, my honour.” She’s also gotten a letter from Holland telling her that her brother is on his death bed, so she adds that Sir Henry is “The murderer of my Conway—Yes, he is gone for ever to the silent grave.” Sir Henry, aghast at what he has done, rushes off and flings himself into the waterfall, the Cascade of Llantwarryhn.
As Matilda recounts in one of her letters: “Alas! Elizabeth, I reached him not until he had gained the cascade, till he tumbled down the deep abyss, until the rolling waters covered his aching bosom, his feverish brain: I heard the desperate plunge into eternity, I saw the foaming surge close over his hapless form: I made the woods echo to my shriek! I heard, I saw no more!”
Consider what a massive, soul-destroying tragedy the loss of female virtue is in this novel as compared to Austen’s treatment of it in Pride and Prejudice with Lydia and Wickham.
The wrap up
Mordant flees to the continent, after confessing that he knew Caroline was Conway’s sister, and he was the one who set Matilda up to be deceived into thinking Caroline was his wife. He did this to keep Matilda and her money in the family. No wonder Caroline was worshipping at the Magdalen Chapel, as she is a penitent magdalen.
To wrap things up, Matilda learns that her cousin Emily, who she feared had become a fallen woman, actually repulsed the advances of Sir James Ellis, choosing the bleakest poverty over a fall from virtue. Once found and reunited with Matilda, Emily retires with her children to live quietly with Caroline and the Burtons.
Thus, two out of the three female characters in this novel have been betrayed by the men they love and have only the consolation of religion and Welsh scenery for the remainder of their lives. I was prepared for Matilda to face the future resolute and alone too, but it turns out Conway is not dead, he was just mostly dead. He returns from Holland and marries Matilda.
Mordant flees to the continent, after confessing that he knew Caroline was Conway’s sister, and he was the one who set Matilda up to be deceived into thinking Caroline was his wife. He did this to keep Matilda and her money in the family. No wonder Caroline was worshipping at the Magdalen Chapel, as she is a penitent magdalen.
To wrap things up, Matilda learns that her cousin Emily, who she feared had become a fallen woman, actually repulsed the advances of Sir James Ellis, choosing the bleakest poverty over a fall from virtue. Once found and reunited with Matilda, Emily retires with her children to live quietly with Caroline and the Burtons.
Thus, two out of the three female characters in this novel have been betrayed by the men they love and have only the consolation of religion and Welsh scenery for the remainder of their lives. I was prepared for Matilda to face the future resolute and alone too, but it turns out Conway is not dead, he was just mostly dead. He returns from Holland and marries Matilda.
Christian feminism
In this story that is centered around male perfidy and female virtue, the heroine Matilda does not hesitate to tear a strip off the villain Mordant or to preach repentance and reformation to the despairing Sir Henry Tudor. Not for her to be meek and demure according to the “established forms which are dictated to my sex… I should not scruple in this case, to break through them; could I by so doing, benefit a fellow creature.”
Here, she takes Mordant to the woodshed for undermining Emily’s innocent religious faith: “The first effort of superior abilities, of masculine pre-eminence, was an attempt to degrade your wife to a level with the beasts that perish. Her worship of the Supreme Being, the Lord of Heaven and Earth, you laughed at; her reliance and trust in the merits of her Redeemer, you called the cant of superstition and the jargon of hypocritical sanctity: you tried to implant the diabolic tenets of infidelity in the place of that pure religion which fortifies and sustains the soul; and how you succeeded, Alas! The event proves.”
Yes, Matilda’s self-assurance would probably evaporate if she didn’t have 30 thousand pounds behind her, but she is a resolute warrior battling against the tyrant man. And yet, this strongly feminist book would not, I suspect, be categorized as such in academia because of its entirely Christian perspective. The Woman of Colour also relies strongly on a Christian message, as do all the other books in the attribution chain. With one odd exception which I’ll discuss in the next post.
In this story that is centered around male perfidy and female virtue, the heroine Matilda does not hesitate to tear a strip off the villain Mordant or to preach repentance and reformation to the despairing Sir Henry Tudor. Not for her to be meek and demure according to the “established forms which are dictated to my sex… I should not scruple in this case, to break through them; could I by so doing, benefit a fellow creature.”
Here, she takes Mordant to the woodshed for undermining Emily’s innocent religious faith: “The first effort of superior abilities, of masculine pre-eminence, was an attempt to degrade your wife to a level with the beasts that perish. Her worship of the Supreme Being, the Lord of Heaven and Earth, you laughed at; her reliance and trust in the merits of her Redeemer, you called the cant of superstition and the jargon of hypocritical sanctity: you tried to implant the diabolic tenets of infidelity in the place of that pure religion which fortifies and sustains the soul; and how you succeeded, Alas! The event proves.”
Yes, Matilda’s self-assurance would probably evaporate if she didn’t have 30 thousand pounds behind her, but she is a resolute warrior battling against the tyrant man. And yet, this strongly feminist book would not, I suspect, be categorized as such in academia because of its entirely Christian perspective. The Woman of Colour also relies strongly on a Christian message, as do all the other books in the attribution chain. With one odd exception which I’ll discuss in the next post.
Similarities to The Woman of Colour
Could this book be written by the same woman who wrote The Woman of Colour? I think there are many parallels—an earnest, often preachy heroine, the contrived epistolary style, and the emphasis on religion as the bulwark against life’s suffering. In Concealment, a villain deceives the heroine about the marital status of the man she loves—he’s really single. In The Woman of Colour, a villainess deceives the heroine about the marital status of the man she loves—he’s already married. Both heroines flee to Wales when their hearts are broken. On the other hand, the West Indies and slavery are a major theme in The Woman of Colour. Here, though Mordant comes from serving in India and Conway comes from serving in the West Indies, empire, slavery and colonialism play no part in Concealment. The East and West Indies are simply an "enter stage right" and "enter stage left" for these characters, as is often the case with novels of this era.
Concealment or the Cascade of Llantwarryhn received no reviews when it came out. Although the story is humorless, the authoress makes a little joke in her preface as she apologizes for her book’s shortcomings: “She is conscious the monotonous complainings of Matilda will weary many listless high-bred readers; but they have one consolation--The Book is short."
Could this book be written by the same woman who wrote The Woman of Colour? I think there are many parallels—an earnest, often preachy heroine, the contrived epistolary style, and the emphasis on religion as the bulwark against life’s suffering. In Concealment, a villain deceives the heroine about the marital status of the man she loves—he’s really single. In The Woman of Colour, a villainess deceives the heroine about the marital status of the man she loves—he’s already married. Both heroines flee to Wales when their hearts are broken. On the other hand, the West Indies and slavery are a major theme in The Woman of Colour. Here, though Mordant comes from serving in India and Conway comes from serving in the West Indies, empire, slavery and colonialism play no part in Concealment. The East and West Indies are simply an "enter stage right" and "enter stage left" for these characters, as is often the case with novels of this era.
Concealment or the Cascade of Llantwarryhn received no reviews when it came out. Although the story is humorless, the authoress makes a little joke in her preface as she apologizes for her book’s shortcomings: “She is conscious the monotonous complainings of Matilda will weary many listless high-bred readers; but they have one consolation--The Book is short."
Previous post: Jaqueline, the boring heroine Next post: Fedaretta and Emily
RSS Feed