Date: Sun, 9 Aug 1998 A gamester's conscience, or lack thereof.
During this week's installment the miserable slug Harrel finally put an end to
his life. Too bad he could not have carried out his intention when first he
threatened it, coercing our heroine to part with most of the money left her by
her parents. Remember her secret prayer for her parents, uttered at the
beginning of this book? They must have been rolling like the slots in a slot
machine in their graves, at the awareness of the pass Cecilia had come to.
Things would only get worse.
Cecilia's complacence at the prospect of her impending removal to the home of
the Delviles was brought up short when Priscilla's maid burst into her room,
beseeching her to " ... hasten to the side of her lady, who she feared was
going into fits." Harrel, hoping for one last dash at the gambling tables he
so loved, had told Priscilla that unless they could find 3,000 pounds, they
could not leave the country without starving in the country of their refuge.
Cecilia, appalled, remembered the warning of Mr. Monckton, and saw that " ...
one year's income was already demanded, the annuity and the country house
might [next] be required." She was glad not to be taken by surprise, and
resolved that no entreaties would postpone her change of residence in the
morning. Too bad our heroine was a pillar of Jello when it came to resisting
tearful pleas; at least she was not quite so soft a touch as she once was.
With surprise Cecilia heard that Mr. Arnott had already been applied to, and
refused this further encroachment on his fortune. Cecilia tried to comfort
her friend, saying that only a few centuries (actually, only years, but
centuries to Priscilla) of economy and Hamburger Helper dinners would surely
restore them to prosperity. One accustomed to champagne does not easily
adjust to beer, and this prospect did not console Mrs. Harrel. Priscilla
heaped on the lamentations, and Cecilia resented her unjust observations. " '
Oh Miss Beverly, how happy are you! able to stay where you please, -- rich, --
rolling in wealth which you do not want, -- of which had we but one year's
income only, all this misery would be over, and we might stay in our dear,
dear country! ' " So quickly she had forgotten that they had already more
than two years' income from the gullible heiress.
Mr. Harrel, after hearing that the petitions to Mr. Arnott and Cecilia had
failed, left the house in pursuit of other patsies. Mr. Harrel brought the
new prey with him to tea that afternoon; Cecilia's already spurned suitor, Mr.
Marriot. A little more wary by this time, Cecilia surmised that Harrel was
using the same approach on Mr. Marriot that he had with Sir Robert. She
stayed for tea, then insisting on going to her room, despite "earnest
entreaties" that she stay.
In an hour, Mrs. Harrel joyfully informed her friend that her husband had told
her only 1,000 pounds more was needed for their removal. Cecilia refused, and
Priscilla left, disappointed, resolving to try again with her brother.
When Cecilia went in for supper, she found that Mr. Arnott was absent, and Mr.
Marriot was still there. She thought it best that she at that time inform the
Harrels of her determination to leave the following morning. Cecilia's
suspicions were confirmed by their reaction.
Cecilia again went to her room, where she instructed her maid to pack up her
belongings for an expected change of residence. Not much time elapsed before
Priscilla came to remonstrate with her friend, and Cecilia, for a change, was
firm in her resolve. Cecilia urged the necessity of flight from their
creditors, and Priscilla then told her friend that she feared "ill usage" from
her husband. Cecilia angrily demanded if Mr. Harrel thought she was to be
frightened into forking out by a threat of physical danger, but Priscilla
displayed her lack of conscience when she replied,
Cecilia was easily worked upon by her friend; she spent a sleepless night
worrying, feeling responsible for Mr. Arnott's intransigence (which was her
doing), and still deluding herself that Mr. Harrel's salvation was still
possible.
Jill Spriggs
Re: Cecilia, III:V:10-13: Spectacular Bankruptcy and Suicide
Again I was struck by the kinds of events Burney presents to us:
we have the spectacular bankruptcy and suicide of Harrel in
yet another of Burney's long phantasmagoric chapters in which
all society turns into a masquerade of fools, knaves, and witches.
But we also have all the sorts of things that lead up to bankruptcy
and suicide: continual overspending, indifference to tradesmen,
irresponsibility, probably daily happenings in the lives of the
aristocracy and smaller gentry of Austen's period. When we
think about the content of Burney's books, we find that a good
deal of what's wrong with the world today still is omitted from
Austen's.
The reason I bring this up is I expect because of the style of
the book and lack of inwardness in many of the characters it
is difficult to believe it was as popular and influential as it was.
I think what one has to do is remember its date: 1782.
While the books of the 1790s are still today often ignored,
laughed at, or damned with faint praise as women's romances
(especially Radcliffe's), it was these and the epistolary novel
which taught the great Victorians how to write inwardly
and carry a story on through inward narrative. Austen
was one of these people. We look over a divide at _Cecilia_
and cannot understand why she is not writing this way,
and because the pleasures of such a text are not meant
to be primarily inward, we think people must have exaggerated
how much they liked the book. We read to discover the
slightest touches of psychology because we think truth
resides in these; that belief first became dominant in the
later 18th century. It took the novel a while to embody
it.
Those who have taken courses in 18th century fiction might
also remember a commonplace: there's very little of deep
or original interest in England between the "four great men"
of the earlier period (Richardson, Fielding, Sterne, Smollet)
and the "minor" people of the 1790s. Then we get Austen.
It's not a false statement. Professors endlessly assign
Evelina or The Expedition of Humphry Clinker (a
charming mellow book of 1771), and then jump to Emma.
If one reads books of the 1880s they are often sentimental
and silly; these are the typical books Austen is savaging in
her juvenilia. It may seem strange to know Choderlos
La Clos (of Les Liaisons Dangereuses) wrote a long
rave review of Cecilia within a short while of its coming
out, but one has to realize what else was there, and how
Burney was openly presenting figures like Monckton,
the Harrels, and their milieu and values when no one
else was. In fact one needs to go to Thackeray to
find anything like the Harrels again -- I am thinking of
Becky and Rawdon Crawley.
This is the ancien régime exposed.
A third comment on the date: Austen was born in 1775, and
Cecilia was published in 1782. This makes Austen 7 years
old when the book came out. This is the era before children's
literature, and what happened typically in such eras is that
people who were not going to be readers simply didn't read
very much until they were well into their late teens, but people
who were going to be readers began to read adult books around
age 12-13. This is an impressionable age. What I read in
those years has stayed with me ever since. It includes _S&S_
and P&P. Even if I didn't understand it very well, the tone of
integrity of Elinor's mind impressed me. Let us imagine Austen
reading Cecilia around 12-13. It was a very respectable book;
we may not like the self-censorship of it, but since Burney's
heroine never has a sexy thought, the book could reach
the narrowest of homes.
On another list I am on we are reading Anthony Powell's A
Dance to the Music of Time, The Valley of the Bones
(this is the first novel of the third movement, the 7th of 12).
At one point the narrator Nick says:
I bring this up because 1) I have begun to read Lascelles
and she brings home how Austen lived through books and Burney
then becomes a world Austen dwelt in; 2) I think Burney lived
through books similarly; 3) I want to express my gratitude to
Jill for bringing Burney to life for us by bringing to it her inner
life and abstracting the motherlode in it for us to share.
A friend wrote me about A Dance to the Music of Time (for whom
the above statement of Nick's was a distressing truth): "must we divide
the world between those to whom literature means a great deal and
those for whom it might just as well not exist?" My answer is I hope not.
Ellen Moody
From: "Jill L. Spriggs" August 12, 1998
Due to the unusual length of this pivotal chapter, I have broken it up into
three posts.
Something was wrong, even more wrong than usual, and even our sometimes rather
obtuse heroine noticed. Mr. Harrel was unable to cast off his melancholy air,
and drank many glasses of champagne, as though he required courage for some
difficult deed. Cecilia and Priscilla still thought it was his flight abroad
that troubled him so. Harrel's farewell speech boded ill:
Mr. Harrel entrusted a sealed packet to Cecilia and, momentarily serious,
expressed remorse for the course his life had taken, and a wish that he had
know Cecilia before the passion for gambling had overtaken him. Harrel tried
to guide his female companions back to the crowds, but as they left the
covered walk, they met Mr. Marriot, who greeted Harrel with reproaches for not
answering a letter. Harrel promised to answer it the next day, and asked him
to dine with them in the meantime. Priscilla and Cecilia were shocked, and
asked how they were supposed to get home. Harrel, already past such petty
considerations as that, urged them to not dispute. As the ever present
Morrice left to search for a box where they could dine, Mr. Harrel met with
one of his creditors, a man of business (after which the chapter is named) who
angrily demanded payment for a debt three years old. Another of Harrel's
creditors approached, and remonstrated with Mr. Hobson for his choice of such
an unsuitable place for dunning. Priscilla was appalled by the fact that a
swarm of creditors seemed to be descending upon them, and that Mr. Harrel
reacted by inviting them all to dinner with them. Morrice returned and told
of his ill success; the only box available was occupied by only Meadows, but
he characteristically pretended not to understand when Morrice requested
accommodation. Morrice brought the whole party to the box, only to be
surprised by Mr. Meadows' abruptly waking up, and demanded that they leave him
alone. Cecilia and Priscilla urged Mr. Harrel to give up the point and leave,
but Mr. Meadows, noticing the women, invited them to be seated. Mr. Harrel,
taking this as encouragement, brought the entire party into the box.
An aside. Many times when I have read Burney's , Austen's, Thackeray's, and
Trollope's (and many others) books I have wondered what the different places
mentioned looked like at the time written about. I have found some of my
curiosity satisfied by Jane Austen's England by Maggie Lane (a book often
mentioned on this list). Is there a counterpart for Burney's books?
Back to our usually scheduled post ...
Meadows uncharacteristically exerted himself to try to converse with Cecilia.
I am going to have to remember Meadows' opinion of the exercise of walking,
for future reference:
I have often read how, in the last moments before death, one's life flashes
before one's eyes. In this very long chapter seems to be a review of all of
the people known to Mr. Harrel, including all those he cheated and swindled.
The sensible Mr. Simkens, another of Mr. Harrel's creditors enjoying this
dinner, came to some conclusions about Mr. Meadows: " ' ... if I might take
the liberty just to put in, I think if he neither likes walking, nor riding,
nor sitting, nor standing, I take it he likes nothing.' "
Right!
Captain Aresby then joined the group, much to the bewilderment of the
creditors, who could not understand "one word in ten" that the Jargonist said.
Harrel, by this time thinking only of his bottle and the deed he would shortly
do, seemed unaware of what was going on around him. Cecilia, becoming
increasingly incensed by being detained for what seemed to her just another
night of meaningless revelry, was increasingly longing to be gone. Not just
yet!
Jill Spriggs
Re: Burney: Cecilia, III:5:11: Phantasmagoric: Suicide, the Spectacle
This is indeed another one of Burney's phantasmagoric chapters
set in a large public place where even if people aren't literally
in masquerade, each plays his part according to a role.
What is it Shakespeare said about "All the world's a stage..."
The curious thing about this insight is it is not only ultimately
deeply sceptical about all value, but it casts shadows on
the idea there is any one reality.
The depiction of Harrel is powerful. Burney seems unable to
give us a sense of a deep-musing consciousness, but as
sheer external dramatic narrative this is an effective piece
because Harrel's desperation pervades the scene. It seems
nightmarish. All the different types come up and harass
or laugh or look uncomfortable or startled. Morrice, as ever,
busies himself sitting everyone and looking after their
creature comforts.
There is something heroic about Harrel, something magnificent.
Nancy is right to say we now realise among the man's other
problems he is a compulsive gambler. Gambling is back in
in the US. Where it was once illegal, it is now legal or about
to be legalised. Casinos open up everywhere. Sometimes
one wonders why anyone ever thought the world could be
run according to rational and enlightened self-interested ideas.
In 1782 the philosophes were in the midst of their campaign to get
rid of state-lotteries. I believe our founding fathers (enlightenment
types) thought such things were monstrous as well as
ways of getting large amounts of money from the deluded
poor.
Monckton's presence adds something dark and sinister partly
because he is so intelligent and can articulate what is morally
right or wrong in a sensitive imaginative way. Yet of course
chooses not to follow these precepts except when it suits
him.
I imagine LaClos reading this. Let us think of an English
version of Madame de Merteuil sitting by her Valmont
nearby as La President de Tourvel laments sorrowfully
over what possibly could be troubling poor Mr Harrel.
Ellen Moody
Re: Burney: Cecilia, III:5:11: "Ill Usage" from her husband
No where in Austen do we get a sense that men were allowed
to beat their wives in the 18th century. No where do we get
a sense of any particular male in the books beating his wife --
or threatening her. Mary nags Charles, but he doesn't pull
his arm back and let her have it -- as he might have in
real life. We get violence in the Juvenilia, but it is displaced
and so exaggerated and caricatured, we don't quite take
it seriously. It is not prepared for, and anyway there is
no emphasis on individual relationships. One of the undercurrents
of the Harrels' relationship which makes it less sentimental
than the relationship between Rawdon and Becky is Priscilla's
fear of Harrel. I take it that she is not prone to imagining
things or fretting about what doesn't happen. She is very
alive to physical discomfort. There are hints in the earlier
chapters that she is afraid of him. In these five we see
he has threatened to beat the hell out of her if 1) she
doesn't get money from our Cecilia; and 2) Cecilia leaves
the house; and especially if 3) they go to Europe. I
think Mrs Charlotte Smith's poems in a very guarded
way suggest her husband beat her when they lived in
a remote farmhouse in France together. The eyes
of the world were not on people in remote places -- still
aren't.
Mrs Harrel's fear of Mr Harrel is not played up or Gothicised;
all the more is it effective when you think about it: "I verily
think in his rage he will half murder me.' " It's too bad
Burney censored her heroine as an aspect of herself so
that we couldn't see what would be also been the reality:
Mr Harrel wrenching Cecilia's arms for example. This
kind of violence does occur sporadically in Evelina
(from Sir Clement Willoughby, in the gardens), though
it's muted.
Here one should really read Laurence Stone's Uncertain
Unions and Broken Vows.
Ellen Moody
Re: Burney as Relevant
At 06:37 PM 8/9/98 -0400, Nancy Mayer wrote:
The miser still values accummulation of money over all else. The man of pride
is affronted at the thought that ONE of THOSE People ( substitute race
religion sexual orientation or occupation for People) would have the audacity
to think s/he would be welcomed as a member of his family.
We still have people who gamble themselves into debt; we have those who live
in credit until they have to declare bankruptcy. We have silly women whose only
activity appears to be going to the mall and spending money when she is not
partying. They are all still with us including the man shot by someone who took
offense at a minor action. There is the poor family suffering from the death
of ther main bread winner about whom the employer cares little.
We may not approve of Cecilia's actions or her response to these people but I
have known each and every action described to us to have been repeated in
today's world. Some I have known the participants personally others I have
read about in the paper.
Burney is not irrelevant but her style of writing makes seeing the relevancy
difficult.
Nancy Mayer Very well put Nancy. I expect the content of the novel was a strong
reason for its popularity and influence.
The curious thing is I think during the 19th century and until recently
Burney was seen as a deep conservative, yet everything she puts forward
feeds into the Jacobins novels of the 1790s. In fact she is far more
daring and explicit in her portraits, and is much less sentimental
and didactic. We have few goody-goodies. Another thing Burney shows
us is how inadequate are the political labels we attach to novelists
of this period.
Ellen Moody
True - but my point was that 5am (ugh! the thought makes me shudder - I'm not
one of nature's early risers!) was not quite so horrific as it might seem to
today's clockwatching age. Undoubtedly Priscilla was trying to hustle Cecilia,
but even then she had some extenuating circumstances in that she was genuinely
worried about their impending bankruptcy, which was rather more serious in 18th
century than it might be today.
Interesting also that Burney (unlike Austen) acknowledges domestic violence as
a fact of real life. At times Austen's world is a bit on the well-ordered side;
there's something of a dark undercurrent to Burney (cf for example The
Wanderer)
RW
Re: Burney: Domestic Violence as a Fact of Real Life
Yesterday Robert wrote:
I think the absence of this kind of material in Austen's books is important
in understanding the problem that critics and readers have who want to
make her books socially relevant have when they come to argue
for their point of view. Warren Roberts is forced to argue that because
something is not in the text, because Austen is silent about it, its
important. Others take slight vague hints about slavery or other
really dreadful and common behavior of her period and build long
essays or books on them. The kind of hint I am thinking of here
is how we are told of the whipping or flogging of a soldier as
part of a report which goes to show that "nothing much happened, just
the usual sort of thing"). Those people who want to read in Austen's
books a happy complacent acceptance of the world can do this
with ease, and many readers of Austen are people who don't want
to hear about unpleasant things -- like blood and terror and the
grinding sordid dunning of creditors who are not bad guys because
they have been fleeced by these apparently comfortable and
immune gentry and artistocrats. Some sequels show that
there are readers who find in Austen Harlequin romances.
Of course we don't know that Austen's letters did not include
a good deal more of the more harsh and directly and
actively painful aspects of real life than the kind of gossip Cassandra
didn't destroy. We are missing "the majority" of her letters said
one of her descendants.
Many people today are uncomfortable asserting that
a book is great or important based sheerly on its aesthetic values.
They think it must have social relevance or not be important, and
that social relevance must be progressive or enlightened
and hopeful. Literature courses turn into cultural studies
courses. That one can havea deep rich and satisfying private
experience which relates to one's own life in ways that issue in
no useful action or improvement of the world is something
which does not count in what's published. A rare exception to
this is Byatt and Sodre's Imagined Characters. Even this
is too upbeat. An interesting difference between Byatt and
Sodre's book and Lascelles' is the latter cannot be turned
into sociological gossip while Byatt and Sodre's can.
Cynically but truly enough one reason for the need to justify
literary studies either as socially relevant or giving us historically
important truths is the need to justify a salary. The average
person respects science so there is also a need to pretend
to objectivity and to make theories which give literary studies
a patina of hard work. I am always amused by the idea that
older critical books are obsolete because we have "gone" beyond
that in the 1980's. It shows a complete misunderstanding of
the nature of reading imaginatively, of how the experience of
reading is meaningful to people for real. Not that there aren't
books which are written to issue in action. Cookbooks and
mechanical handbooks come to mind.
The key to Austen's books is they are finally inward. They are
about the anguish or joy of what goes on in the mind of those
characters in them capable of feeling deeply and wanting to
act morally. They are about perceptions of the absurdity
of our lives. They are also at times as dark as Burney's
but the darkness is in how Austen's heroines perceive life and
people not what her characters actually do. Words
have great power words to give some people pain -- then
again domestic violence is something that probably comes
on top of perception. So Austen's novels are tamer and
allow readers to read them as accepting and hiding the
real world.
Ellen Moody
Date: Thu, 13 Aug 1998 I wonder how many people these boxes were built to accommodate. It sounds
like it was getting pretty crowded.
Sir Robert at a distance saw the party, and that it contained Mr. Marriot,
angrily approaching the box and demanded conversation with Mr. Harrel. He
soon perceived how intoxicated Harrel was and any remonstrance would be in
vain. It was then that Sir Robert noticed the polyglot assemblage within, and
indignantly asked the reason. Burney does manage to get off some well turned
phrases, and I especially enjoyed this one: "Mr. Hobson, who, to the
importance of lately acquired wealth, now added the courage of newly drunk
Champaigne ..." Hobson was not about to relinquish his place, but the more
politic Simkens hastened to offer his. Harrel responded to Sir Robert's angry
inquiry with another invitation to join the party. Sir Robert, quite offended
that Harrel had so lost his senses as to even assemble such a group, refused,
proceeded to offer provocation to Mr. Hobson the bricklayer, and only the
terror of Mrs. Harrel, and the dignified pleas of Cecilia, induced them to
desist. Sir Robert gave over the effort, and took Morrice's place next to
Mrs. Harrel. Mr. Simkens scolded Mr. Hobson for his lack of decorum, and Mr.
Harrel continued to pour down the wine, becoming more and more indiscreet. He
urged Simkens to return to his seat, and canvassed Morrice to go out and bring
back more company. Cecilia in an undertone, asked Morrice to bring no one,
and he promised to comply. Harrel then began to loudly sing (recalling to me
the image of Joseph Sedley, also in his cups, singing in _Vanity Fair_; was
it not also in Vauxhall?) and Cecilia heartily regretting ever consenting to
accompany him that evening, began to ponder possibilities for getting
Priscilla back home. Sir Robert, seeing her unease, offered to escort the two
of them home, and Cecilia despite her aversion for him, was considering his
offer, when Mr. Marriot angrily shoved in his oar, feeling that he should at
least be allowed to accompany the ladies home in return for his two thousand
pounds. When Morrice returned without any more company, Mr. Harrel noisily
prepared to procure some himself. Cecilia and Priscilla pleaded with him to
desist insulting them, and he, suddenly embracing and kissing his wife, " ..
wildly jumping upon his seat, he leapt over the table, and was out of sight in
an instant." At first they thought he had finally left for his chaise, but
the sound of a pistol shot put an end to this surmise.
I know a woman whose husband committed suicide, and this is the method he
chose. He requested that she invite their two closest friends to their home
for dinner one evening. They noticed that he seemed abstracted, but did not
comment. When dinner was finished and the women were clearing the dishes, he
excused himself and went to the bathroom. Seating himself in the tub, he shot
himself, so as to make the mess which they would have to clean up less
onerous. He planned it that way so that his wife would not be alone with him
when he killed himself; she would have her dearest friends there to support
her. Could it be that Mr. Harrel for the first time in his life, did his best
to be kind in the method he chose for doing away with himself? His wife would
not be compelled to see the body, there would be others there to deal with the
consequences of his decision. And Cecilia would be there to comfort her
friend.
Jill Spriggs
Re: Cecilia,III:5:12: The Crazy Mismatched Group in the Box Around the
Madman
I hadn't thought of what a crazy mismatched group Harrel was bringing
into that box. Also Jill is right: it seems to be pretty crowded in there.
Cecilia must be positively squeezed. Was not Evelina similarly squeezed
on some occasion in Evelina? Yes the intoxication of Joseph Sedley
occurred in Vauxhall too. Now that it was that prevented Becky from
landing Joseph as a husband. The next day he was so sick and
embarrassed he fled. I thought one of the reasons Simkens declined
to be as obnoxious as Sir Robert Floyer is Floyer is pretty quick with
that sword. I have read of several cases in the latter 17th and early
18th century were an aristocrat got away with murdering someone
in a duel because he was an aristocrat (in case anyone thinks times
have changed, I allude to a famous athlete who recently got away with...
as have some movie-stars in the recent past). Duelling was for
gentleman; only they were "allowed."
After Jill told her story of someone she knew who committed suicide,
I sat back and tried to think if I have ever known anyone who committed
suicide. I have read about this, and known people who knew someone,
but not myself been personally acquainted with a successful suicide.
Attempts, yes. But attempts are sometimes calls for help. Jill offers
a sympathetic interpretation of Harrel's behavior. DId he do it in public
and with Cecilia nearby to make it easier for Priscilla? It's attractive,
and maybe so. After all once he is dead, Priscilla cries and remembers
how she knew him originally. He also has a moment of tenderness
for her for a split second before he remembers how shallow, frivolous
and uncaring has been her behavior since their marriage. We ought
not to make them real people, but perhaps Burney wants us to remember
they never had children too.
I hazard the guess that also Burney has given us a convincing portrait
in this scene of a man who has gone more than half-insane.
People who kill themselves are often in the grips of a kind of madness.
He is frenzied in his behavior, driven. He is neurotic in his gestures.
Obsessive. Perhaps he didn't want to go off without making a final spectacle
of himself as Somebody. He didn't want to go out like some squirrel
squashed by a car. He wanted a Fuss Over Him. It would give
the act some meretricious meaning. He would be Remembered.
Do others have other ideas.
Ellen Moody
Date: Thu, 13 Aug 1998 I agree with Ellen about the unsympathetic qualities of Priscilla. I do think
that Burney deliberately created her this way, and after, all, have not we all
known our Priscillas? Powdered princesses, even moaning their difficult lots
in life?
Jill Spriggs
Subject: Cecilia, III:5:12: The Crazy Mismatched Group in the Box Around the
Madman
Dear Ellen;
I loved that! Elegantly put!
Love, From: "Jill L. Spriggs" Sir Robert again offered his services in getting the ladies home, but they
could not abandon the scene just yet. Cecilia had difficulty in resisting the
impulse to see for herself what was happening, but she could not leave her
friend. All but Mr. Marriot and Sir Robert had left them, and Cecilia and her
friend felt increasingly panicked by the lack of news. First Mr. Marriot was
begged to get some news, and when he did not return, Sir Robert was " ...
entreated to procure information." Every moment passed with leaden feet, and
alone the women waited for news. They saw a waiter pass covered with blood,
and when they asked what it was from, he answered, " ' From the gentleman,
ma'am, ... that has shot himself ...". Priscilla fainted, and Cecilia,
feeling rather woozy herself, lowered the two of them to the ground as gently
as she could. They were finally offered assistance by an elderly gentleman,
who told them that Mr. Harrel was not yet dead. Cecilia was goaded into
action; she flew about the garden, sending waiters after medical help, and
toward the fatal scene. Mr. Marriot found her, assured her that Harrel was
already being attended by a surgeon who happened to be present in the gardens
at the time of the attempt. His opinion was that the wound must be mortal,
and soon they were joined by Sir Robert, who informed them that all was over.
Cecilia, in spite of the usage she had received at the hands of Harrel, then
had to be supported to the nearest box and receive a dose of "hartshorn and
water". Cecilia, upon recovering, hastened to the side of her friend, who was
recalling only " ... the Mr. Harrel that had won her heart." Cecilia found a
room in which Mrs. Harrel could be tended to, and she, with the assistance of
Mr. Marriot and Sir Robert, made arrangements for the body. She was appalled
that, in the fifteen minutes between his shooting and his death, not one
friend came forward to make his last moments easier. Sir Robert, probably
hesitating to soil his snazzy clothes with blood, defended himself, " ' Where
would be the good, ... of supporting a man in his last agonies?' " His
unfeeling attitude was no surprise to Cecilia, who ignoring his callousness,
asked him what should be done. On response to his advice, she summoned
undertaker's men to remove the body to the nearest undertaker's. She asked
Sir Robert to stay with his friend until the body was removed, but he agreed
only on the condition that she remain until he returned, " ' ... for I have no
great ambition to sacrifice the living for the dead. ' " Cecilia scornfully
replied, " ' I will promise nothing Sir,' ... shocked at his callous
sensibility; ' but if you refuse this last poor office, I must apply
elsewhere; and firmly I believe there is no other I can ask who will for a
moment hesitate in complying. ' [I really like this part:] She then went
back to Mrs. Harrel, leaving, however, an impression upon the mind of Sir
Robert, that made him no longer dare dispute her commands."
Cecilia then had to find a way of getting her friend back home. She felt she
needed assistance that she would not find if she employed a hackney coach, and
she hesitated to make use of Mr. Marriot's offer of his family coach. In
spite of her reservations, she decided to accept his offer. He soon returned
from his mission of sending for his carriage, urging the women to not think of
leaving yet; Mr. Harrel's corporeal remains were just then being transferred
to the undertaker's coach. While they waited, Sir Robert returned and
confidently expected to have the honor of accompanying the ladies in his
coach. An ugly scene threatened between Sir Robert and Mr. Marriot when who
should very fortunately appear but Mortimer Delvile. Cecilia begged the
thunderstruck Mortimer's protection. He of course complied, and with some
relief Cecilia quitted her two would be rescuers. While she was away
arranging for the assistance of Priscilla to their chaise, Mortimer heard the
horrible tale of the events of the evening, and gave Cecilia, upon her return,
much praise for her presence of mind. Imagine the chagrin of the two would be
suitors, to be balked of their glory and left behind to cover the bill for the
evening.
Too bad!
Jill Spriggs
Re: Cecilia, III:5:12: The Death Off-Stage & Through Cecilia's Consciousness
I too thought the last third of this chapter remarkable. I am now
wondering if "a man of business" ironically refers to Harrel as
well: after all, it was money that did him in.
Like Jill I was struck by Cecilia's speech to Sir Robert Floyer:
I find I underlined it. There is a brilliance in keeping the suicide
somewhat off-stage and having us spend the time with Cecilia
and Priscilla wondering what is happening. I thought the long
scene (in my Oxford Edition, pp. 415-417) effective. While Burney
clearly thinks death must of necessity be a significant thing;
nonetheless, Harrel's final moment caught in a single sentence
reminded me of some modern novel where the character dies
surrounded by strangers who are perplexed what to do with
the body as much as anything. Sir Robert was not the only
one who would not touch him:
I saw in the appearance of Delvile a new plot turn. Burney makes
it quite clear in this moment that Delvile loves Cecilia but has
been unwilling to let Cecilia know this. We were not sure of this
before. For example:
'Safe, Madam,' cried he astonished, 'yes I hope so! --
has anything endangered your safety?'
'O no matter for danger,' cried she, 'we wil now trust
ourselves with you, and I am sure you will protect us.'
'Protect you! repeated he again, and with warmth, 'yes,
while I live! -- but what is the matter? -- why are you so pale? --
are you ill? -- are your frightened? -- what is the matter?' (p. 423). Cecilia cannot blurt it out, but just asks Delvile to take her
and Priscilla back to his house, which he does. He goes off
to get the carriage, of course learns what has happened,
and returns in an emotional flurry which leads him again to
speak with intense affection to her (p. 422).
So we are set up for another turn. The two young women are
to be taken to St James's Square. Cecilia will be lodged with
the Delviles. We know Delvile loves Cecilia but has been
hiding it.
What is to be done with Priscilla? To tell the truth, since
Burney's book always remains a book, I am worried that
once Priscilla is taken care of (the next chapter is called
"the solution"), Burney will not have as fascinating or vivid
a series of events to go with.
Of course there's Monckton. He waits in the wings.
Ellen Moody
From: Nancy Mayer August 13, 1998
The Pleasure Haunts of London during Four Centuries by E. Berefore
Chancello (1925) has an illustration of Vauxhall of 1780. Though the focus of
the picture is on a woman singer, there are pictures of boxes inthe
background. Eight people can be seen in one box which is at least the size of
a theatre box. The pipe organ is also inthis box. Below this is another box in
which a man sits at a table attended by several servants. Most of the people
are walking around -- promenading.
I do not think that the people were suppposed to spend the evening in these
boxes. Unlike the theatre these boxes are mainly for eating. People walked
around to here the music, see and be seen, and enjoy the gardens. Ursula, I
believe, put a picture of Vauxhall on a website, earlier. I do not know if it
is still there.
Nancy Mayer
Nancy's post makes me wish there were an equivalent of Jane Austen's
England called Fanny Burney's England. Instead of chapters on lovely
holiday spots on the western shores of England, we'd have disquisitions
on gambling halls, the courts, the opera, places where men picked
up whores, perhaps pictures of medical doctors, France during the
Napoleonic era right after the revolution had failed.
Maybe we should write Maggie Lane and suggest it?
I do think we might consider Burney's private or inner life, the
things she saw which she didn't record or analyse, things which
she censors out as related to Harrel's suicide, Priscilla's
frantic fears, and Monckton's dark ways. Monckton gives Cissy
a great deal of money at the end of this week's chapters.
Not one I'd like to owe money to.
Imagine if she could have given us a bedroom scene.
Ellen
From: "Jill L. Spriggs" Upon their arrival at Portman-square, Delvile requested that the ladies
remain in the carriage while he went alone to the house. His surmise was
correct; while Mr. Harrel was ending his life, an execution was taking place
in his house. Mortimer urged them to repair to his home. Cecilia, fearful of
offending his father, but able to think of no alternative, reluctantly
accepted. It appeared that Mrs. Delvile, hearing rumors of the execution, and
worried by the nonappearance of Cecilia, had sent Mortimer to Vauxhall in
search of her.
How did she know Cecilia was at Vauxhall?
Mortimer showed the women to their room, and offered to tell his parents the
story of the events of the night when they arose. It was 6 AM, and Cecilia
would not quit the side of her friend, who had " .. cried herself to sleep
like a child. " At 10 AM a message came from Mrs. Delvile asking if Cecilia
would join them for breakfast. She met Mortimer on the stairs. He was again
ready to greet her with reserve, but the sight of " ... her paleness, the
heaviness of her eyes, and the fatigue of long watching betrayed by her whole
face ..." caused him to betray his concern for her health.
Cecilia's fear for the disapprobation of Mrs. Delvile were relieved by her
kind reception. Praises were given for her presence of mind, and she finished
with, " ' You are indeed a noble creature! I thought so from the moment I
beheld you; I shall think so, I hope, to the last that I live! ' " Note
that, "I hope"!
Mrs. Delvile eased Cecilia's plight by anticipating her permanent change of
habitation, and inviting her to make her home with them for the remainder of
her minority.
She then mentioned the plight of Mrs. Harrel. Cecilia, bringing forth the
packet with which Mr. Harrel had entrusted her, asked advice for her course of
action. Mrs. Delvile suggested that she summon Mr. Arnott, and any other
friends she thought could give her advice following the dead man's
instructions. Cecilia returned to her friend before the arrival of Mr.
Delvile, much relieved and more able to act the role of consoler and friend.
Priscilla was just awakening when Cecilia returned, and she then sent
invitations to Mr. Arnott and Mr. Monckton to be present when the packet was
opened. Mr. Arnott soon came; he was already in town, being informed by a
servant commissioned to watch over his sister, of the events of the night
before. Those two were suffering the pangs of guilt; Arnott because he
feared his flight must have precipitated Harrel's suicide, and Cecilia,
because she disregarded Priscilla's pleas to summon her brother. Mr. Arnott
and Cecilia wished to break the seals on Harrel's packet, but hesitated to do
so without a third witness. The arrival of Mr. Monckton was uncertain, and
Cecilia made the unwise decision to request the help of Mr. Delvile. When she
arrived in the breakfast room, her reception was this time not quite so warm;
" Mr. Delvile looked displeased and out of humour ... ", probably with the
part his charge had played in the ugly proceedings of the night before.
Cecilia, disregarding the bad vibes, requested that he be present at the
opening of the packet. Mr. Delvile was indignant that such an office would be
requested of him, and Cecilia retreated, defeated. As she was informing Mr.
Arnott of the ill success of her mission, she was followed by Mortimer, who
offered to act the part requested of his father. After a little urging, she
relented, and the three of them opened the packet.
Inside a note from Sir Robert was found, demanding satisfaction of a gaming
debt, since, " ' ... all prospects are now over of the alliance ...' " There
was another from Mr. Marriot, requesting a return for the 2,000 pounds he had
paid for the privilege of access to Cecilia.
Last came a letter to his wife, Cecilia, and Mr. Arnott. The most significant
lines:
A burthen has my existence been these two years, gay as I have appeared;
not a night have I gone to bed, but heated and inflamed from a gaming table;
not a morning have I awaked, but to be soured with a dun!"
He blamed his wife for not steering him into wiser courses (as if anyone could
have!) and asked forgiveness for " ' ... where I have least deserved it! Mr.
Arnott -- Miss Beverly!" In spite of their numerous wrongs, Cecilia and Mr. Arnott wept over this
epistle, while Mortimer read it with "astonishment and detestation". At this
point Mr. Monckton arrived, and Delvile, seeing Cecilia in the care of her old
family friend, departed. She left the packet with Mr. Monckton while she went
upstairs to prepare her friend for a conference with her brother. The brother
and sister greeted each other with tears (boy, they are a weepy bunch!) and
Cecilia left them alone, meeting Mr. Monckton in another room, explaining all
the allusions in the letters he did not understand. Mr. Monckton remonstrated
with Cecilia upon finding that she had supplied Mr. Harrel with the 1,000
pounds for his last run at the tables. He also moaned about the unsuitability
of the guardians her uncle had obtained for her. Mr. Monckton told Cecilia
about Harrel's last night at the tables, when he lost the whole 3,000 pounds
on one throw of the dice. He knew he had used up all his resources for
further cash, so he then " ... went home, loaded his pistols, and took the
methods already related to work himself into the courage for the deed."
Cecilia also found that Harrel had kept his creditors at bay by claiming that,
when Cecilia reached her majority, she would clear all his debts. Thus the
urgency of her remaining in his residence.
Mr. Monckton inquired disapprovingly why Cecilia was in residence at the
Delviles when she had determined to find refuge with Mr. Briggs. " ... she
gave a circumstantial account of her visit to him, related the mean misery in
which he lived, and told him the impracticability of her residing in such a
house." He could no longer scold; he accepted the inevitable.
At that point the true deviousness of Monckton's character was revealed. He
asked Cecilia what she had borrowed from the money lenders. It was 9,050
pounds, almost the totality of her 10,000 pound inheritance from her parents.
He knew that such a debt, contracted of a minor, could not be binding. He did
not tell her this; he instead offered to pay off her debtors himself,
accepting her repayment when she turned twenty-one. His only condition; that
their transaction should be secret. If it was made public, the unnecessity of
it would surely have been made known by Mr. Briggs. Cecilia, by that time
averse to secrecy in any matter, declined this condition. Mr. Monckton did
not press, but promised to make the arrangements the next day, before she
would be leaving town with the Delviles.
Mr. Arnott and Priscilla were still weeping away when Cecilia rejoined them.
They agreed that he would take Priscilla to his country house, then return to
town to make arrangements for the funeral, and to see if anything could be
rescued from the creditors. When Cecilia was summoned to dinner, she
accompanied the pair to their chaise, and parted with Priscilla with many
"protestations of faithful regard".
Mortimer was no longer to be seen that day. The next, she met Mr. Monckton at
the money lender's place of business, where she saw all her old bonds
destroyed, and new ones of her debt to Mr. Monckton drawn and signed. With
apprehension Mr. Monckton saw Cecilia's time of residence with the Delviles
begin. Cecilia, contented with her day's work, indulged herself with a visit
to the Hills before her return to St. James-square.
Jill Spriggs
August 16, 1998
Re: Cecilia, III:V:13: Matter Enough for Many Novels and Aftermath
I was struck as I was reading this chapter by the sheer amount of
events, types, plotlines, and details we are given. We have enough
here for five, much less one novel. I know that in a typical Dickens
novel there is enough material for at least 5, but there is a difference
in that Dickens de-emphasises some characters and plotlines
and details so that we see them at a distance, as it were, get a
glimpse of a novel going on elsewhere we could be reading but are
not.
Another important aesthetic element Burney has not sufficiently
dealt with is climax. One should not have too many climaxes,
or, to put it another way, those climaxes one has ought to come
towards the end of a book and be intertwined with one another.
The climax of the Harrel story does lead to Cecilia coming to
live with the Delviles and puts her in Monckton's power. But this
becomes just one turn in the plot. One wonders what subsidiary
group of characters will Burney come up with next? Or will
Monckton come to the center of the stage? By-the-bye, Cecilia's
lack of sexual knowledge is the only thing that makes credible
her relative unawareness of how Monckton can now use that
enormous debt to get her to marry him -- we are I guess not to
think for an instance our paragon would ever consider going to
live with anyone outside marriage.
The scene between Cecilia and Delvile père was striking.
In many ways Delvile reminds me of Sir Walter Elliot. I think
Austen and Burney are caricaturing the same type. Apparently
this kind of man was common in this period. Ouch. I think they
are still with us, but they keep their arrogance and shameless
self-centered approach to life to themselves when in public.
I was also struck by the real worldliness of Mr Delvile's reasons
for not wanting to become involved. It showed in Burney an
understanding of how ugly scandal and defamation can work
to hurt someone very far away from the original events. I
think most people never consider very much how things look
in public from far off from them.
There is a vein of understanding about how the world operates
in Burney's books which I think Austen understood but
which Austen does not bring into her novels. On this element
of bad publicity and the use of good reputation to pressure
your connections to get for you to satisfy your appetite for
sex or luxuries or longing for power, money and futher
upper-class or prestigious connections, consider Harrel's
"selling" Cecilia to Marriot for a couple of thousand pounds.
Since Cecilia is such a sexual innocent, this does not
resonate fully in the book. But this sort of thing went on
at court -- French and English. It is part of the scene
in Les Liaisons Dangereuses; it is alluded to and
made explicit in memoirs of the courts of the
later 17th, the one Burney resided in and the
French courts before and after the revolution.
In Victorian novels one comes across stories which male
writers can dare to tell of an old man trying to get rid of a young wife by
inviting a friend over and giving him ample opportunity
to cuckold him in order to collect evidence to divorce
the wife (this is one of the plots in The Claverings
by Anthony Trollope).
One can to stop and think about what one is reading.
I think the central flaw in this book is there is just too
much here. Burney has ten novels which call out for
uncensored development. It's true she may not
have had the psychological acuity to imitate the
consciousness of a mind and pull a story out of
this (which Austen does). But also as a woman and
dependent daughter Burney didn't dare to do more than
broach the topics of selling one's women for money
and position or revenge, of the use of money to
get power over others, and of the reality that
ugly scandal can hit people in ways they cannot
control and scandal is what people thrive on and
many get a kick out of saying ugly things (to
recur to the topic which will be in the newspapers
in the USA tomorrow, I fear no one will pay
attention to what Clinton is doing to help the
Russian crisis in the banks over their rubles).
Yes the Arnotts are weepy bunch (Priscilla was
born Arnott). But if you think about
the world Burney is describing I suppose I don't blame
them. It's curious how Harrel's note suggests he
longed to do away with himself for quite a while,
knew he was living the life of a useless sleaze,
loathed himself at some level. I also liked Cecilia's
remark about Priscilla's dismissal from the the world's
stage: "she hoped that a new scene, with quietness
and early hours, would restore both the bloom and
sprightliness which her late cares and restlessness
had injured" (p. 426). The only trouble with this is
Cecilia is crediting Priscilla with how she would have
felt. When Priscilla meets another male who will provide,
she will marry and it will be as if Harrel never existed
and Priscilla if pushed will rationalize away all that
happened so she is not to blame.
Ellen Moody
To Austen-l
August 16, 1998
Re: Austen and Burney: Dickensian Moments
Last night I went to see Great Expectations: The Musical. It was
very good as a dramatisation of Dickens's novel; it was strong on
sentiment and something I'll be content to call charm. These
neither Austen nor Burney have. What they do have is a love of
words as funny, especially when they reveal the inner pragmatic
absurd man (or woman).
Among Austen's Dickensian moments are many of the long speeches
by Mrs Elton in Emma. Equal to her is Mr Parker of Sanditon,
among whose speeches perhaps something of Jingle's "sagacious
dog -- very" speech may be on occasion heard:
And so he rushes on. It is as good as Diana Parker's long speeches
and letters.
Well the first of this week's chapters of Burney's Cecilia brings
us three similar types: there's Mrs Belfield who believes Cissy is
dying for her young son; and there are the two eminently reasonable
and ever so humane creditors, Mr Hobson and Mr Simkins. Probably
what is the problem in this chapter is Burney doesn't let go.
She persists in controlling these voices. They are kept withint
the bounds of a scene or speeches. Dickens and Austen invite us
to delight in their delight. Burney shies away.
Still the speeches are there. There's Mrs Belfield's: "to be sure
what I think I think" (Oxford ed, MADoody and PSabor, V 3, Book 6, Ch 1,
p 442).
Then there's Mr Hobson reasoning about Mr Harrel's suicide:
Here's a typical bit of Simkins to Cecilia on last night's
work:
This is delicious. Simkins doesn't understand the other meaning
of the phrase, "Let every man keep clear of the world" is keep
well away from everyone, period.
There is also much snobbery here. We are invited to laugh
at the dithering fools who are anxious to make money as the
greatest joke of all. Today my husband said to me that I
was "dissipating his substance, and with gay abandon," which
I denied. What was funny was the language. Joe Gargery
could do no better than Mrs Belfield, Simkins, and Hobson.
Some of the comedy here is I suspect supposed to double back.
Simkins, Hobson, and Mrs Belfield are all ultra-polite to Miss
Cecilia. What would they say if they knew she had lent Mr Harrel
over £9000 of her substance and was only in funds due to Mr
Monckton? Indeed Cecilia seems to have forgotten this; she
worries only because her "bookseller" is yet unpaid.
Funny, funny chapter -- if only Burney could have let go a bit more.
Ellen Moody
Reply-To: Jane Austen List
From: "Jill L. Spriggs"
Subject: Cecilia, Vol. III, Bk. V, Ch. X, A Gamester's Conscience
"Mrs. Harrel exclaimed her
surprise aloud, and Mr. Harrel looked aghast: while his new young friend cast
upon him a glance of reproach and resentment, which fully convinced Cecilia he
imagined he had procured himself a title to an easiness of intercourse and
frequency of meeting which this intelligence destroyed."
" ' Oh, no, ... his
expectations are all from my brother. He surely thought that when I
supplicated and pleaded to him, he would do what I wished, for so he always
did formerly, and so once again I am sure he would do now, could I but make
him come to me, and tell him how I am used, and tell him that if Mr. Harrel
takes me abroad in this humour, I verily think in his rage he will half murder
me.' "
"I was impressed for the ten thousandth time by the fact that literature
illuminates life only for those to whom books are a necessity. Books are
unconvertible assets, to be passed on only to those who possess them
already."
Subject: Cecilia. Vol. III, Bk. V, Ch. XII, A Man Of Business, Part one
To: AUSTEN-L@VM1.MCGILL.CA
" ' ... my chaise will soon be ready, and I shall take of you a long farewell!
-- all my affairs are unpropitious to my speedy return; -- the wine is now
mounting into my head, and perhaps I may not be able to say much by and by. I
fear I have been cruel to you, Priscilla, and I begin to wish I had spared you
this parting scene; yet let it not be banished your remembrance, but think of
it when you are tempted to such mad folly as has ruined us.' ... turning from
her to Cecilia. ' Oh, Madam,' he cried, 'to you, indeed, I dare not speak!
[but he does anyway] I have used you most unworthily, but I pay for it all!
I ask you not to pity or forgive me, I know it is impossible you should do
either.' [Cecilia interrupts, then ...] 'Do not hope,' interrupted he, ' be
not so angelic, for I cannot bear it! benevolence like yours should have
fallen into worthier hands. But come, let us return to the company. My head
grows giddy, but my heart is still heavy; I must make them more worthy
companions for each other.' "
" ' O it gives me the vapours, the horrors, ... to see what poor creatures we
all are! taking pleasure even from the privation of it! forcing ourselves
into exercise and toil, when we might at least have the indulgence of sitting
still and reposing! ' "
I am surprised that those who complain of the irrelevancy of Austen to
today's world are not falling all over themselves to read, praise and quote Burney. If
Cecilia were written in today's language it could pass as a commentary of
today. We would have to jazz Cecilia up a bit to make her more active and
dress the people in contemporary clothes while substituting cars for
carriages as well but when we have done that we would have a novel that
still talks about values that are curent today.
"Interesting also that Burney (unlike Austen) acknowledges domestic violence as
a fact of real life. At times Austen's world is a bit on the well-ordered side;
there's something of a dark undercurrent to Burney (cf for example The
Wanderer).
Reply-To: Jane Austen List
From: "Jill L. Spriggs"
Subject: Cecilia, Vol. III, Bk. V, Ch. XII, A Man Of Business, Part two
From: "Jill L. Spriggs"
Subject: Burney: Priscilla very irritating
He didn't want to go out like some squirrel squashed by a car.
Jill
Subject: Cecilia, Vol. III, Bk. V, Ch. XII, A Man Of Business, Part three
To: AUSTEN-L@VM1.MCGILL.CA
' I will promise nothing Sir,' ... shocked at his callous
sensibility; ' but if you refuse this last poor office, I must apply
elsewhere; and firmly I believe there is no other I can ask who will for a
moment hesitate in complying. '
"He had lingered, she found, about a quarter of an hour,
but in a condition too dreadful for description, quite speechless,
and, by all that could be judged, out of his senses; beyond
any power of relief, that the surgeon who every instant expected
his death, said it would not be merely useless but inhumane,
to remove him till he had breathed his last. He died, therefore,
in the arms of this gentleman and a waiter" (p. 417).
"Approaching her with that air of gravity and distance
which of late he had assumed in her presence, he was beginning
some speech about his mother; but the instant the sound of
his voice reached Cecilia,she joyfully clasped her hands, and
eagerly exclaimed, 'Mr Delvile -- O now we are safe! - this is
fortunate indeed!'
Subject: Cecilia, Vol. III, Bk. V, Ch. XII, A Man Of Business
To: Jane Austen List
Subject: Cecilia, Vol. III, Bk. V, Ch. XIII, A Solution
To: AUSTEN-L@VM1.MCGILL.CA
" ' This is what I have wished; wholly to be freed, or ruined past all
resource, and driven to the long-projected remedy.
"'Our Coast is till full,' repeated Mr Parker, 'On that
point perhaps we may not totall disagree; at leat thre are _enough_.
Our Coast is abundant enough; it demands no more. Everybody's
Taste and everybody's finances may be suited. And those good people
who are trying to add to the number, are in my opinion excessively
absurd and must soon find themselves the Dupes of their own fallacious
Calculations. Such a palce as Sanditon, Sir, I may say was wanted,
was called for. Nature marked it out, had spoken in a most intelligible
Characters -- The finest, the purest Sea Breeze on the Coast -- acknowledged
to be so -- Excellent Bathing -- fine hard sand -- Deep Water 10 yards
from the Shore -- no mud -- no Weeds -- no slimy rocks . . . But Brinshore,
Sir, which I dar say ou have in your eye -- the attempts of two or thre
Speculating People about Brinshore, this last Year, to raise that palry
Hamlet, lying, as it does, between a stagnant marsh, a bleak Moor and the
constant effluvia of a ridge of petrefying sea weed, can en in nothing
but their own Disappointment. What in the name of Common Sense is to
recommmend Brinshore? A most insalubrious Air -- Roads proverbially
detestable -- Water Brackish beyond example -- impossible to get a good
dish of Teat within 3 miles of the place . . .
"And man has a right to his own life, you'll tell me; but what of
that? that's no argument at all, for it does not give him a bit
the more right to my property; and a man's running in debt,
and spending other people's substances, for no reason in the world
but just because he can blow his brains out when he's done -- thought
its a thing neither lawful nor religious to do; -- why it's acting
quite out of character, and a great hardship to trade into the
bargain" (p. 447).
"'Sad work, ma'am,' said he, 'who'd have thought Mr Harrel asked
us all to supper for the mere purpose of such a thing as that? . . .
But when a man's conscience is foul, what I say is it's ten to one
but he makes away with himself. Let every man keep clear of the
world, that's my notion, and then he will be in no such hurry
to get out of it" (p. 444).
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