| 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. Woman of Colour-centric coverage continues with a comparison of another anonymous novel with The Woman of Colour. Click on the "Woman of Colour Mystery" menu item to the right for the other posts about this novel. |
CMP#266 Book Review: The Decision (1811) by Anonymous
I first came across this novel when I was looking for any and all novels that mention gypsies, to compare them with the gypsy scene in Emma. This novel has a fairly pointless let-me-read-your-palm gypsy scene in Volume II. I have just re-read it because the author uses the same forced-marriage premise as The Woman of Colour; a man telling his daughter who to marry in his last will and testament. In fact, I am struck by how many plot points these two novels have in common. If you’ve read The Woman of Colour, follow along with me and see for yourself.
The Decision begins as an epistolary novel then drifts into third person narration. It opens with the confessions of Charles Arundel, writing to his old friend Mr. Beverly. We learn that when he was a young man, he married a poor girl (like Augustus in The Woman of Colour) and kept the marriage a secret so his rich uncle wouldn’t cut off his inheritance (again, like Augustus, except he was hiding things from his dad). But his uncle found out and he drafted a new will, leaving his fortune to a cousin in the West Indies. Arundel visits his uncle on his death bed, finds the will, destroys it, and then slips his uncle some hemlock. I suppose that is the ‘decision’ of the title, though some more momentous decisions come at the end. This is all prologue to the story of our heroine Isabella, Arundel's daughter.
The Decision begins as an epistolary novel then drifts into third person narration. It opens with the confessions of Charles Arundel, writing to his old friend Mr. Beverly. We learn that when he was a young man, he married a poor girl (like Augustus in The Woman of Colour) and kept the marriage a secret so his rich uncle wouldn’t cut off his inheritance (again, like Augustus, except he was hiding things from his dad). But his uncle found out and he drafted a new will, leaving his fortune to a cousin in the West Indies. Arundel visits his uncle on his death bed, finds the will, destroys it, and then slips his uncle some hemlock. I suppose that is the ‘decision’ of the title, though some more momentous decisions come at the end. This is all prologue to the story of our heroine Isabella, Arundel's daughter.
Remorse and recompense
Now the guilt-ridden Arundel is off to the West Indies to find the son of the cousin whose inheritance he stole. He plans to atone for his crimes for marrying this son to his own lovely daughter Isabella, and his will leaves all the money to the cousin/heir, Horatio. So that's the premise the author has set up.
While dad’s away, Isabella stays with his old friend Mr. Beverly and his family, which includes a lazy, languid wife, a vain daughter, a nice and sensible daughter, some younger siblings, and a wonderful and handsome son who is engaged to somebody else. It is obvious that Isabella and Valcourt are made for each other, but she is promised to Horatio and he is engaged to a beautiful heiress. Well, not obvious because Valcourt and Isabella won't admit this to themselves, and everybody around them contributes to sustaining misunderstanding between our hero and heroine. A reminder that in these novels, misunderstanding sets up the obstacles that keep lovers apart.
Valcourt Beverly thinks Isabella is falling for his Henry Crawford-like friend Mr. Yorke, who keeps dropping hints that she's crazy about him, when she isn't. Then he assumes she loves her childhood friend, now a captain with the Royal Navy. Isabella can't help observing that Valcourt’s fiancée isn’t worthy of him. Lots of romantic angst here.
When dad comes back from the West Indies with Horatio, Isabella does not take a shine to him. Isabella’s father falls ill and in a protracted deathbed scene, he extorts a promise from Isabella that she will marry Horatio. Some excerpts.
“Command me to renounce fortune, country, any sacrifice, but to become Horatio’s wife.”...
Arundel now sunk motionless on the pillow… the moment was decisive; agonized with horror, her mind nearly frenzied at her father’s last awful and impressive words, she wildly exclaimed—“Live, oh! Live, my beloved father; but in life or death I will obey thee!”....
“Look up, my child,” Arundel repeated, “look up, and swear to become the wife of Horatio Arundel.”...
“She almost gloried in the sacrifice of her own happiness, could it ensure to him the blessing of peace in these last eventful hours; and now the idea of an eternal separation from him swelled her heart to agony.” "All other feeling seemed suspended, and in silent but fervent prayer she besought the Disposer of all events to let his bitter cup of affliction pass away.”
Now the guilt-ridden Arundel is off to the West Indies to find the son of the cousin whose inheritance he stole. He plans to atone for his crimes for marrying this son to his own lovely daughter Isabella, and his will leaves all the money to the cousin/heir, Horatio. So that's the premise the author has set up.
While dad’s away, Isabella stays with his old friend Mr. Beverly and his family, which includes a lazy, languid wife, a vain daughter, a nice and sensible daughter, some younger siblings, and a wonderful and handsome son who is engaged to somebody else. It is obvious that Isabella and Valcourt are made for each other, but she is promised to Horatio and he is engaged to a beautiful heiress. Well, not obvious because Valcourt and Isabella won't admit this to themselves, and everybody around them contributes to sustaining misunderstanding between our hero and heroine. A reminder that in these novels, misunderstanding sets up the obstacles that keep lovers apart.
Valcourt Beverly thinks Isabella is falling for his Henry Crawford-like friend Mr. Yorke, who keeps dropping hints that she's crazy about him, when she isn't. Then he assumes she loves her childhood friend, now a captain with the Royal Navy. Isabella can't help observing that Valcourt’s fiancée isn’t worthy of him. Lots of romantic angst here.
When dad comes back from the West Indies with Horatio, Isabella does not take a shine to him. Isabella’s father falls ill and in a protracted deathbed scene, he extorts a promise from Isabella that she will marry Horatio. Some excerpts.
“Command me to renounce fortune, country, any sacrifice, but to become Horatio’s wife.”...
Arundel now sunk motionless on the pillow… the moment was decisive; agonized with horror, her mind nearly frenzied at her father’s last awful and impressive words, she wildly exclaimed—“Live, oh! Live, my beloved father; but in life or death I will obey thee!”....
“Look up, my child,” Arundel repeated, “look up, and swear to become the wife of Horatio Arundel.”...
“She almost gloried in the sacrifice of her own happiness, could it ensure to him the blessing of peace in these last eventful hours; and now the idea of an eternal separation from him swelled her heart to agony.” "All other feeling seemed suspended, and in silent but fervent prayer she besought the Disposer of all events to let his bitter cup of affliction pass away.”
Ships that pass in the night
Valcourt is now free because his fiancée eloped with somebody else, and he can see that Horatio is a cold fish. “Often had he marked Horatio’s indifference on subjects who had even excited Isabella’s enthusiasm. The simple tale of some neighbouring cottager, the tranquillity of a summer’s evening, the setting sun… the sublimities of a prospect… had convinced him that kindred and elevated minds could only think and feel in unison.”
Would Horatio jump off his horse to assist Isabella when he sees her struggling down the road with a cottager’s child who has broken his leg? I don’t think so. But Valcourt did. The hero-sees-the-heroine-doing-something-charitable trope is a durable old chestnut and Jane Austen parodies it in Emma. Later, Valcourt watches uncomfortably as Horatio pooh-poohs Isabella's plan to open up a "School of Industry" for the poor people in her home village. Horatio thinks that schools just give people ideas above their proper station in life; no need to teach the peasantry how to read. Valcourt thinks Horatio will not allow Isabella to follow her generous impulses once they are married. "I question much if his principle of subordination will not even extend to the husband’s superiority, to the unconditional obedience of the wife.”
Valcourt is now free because his fiancée eloped with somebody else, and he can see that Horatio is a cold fish. “Often had he marked Horatio’s indifference on subjects who had even excited Isabella’s enthusiasm. The simple tale of some neighbouring cottager, the tranquillity of a summer’s evening, the setting sun… the sublimities of a prospect… had convinced him that kindred and elevated minds could only think and feel in unison.”
Would Horatio jump off his horse to assist Isabella when he sees her struggling down the road with a cottager’s child who has broken his leg? I don’t think so. But Valcourt did. The hero-sees-the-heroine-doing-something-charitable trope is a durable old chestnut and Jane Austen parodies it in Emma. Later, Valcourt watches uncomfortably as Horatio pooh-poohs Isabella's plan to open up a "School of Industry" for the poor people in her home village. Horatio thinks that schools just give people ideas above their proper station in life; no need to teach the peasantry how to read. Valcourt thinks Horatio will not allow Isabella to follow her generous impulses once they are married. "I question much if his principle of subordination will not even extend to the husband’s superiority, to the unconditional obedience of the wife.”
The fatal moment arrives
Isabella puts the wedding off for as long as she decently can, but finally accepts her fate and goes to church to be joined to a man she neither loves nor respects. Well, guess what happens when the minister, Mr. Walpole, gets to the part about “any just impediment” and “speak now or forever hold your peace”? Go ahead, guess!
A voice cries out: “I forbid the banns!”
The author switches from his usual long sentences and gives us this:
Horatio said, “Proceed in your office, Sir.”
Mr. Walpole shut the book.
Horatio again urged him to proceed.
He answered, “We must, Sir, adjourn to the vestry-room,” and he immediately walked from the communion-table.
There, in the vestry-room, is Valcourt standing there with... Horatio’s wife and child! Horatio is already married! Valcourt has, quite luckily, come across the poor woman at a roadside inn and has rushed them to the church just in time to stop the ceremony. The author tells us: “Isabella neither wept nor fainted,” which says a lot for her, I think.
Horatio blusters, denies, then execrates everybody and flees. We get the abandoned wife’s backstory. She was a poor clergyman’s daughter whom Horatio married impulsively but he when he had a chance to get Arundel’s fortune he stuck her, almost penniless, in a remote cottage in –where else? Wales.
Isabella is freed from her vow to her father! Valcourt is also free! But, as I mentioned, Valcourt thinks she loves a navy captain, so the resolution takes a few more chapters. The story to be continued for we'll also look at some background topics...
Isabella puts the wedding off for as long as she decently can, but finally accepts her fate and goes to church to be joined to a man she neither loves nor respects. Well, guess what happens when the minister, Mr. Walpole, gets to the part about “any just impediment” and “speak now or forever hold your peace”? Go ahead, guess!
A voice cries out: “I forbid the banns!”
The author switches from his usual long sentences and gives us this:
Horatio said, “Proceed in your office, Sir.”
Mr. Walpole shut the book.
Horatio again urged him to proceed.
He answered, “We must, Sir, adjourn to the vestry-room,” and he immediately walked from the communion-table.
There, in the vestry-room, is Valcourt standing there with... Horatio’s wife and child! Horatio is already married! Valcourt has, quite luckily, come across the poor woman at a roadside inn and has rushed them to the church just in time to stop the ceremony. The author tells us: “Isabella neither wept nor fainted,” which says a lot for her, I think.
Horatio blusters, denies, then execrates everybody and flees. We get the abandoned wife’s backstory. She was a poor clergyman’s daughter whom Horatio married impulsively but he when he had a chance to get Arundel’s fortune he stuck her, almost penniless, in a remote cottage in –where else? Wales.
Isabella is freed from her vow to her father! Valcourt is also free! But, as I mentioned, Valcourt thinks she loves a navy captain, so the resolution takes a few more chapters. The story to be continued for we'll also look at some background topics...
Other points of interest
Off to Wales
If you've read a few old novels, like The Children of the Abbey and such-like, you know that Wales is the refuge of beleaguered heroines. That's where Olivia goes in The Woman of Colour after her marriage dissolves. The editor of the 2008 edition is very struck by this, and he mentions another novel where the heroine goes to Monmouthshire in Wales: "An eighteenth-century woman’s residence in this area—on the fringes of two national borders but securely anchored to neither—seems to be a fitting location for emphasizing the liminality that both of these women embody in their respective texts." Well, yeah, it's just a convenient novel cliché.
West Indies -- just the usual stage left stuff
I always keep track of references to slavery and empire. Horatio Arundel comes from the West Indies but there is zero commentary about slavery and empire in this novel that I recall. “Slave” is used several times in the sense of “a slave to fashion”, etc. The West Indies is used, as it is often used in novels of this era, to store characters until you need them.
"I find I must dispatch this packet"
While her father is away, Isabella keeps a journal which she will share with him. Communication with the West Indies was a slow process. To switch back to The Woman of Colour for a moment: the packet ships which left Jamaica twice a month took about six weeks to reach England and vice versa, I suppose. They carried the packets of mail back and forth. It made sense to write a long running letter to your correspondent and keep adding to it, and then dispatch the packet of letters to the packet boat before it sailed. As Olivia puts it, "I must proceed with my history when an opportunity offers, therefore you will have a packet of mutilated scraps."
Therefore, when Olivia shares the horrible news that Augustus is already married, maybe two months go by before the news is delivered to her old governess Mrs. Milbanke in Jamaica. Supposing she dashes off an answer right away, she still has to wait for the sailing times for the next packet. Then another two months or so before the packet arrives in England, the mail is taken off the boat, sorted, and delivered to a remote cottage in Wales. Or maybe Olivia has to pick up her mail from the nearest village post office.
I had wondered if this was why Olivia was prostrated with grief for "more than six weeks." I thought that was quite along time to be prostrated and it is coincidentally the sailing time for the packet boat. But no, Olivia did not send a letter immediately after the catastrophe. More than six weeks went by before she was able to bring herself to write the news to Mrs. Milbanke. This section of letters is the fourth packet in the book and it takes Olivia from married happiness to the blackest despair. Off it goes to Jamaica and then Olivia starts a new series of letters.
The author has to pay attention to the chronology. At least three months should elapse between Olivia's mailing off the fourth packet and the return answer from Mrs. Milbanke. Since nothing much happens in the story while Olivia in Wales, not enough to fill out three months at any rate, the "editor" of the letters puts in a blank of one month. "As the journal of the ensuing month does not offer any thing which requires insertion, we shall omit it, and go on to a period more material."
At the end of the book, an answer arrives from Mrs. Milbanke and this letter is what makes Olivia decide to return to Jamaica. So the final and fifth packet of letters in the story will probably not reach Jamaica before Olivia does. She will just take her last batch of letters with her, even though she is writing a note to Mrs. Milbanke to say she is coming.
Off to Wales
If you've read a few old novels, like The Children of the Abbey and such-like, you know that Wales is the refuge of beleaguered heroines. That's where Olivia goes in The Woman of Colour after her marriage dissolves. The editor of the 2008 edition is very struck by this, and he mentions another novel where the heroine goes to Monmouthshire in Wales: "An eighteenth-century woman’s residence in this area—on the fringes of two national borders but securely anchored to neither—seems to be a fitting location for emphasizing the liminality that both of these women embody in their respective texts." Well, yeah, it's just a convenient novel cliché.
West Indies -- just the usual stage left stuff
I always keep track of references to slavery and empire. Horatio Arundel comes from the West Indies but there is zero commentary about slavery and empire in this novel that I recall. “Slave” is used several times in the sense of “a slave to fashion”, etc. The West Indies is used, as it is often used in novels of this era, to store characters until you need them.
"I find I must dispatch this packet"
While her father is away, Isabella keeps a journal which she will share with him. Communication with the West Indies was a slow process. To switch back to The Woman of Colour for a moment: the packet ships which left Jamaica twice a month took about six weeks to reach England and vice versa, I suppose. They carried the packets of mail back and forth. It made sense to write a long running letter to your correspondent and keep adding to it, and then dispatch the packet of letters to the packet boat before it sailed. As Olivia puts it, "I must proceed with my history when an opportunity offers, therefore you will have a packet of mutilated scraps."
Therefore, when Olivia shares the horrible news that Augustus is already married, maybe two months go by before the news is delivered to her old governess Mrs. Milbanke in Jamaica. Supposing she dashes off an answer right away, she still has to wait for the sailing times for the next packet. Then another two months or so before the packet arrives in England, the mail is taken off the boat, sorted, and delivered to a remote cottage in Wales. Or maybe Olivia has to pick up her mail from the nearest village post office.
I had wondered if this was why Olivia was prostrated with grief for "more than six weeks." I thought that was quite along time to be prostrated and it is coincidentally the sailing time for the packet boat. But no, Olivia did not send a letter immediately after the catastrophe. More than six weeks went by before she was able to bring herself to write the news to Mrs. Milbanke. This section of letters is the fourth packet in the book and it takes Olivia from married happiness to the blackest despair. Off it goes to Jamaica and then Olivia starts a new series of letters.
The author has to pay attention to the chronology. At least three months should elapse between Olivia's mailing off the fourth packet and the return answer from Mrs. Milbanke. Since nothing much happens in the story while Olivia in Wales, not enough to fill out three months at any rate, the "editor" of the letters puts in a blank of one month. "As the journal of the ensuing month does not offer any thing which requires insertion, we shall omit it, and go on to a period more material."
At the end of the book, an answer arrives from Mrs. Milbanke and this letter is what makes Olivia decide to return to Jamaica. So the final and fifth packet of letters in the story will probably not reach Jamaica before Olivia does. She will just take her last batch of letters with her, even though she is writing a note to Mrs. Milbanke to say she is coming.
Portrait of a pompous clergyman
The author of The Decision strikes a nice balance between conservative and liberal. He's against mercenary marriage, he's for people choosing their mates carefully. He's for charitable gestures and moderate living. But the more skilled of the authors of this era were not all one-sided in their portrayals. That is, if they were against progressives, they would balance out the portrait by showing somebody with flaws on the other side of the canvas. Think of Persuasion. Sir Walter Elliott is a vain and ridiculous man who is vain of his rank. But Austen also gives us Mrs. Clay, trying to flatter and wheedle her way into a higher social class through marriage. So, snobs are bad, but so are shameless social climbers! Likewise, in The Decision, irreligious people are bad but we also have the local clergyman, Dr. Granville, who is a cold-hearted stuffed shirt with no bedside manner whatsoever. At Arundel’s bedside, he “exhorted the suffering man, with pompous precision, to join in the prayers of the church… the justice of an offended God was ever rigidly opposed to the equally never-failing attribute of mercy.”
The heroine cannot bring herself to confide her troubles in him. He “ever had repulsed the confidence of Isabella’s heart, and she now shrunk from his elaborate remarks, and unsatisfactory consolation, with encreased disgust.” She sees that he only only talks the Christian virtues, does not practise them. “he could talk of humility, but his demeanour was proud and overbearing; he dwelt on the duties of temperance, but the luxuries of his own table, and ever habitual self-indulgence, contradicted the pompous theory of his speech... (etc.)
An author could portray a clergyman critically, but that does not mean the author is critical of the Anglican church as a whole, or of Christianity. I posted about this same issue several years ago--Austen's clergyman's are not an attack on the church.
The author of The Decision strikes a nice balance between conservative and liberal. He's against mercenary marriage, he's for people choosing their mates carefully. He's for charitable gestures and moderate living. But the more skilled of the authors of this era were not all one-sided in their portrayals. That is, if they were against progressives, they would balance out the portrait by showing somebody with flaws on the other side of the canvas. Think of Persuasion. Sir Walter Elliott is a vain and ridiculous man who is vain of his rank. But Austen also gives us Mrs. Clay, trying to flatter and wheedle her way into a higher social class through marriage. So, snobs are bad, but so are shameless social climbers! Likewise, in The Decision, irreligious people are bad but we also have the local clergyman, Dr. Granville, who is a cold-hearted stuffed shirt with no bedside manner whatsoever. At Arundel’s bedside, he “exhorted the suffering man, with pompous precision, to join in the prayers of the church… the justice of an offended God was ever rigidly opposed to the equally never-failing attribute of mercy.”
The heroine cannot bring herself to confide her troubles in him. He “ever had repulsed the confidence of Isabella’s heart, and she now shrunk from his elaborate remarks, and unsatisfactory consolation, with encreased disgust.” She sees that he only only talks the Christian virtues, does not practise them. “he could talk of humility, but his demeanour was proud and overbearing; he dwelt on the duties of temperance, but the luxuries of his own table, and ever habitual self-indulgence, contradicted the pompous theory of his speech... (etc.)
An author could portray a clergyman critically, but that does not mean the author is critical of the Anglican church as a whole, or of Christianity. I posted about this same issue several years ago--Austen's clergyman's are not an attack on the church.
So far, I notice
In The Woman of Colour, we have Olivia trying to convince herself that she ought to obey her father's will and marry her cousin, even when Mrs. Honeywood and her own uncle let her know they think it's a weird clause it put in a will. This author shows us, rather than tells us, the whole story, and shows how the father emotionally manipulates his daughter into giving him a deathbed promise. This is more skilful writing, in my opinion.
The author of this book also does a good job of setting up romantic angst and squeezing out every bit of misunderstanding. In contrast, in the Woman of Colour, we meet another man who admires the heroine, but he isn’t used in a romantic triangle, and when he proposes she turns him down instantly. Not much extended drama there. And I don't think the author of The Woman of Colour could stretch out a death bed scene to ten pages. Yet, there are so many similarities.... to be continued
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In The Woman of Colour, we have Olivia trying to convince herself that she ought to obey her father's will and marry her cousin, even when Mrs. Honeywood and her own uncle let her know they think it's a weird clause it put in a will. This author shows us, rather than tells us, the whole story, and shows how the father emotionally manipulates his daughter into giving him a deathbed promise. This is more skilful writing, in my opinion.
The author of this book also does a good job of setting up romantic angst and squeezing out every bit of misunderstanding. In contrast, in the Woman of Colour, we meet another man who admires the heroine, but he isn’t used in a romantic triangle, and when he proposes she turns him down instantly. Not much extended drama there. And I don't think the author of The Woman of Colour could stretch out a death bed scene to ten pages. Yet, there are so many similarities.... to be continued
Previous post: The author of The Woman of Colour!!! Next post: The Decision, part two
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