To Austen-l
From Jill Spriggs
October 20, 1998
Subject: Cecilia, Vol. V, Bk. X, Ch. VII, Cecilia Loses It
No, that is not what the name of the chapter really is, but I think mine is better than "A Pursuit".
When Cecilia went to St. James Square, which is where, after all, her husband had told her to go, Mr. Delvile predictably refused to allow her asylum (which is what she shortly would need anyway). One thinks that Delvile's heart was made of stone when he could spurn such pleas as:
" ' Tell him, Sir, I beseech him not to refuse me! tell him I have something to communicate which requires his immediate attention!' "and
" ' Go to him again,' cried the harassed Cecilia, ' assure him I come not from myself, but by the desire of one he most values: tell him I entreat but permission to wait an hour in his house, and that I have no other place in the world whither I can go!' " (Oxford Cecilia, ed. MADoody and PSabor, p. 892)
Delvile sealed her fate with his unfeeling response:
" ... while the Honourable [that's a laugh!] Mr. Delvile was himself alive, he thought the desire of any other person concerning his house, was taking with him a very great liberty; and that he was now going to bed, and had given orders to his servants to carry him no more messages whatsoever, upon pain of instant dismission. " (p. 892)
Refused the house, Cecilia decided to wait the return of Mortimer in the coach, and asked Mr. Simkens to continue to accompany her. Somehow I am not surprised by this well meaning man's best efforts at distracting the distressed girl: " ... he endeavoured to give her comfort, by talking without cessation. " (p. 893)
Perhaps quiet would have better enabled Cecilia to keep what wits she had left; after half an hour's wait, she decided to return to Portland-Street to Belfield's home to see if he had returned, but at least she did leave word with the porter at the Delvile home that she would be going to Mrs. Robert's home in Fetter Lane (which was where Mrs. Hill was living).
Not daring to again enter the home of the Belfields, Cecilia requested Mr. Simkins to ask Mrs. Belfield to come to the coach door. The news, such as she was able to extricate with great effort, was not good. Mortimer had called and left again, " ' ... in a great passion, and would hardly hear anything I said.' " (p. 893) He intended to repair to that coffee house they had met in earlier, and asked Mrs. Belfield to send her son there if he returned. Again to the coffee house they went, to find that Mortimer was " ' ... but this moment gone, and I don't think he can be at the bottom of the street.' " (p. 894) Cecilia urged the coachman to gallop after Mortimer, but he resisted, saying that his horses were tired. She tried to leave the coach, intending to run after Mortimer, but the coachman restrained her, demanding payment. Ready to fling her entire purse to the importunate coachman, Mr. Simkens instead prepared to dicker about the amount of the fare. Seeing her desperation, the coachman was taking advantage of her plight to cheat her of whatever she had. She was still being physically detained by the scoundrel when a gentleman came out of the coffee house and tried to offer assistance. Cecilia was descending into hysteria as the stranger courteously (and wordily, no doubt) offered his help, and Mr. Simkens was obsequiously apologizing and urging her not to be in such a rush. Panic had its way, and the stranger was scared off by Cecilia's terror. The coachman, who was apparently intoxicated, continued to detain the rapidly decompensating Cecilia. With a great effort she broke away, but the damage had been done, and Cecilia's " ... senses were wholly disordered..." (p. 896) She took off, not knowing where she went. Mr. Simkins intended to follow her, but his negotiations with the coachman were so prolonged that she was long gone by the time he finished. After unsuccessfully searching for her, Simkins went home to his quiet bed, resolving to tell Mrs. Belfield what had happened the next morning.
Cecilia had run to the end of the street, but of course Mortimer was long gone. She hurtled on, " ... the distraction of her mind every instant growing greater, from the inflammation of fatigue, heat, and disappointment." (p. 897) With no money (Simkens had her purse) she ran randomly until, exhausted, she collapsed just inside a still open pawn shop. At first the owner prepared to turn her out, but seeing the quality of her clothes, his wife searched her pockets (unsuccessfully; she had been robbed by "the vicious mob") for clues as to her identity. They had guessed that she was a refugee from a private madhouse, and decided to keep her, advertising in the local papers. The shop owners locked Cecilia in an upstairs room for the night. Resting on the floor, her sanity returned to the extent that she realized that she had been locked in a room, she knew not where, and recollecting Mortimer's danger, she called out to her captors, begging them to release her so she could go search for her husband. No one listened; they concluded " ... her cries were the ravings of a mad woman, and listened not to what she said." All remaining vestiges of sanity were gone by the morning, and the landlady, upon finding her " ... raving with such frenzy and desperation.." (p. 899), was sure of the wisdom of her actions in confining the lunatic. Not noticing that Cecilia was suffering from a high fever, Mrs. Wyles' sole action for the comfort of her charge was giving her a pile of straw, " ... having heard that mad people were fond of it." (p. 900)
Cecilia's only remaining thought was of escape, but Mrs. Wyles kept the room securely locked at all times. Interesting that it would be Mr. Albany, whose own grip on sanity was tenuous at best, who would at last find her.
Jill Spriggs
Re: CeciliaV:10:7, Cecilia Loses It & the Book Comes Alive Again
I have added an inference to Jill's improvement on Burney's title. Indeed I think many of the chapters in this novel would have been much better titled in the 19th century. I also liked Jill's summary line: Panic had its way, and the stranger was scared off by Cecilia's terror. How about In which panic has its way . . . and her mind dissolves
This and the next chapter are among those which are so impressive in Burney. Again and again I find myself swept up in the intensity of the woman's strong emotions. There is an excellent piece on the book by Eva Figes where Figes argues that Cecilia and The Wanderer are gothic romances in disguise; the stark raving wild madness of everyday life, its banal everyday but real hardships, its customary but plangent cruelties are brought to life and Writ Large. It's not the moat that counts, but Mrs Delvile's isolation and helplessness. And it's not the straw that matters, but the indifference and blindness of everyone. When Cecilia begins to become what is called abnormal, they back off. How common in life this is: I can't take this stress, and the so-called friend decamps. Or can I help you to a valium or better yet an asylum. It is true that mad people were treated terribly in the 18th century; read the story of Nathaniel Lee's end in Bethlem which was still a place for people to go to for amusement.
As I was reading Jill's summary of how from her carriage, Cecilia cannot maneuvre Mortimer into coming out to her, how enraged he is, I remembered back to Albany. Albany had had the young girl, left her for a trip to the West Indies (interesting how this place comes up in the fiction of the period), had returned to find her living with someone else, and proceeds to beat the hell out of her. Exhausted, he retires; then he feels guilty, and returns, but she has fled. The atmosphere in the carriage was such, I wondered if all that was keeping Burney from having Mortimer rush out and beat the hell out of Cecilia was concern for our "heroine" -- as well as the lack of carnal knowledge and therefore sufficiently Othello-like rage. The book here also recalls Henry Mackenzie's Julia da Roubigne where a husband murders his wife in a similar jealous rage (again sex had certainly happened -- I believe there are even children but am not sure).
Jill quoted some of the best bits. I don't know if others have noted that throughout Burney shows she can be very good on naturalistic dialogue when she wants to. I thought the following moment was well-achieved, filled with the intense eager hysteria of a mind out of control:
"'Let me go! let me pass!" cried she, with encreasing eagerness and emotion; "detain me at your peril! -- relese me this moment! -- only let me run to the end of the street, -- good God! good Heaven! detain me not for mercy!"' ((Oxford Cecilia, ed. MADoody and PSabor, p. 895).
This is so true to experience I wonder if Burney had known it in herself or seen it in others. In the next chapter Burney's description of a catatonic state is as good as any I've ever read.
I will also emphasise the moment Mrs Wiley discovers that the mob has stolen all the gentlewoman's money. The puzzlement and bewilderment of Cissy's mind set against the cool self-interest of Mrs Wiley's calculations on how much money she might stand to get were she to lock Cecilia up, and Mrs Wiley's ability to man-handle the confused Cecilia make compelling reading:
"And then, under pretence of trying to find some direction to her upon a letter; or paper, she insisted upon searching her pockets; here, however, she was disappointed in her expectations: her purse was in the custody of Mr Simkins, but neither her terror nor distress had saved her from the daring dexterity of the vilainy, and her pockets, in the mob, had been rifled of whatever else they contained. The woman therefore hesitated some time whether to take charge of her or not: but being urged by the man who made th eporposal, and who said they might depend upon seeing her soon advertised, as having escaped fro her keepers, they ventured to undertake her.Meanwhile she endeavoured again to get out, calling aloud upon Delvile to rescue her, but so wholly bereft of sense and recollection, she could give no account who she was, whence she came, or whither she wished to go.
They then carried her upstairs, and attempted to make her lie down upon a bed; but supposing she refused because it was not straw, they desisted; and, taking away the candle, locked the door, and all went to rest" (p. 898).
Except Cecilia. Cecilia does not rest locked up in the dark.
Ellen Moody
Re: In Which Our Heroine Panics and Her Mind Dissolves
I see I made an error. The landlady's name is not Wiley but Wyles. I think of her as wily Mrs Wyles.
Ellen Moody
Subject: CeciliaV:10:7, Cecilia Loses It & the Book Comes Alive Again
To: AUSTEN-L@LISTS.MCGILL.CA
Ellen wrote:
and, taking away the candle, locked the door, and all went to rest'. (p. 898)Except Cecilia. Cecilia does not rest locked up in the dark.
And remember how even Mr. Simkins, who had the best knowledge of Cecilia's last moments of sanity, went home to his bed after making a perfunctory search. Did he wonder what had become of Cecilia as he drowsed off to sleep?
I agree that these last chapters are much better than many of those previous.
Jill Spriggs
From: Ehrenberg Maria To Burney subgroup
Ellen! I think you're right in assuming that Burney being a women and
writing from a womens point of view has made her ignored. And we all
know that this is the fate she shares with many women writers. And I
have a story similar to yours: When I read a course on 19th century
swedish novels we read 5 plays, 2 novels and och lot of lyrics by August
Strindberg. And only 2 chapters (!) from Selma Lagerlfs first novel - a
book who told a story in a totally new way and which have influenced our
writers from that moment. And the reason was clear: August described
political ideas and philosophical discussions when Selma was only
retelling anectotes from her narrative district (that is all changed now
- we have a lot of clever feminist researchers who interpret both the
novels and the diaries of our female writers). I think that many male
readers (and I would love to be contradicted by one) could easily
believe that "Cecilia" is just another story of heroine-seeking-hero.
For my part I agree with all of you who have pointed out that the novels
theme is money: the want of money (Mrs. Hill and others), the making
of money (Mr. Brigg), what-to-do-with-money (Cecilia), spending money
(The Harrels and a lot of others) and greed for money (Mr. Monckton.
But what about Mr. Delvile? What is his connections with money? The
preservation of it?
Mr. Monckton as the devil is a very fascinating metaphor (and thank you
Ellen for your remarks on rude aristocrates). Of course he gives full
expression to his hidden emotions behind the mask, and more
interesting, he is the only one who does. All the others have the same behaviour
both masked and unmasked - but more marked behind it. Think of the
schoolmaster and the chimney-sweeper - and Cecilia has no problems in
detecting them. But Mr. Monckton! We know, because the narrator has
told us so, that he is an evil person. But Cecilia, who has only witnessed
his polite behaviour towards her, can never guess the devils real
identity.
Maria Ehrenberg
Subject: Women Dependent on Men Who Cannot Be Counted Upon That was precisely the opinion I expressed back when we began the book. I
thought it was an interesting reflection about Burney's feelings about the men
in her own life. Since the repression of her play, The Witlings, I wonder
if her father and Crisp saw any of themselves in Cecilia's theme of a
woman's betrayal by the men who are supposed to be supporting her.
Mortimer was expecting money to be coming to him from some wealthy relatives
from Mrs. Delvile's side of the family, so Cecilia and her husband will hardly
be poverty stricken. I also wondered about Mortimer's declaring that they
would lease the three houses, and live abroad. Did Mortimer not think his
father would object? Or were all these plans of economy postponed until his
father would be kind enough to die?
Jill Spriggs
Re: Burney and Money
She didn't have to. It was the villainous Mr. Monckton that suggested to
Cecilia the impropriety of her owing money to the moneylenders and offered to
pay them off himself. Cecilia of course could not allow him to do that
unrecompensed, and paid him off using her parental legacy as soon as she
reached her majority. Since she was so scrupulously honest, she would in any
case have insisted on repaying the moneylenders even if it was determined that
it was a debt not legally entered into.
Nancy wrote:
She could have done that. She only paid off Monckton immediately because she
felt she should as soon as she had the money. It would indeed have been wiser
to pay off the moneylender from her uncle's estate, over a period of years,
but when has Cecilia ever taken the wiser course?
Jill Spriggs
From: Nancy Mayer Cecilia's income from her uncle was £3000 a year a great sum. However her
debts were in the range of £9000 . Her inheritance from her father was £10000.
Nancy
To Austen-l
October 21, 1998 In the previous chapter, Cecilia reached the nadir of her fortunes as our
heroine. Now things will start looking up.
After spelling her name incorrectly several different ways, I have finally
realized the name of Cecilia's self appointed guardian was Mrs. Wyers, first
identified on page 899. I will endeavor to remember it.
Cecilia was confined for two days before her captors decided to advertise,
when they saw no notices of a search for a mad lady in the papers. Before the
advertisement had a chance for results, who should arrive but Mr. Albany, in
his capacity of "vagrant [rambler] ... with his customary eagerness to visit
and serve the unhappy." (pp. 901 - 902). Well might he be astonished at the
change wrought in his former patroness.
Albany urged the Mrs. Wyers to " ' ... put her into bed, comfort, sooth,
compose her.' " (p. 903) He would go in search of her friends, to notify them
of her painful plight.
The first to come to Cecilia was Mary, her maid that she had brought with her
from Suffolk. Albany had found her in the house of Mrs. Hill (actually, Mrs.
Roberts), which was the first he went to.
Interesting that Mary was at least as distressed by finding " ... her in a bed
and an apartment so unsuitable to her rank of life, and so different to what
she had been accustomed," (p. 903) as to find her mistress with her senses
gone agley. Startled she was by Mrs. Wyer's matter of fact reaction to " '
... the lady ... in a raving fit ... [who] must not be minded.' " (p. 904)
With the strength of lunacy, Cecilia rose and demanded assistance in donning
outdoor dress, intending to go out in search of Mortimer. Mary, unaccustomed
to disobey her mistress, helped her and assisted her to the stairs. She
refused the assistance of Mr. Wyers, and tried to get downstairs with only
Mary's assistance. Mary had strength insufficient to support her, and Mr.
Wyers was compelled to help them both. It was at this point that Mortimer "
... rushed hastily into the shop." (p. 904)
He had been notified by Mr. Albany of Cecilia's whereabouts, and was appalled
at the change in his spouse. Furious, he demanded, " ' Hold! stop! -- what
is it you are doing! Monsters of savage barbarity, are you murdering my
wife?' " (p. 905) Instinctively, Cecilia threw herself at the well remembered
voice, and was narrowly saved from a heavy fall by the quick reaction of her
husband, who caught her in his arms. But what a catch! " ... the sight of
her changed complection, and the wildness of her eyes and air, again made him
start, -- his blood froze through his veins, and he stood looking at her, cold
and almost petrified." (p. 905) Cecilia, again senseless, hung limp in his
arms.
Not surprisingly, Mortimer initially blamed Cecilia's caretakers for her
condition. It would not take long for him to realize the true reason for her
state; his own passionate reaction to finding Cecilia in, to him, a
compromising situation, followed by his own father's callousness in refusing
her asylum. After becoming fully acquainted with the extent of her madness,
he calmed enough to hear from Mrs. Wyers her account of Cecilia's illness.
I agree with Ellen about the accuracy of the description of Cecilia's malady .
In my time working at our state hospital for the insane (before they were
emptied willy nilly into the streets) I met many who could answer for this
description: " ... utter insensibility to what was passing, now suddenly, and
with rapid yet continued motion, turned her head from side to side, her eyes
wildly glaring, yet apparently regarding nothing. " (p. 907) I wonder where
Burney gathered such accurate intelligence?
Cecilia was again conveyed upstairs, but no longer alone. Mortimer, unable to
look upon the pass to which his wife had come, went off in search of a
physician. He did impart the reassuring knowledge that the delirium was not
unusual in one with such a high fever as Cecilia was suffering. The only
thing Mortimer could think of to do, what to bring in physician after
physician, hoping for a magic cure for her ailment. Angered by their
fatalistic responses, Mortimer sent a communication to Dr. Lyster begging his
immediate attendance. Unable to bear the sounds of Cecilia's ravings, he
spent a very long night below, in the pawn shop.
It's about time Mortimer received some punishment for his silliness. Too bad
Cecilia had to suffer along with him.
Jill Spriggs
Re: Burney, Cecilia:V:10:8: The Dramatic Background
It suddenly strikes me that as in Evelina the explanation
for a number of the ways characters are presented, the types
of characters, some of the events, and the language lies
ultimately in the comic plays of the Restoration which were
still read avidly and influenced the late 18th century stage,
so the explanation for the scenes of Cecilia's madness and
language may be partly found the tragic plays of the
Restoration. I am thinking especially of Thomas Otway's
enormously popular The Orphan and Venice Preserv'd.
We should also recall that although for the late 18th
century the acting on stage seemed naturalistic, to us
it would be highly theatrical, not to say overdone. I have
seen pictures of Mrs Siddons which are to the common
sense mind operatic (to say the least of it). I was
reminded Otway's pathetic heroine, Monimia as I reread
the chapter through Jill's commentary; she too is put
upon by everyone; her story can also be seen as
an expose of the injustice of society, unfair and crazy
demands upon women to be exemplarily chaste.
Her language is heightened in the same way; Cecilia's
mad response to Delvile recalls Monimia's mad response
to the two brothers who try to seduce her in The Orphan.
This is not to say that the catatonic state and passages
quoted by Jill come from the drama. That is sheer
imaginative insight -- or experience (we'll never know).
But the structure, mood, disposition, and inferences
to be drawn here recall Restoration plays again and
again.
It makes sense to me that Burney would have drawn
upon drama to make her novels rich with experiences
and meaning. She was taking a form that had grown
somewhat insipid, was often sentimental, and injecting
strong force and passion back into it.
Ellen Moody
Re: Burney, Cecilia: X:10:8: Fever, Chills, Genuinely Ill, A Mangle
I'd like to add three more elements which go into this
final series of scenes. Another strong influence on this
scene was probably that of Richardson's Clarissa and
other gothic heroines. Of course Richardson himself
has Clarissa quote Monimia's words directly.
There is the realistic use of real symptoms of illness.
I found this very affecting. Cecilia has a high fever,
chills, is genuinely ill. Her mad resistance of them
strikes me as right. Jill says from her work as a nurse
she has seen people whose behavior Burney captures
perfectly. I once knew a woman who was genuinely
clinically insane, and went to visit her a couple of
times. The ferocity and franticness of Cecilia's
behavior reminds me of what I saw at Pilgrim
State Hospital many years ago.
Finally, there are the curious odd details. It is these
which make me think Burney saw a real instance of
deluded insanity which was mistreated. For example,
Cecilia is terrified she will be mangled. A mangle
was a real object of the later 18th century used
to wring out the wet from clothing. The reality and
peculiarity of the detail strikes me as a fragment
from real life.
Ellen Moody
From: "Juliet A. Youngren" On Mon, 12 Oct 1998, Ellen Moody wrote:
I can see the objections about the duel etc., but I didn't find this part
of the scene psychologically improbable at all. I don't think it's a
case of Cecilia feeling bound to obey Mortimer's orders. For one thing,
the note says "Be alone, I conjure you" (emphasis mine). He's begging
her, not ordering. Secondly, I think most people would do the same if
presented with an urgent note from someone they cared about, whether
there was any sex involved or not.
However, I have only read Jill's summary of the scene. Perhaps the
language Burney uses is more emphatic.
Perhaps we are to feel that it is the disappointment, the probability
that she will never get to, ahem, be intimate with him that drives her
over the edge?
Juliet Youngren
From: Oldbuks@aol.com In the first line of this chapter, our narrator told us that Cecilia " ...
went thro' very severe discipline ... " (Oxford Cecilia, ed. MADoody and
PSabor, p. 909) In the notes, we are told that the usual treatments for the
insane at that time included " ... starvation, bondage, even corporeal
punishment ..." (p. 1003). Considering the weakened condition that she was
already in, from stress and the physical illness, as manifested by her "high
fever" (p. 900), it is amazing that she had the strength of constitution to
survive this ordeal.
Many people are unable to face illness, especially mental, in anyone, but
especially loved ones. Growing up in a family of nurses (grandmother, mother,
two aunts, one sister) we were pretty tough. My mother worked many years at
the state hospital in her town, and it never occurred to me as odd that she
would occasionally take one of my children to work with her, to visit the cat
they kept on her floor. The former priest at my church suffered from an
inalterable aversion to the ill and injured (a great problem for someone in
his occupation) and did everything he could to avoid hospital and deathbed
visits. When I had surgery on my hands, he would too obviously try to avoid
having to look at the dressings when I went to church, and would shudder when
his eyes would inexorably light upon them. Mortimer also seemed to suffer
from this aversion, but I think the primary reason for his dread was the
guilty knowledge that it was due to his own actions that Cecilia was in the
plight she was.
It was with relief that Mortimer greeted the arrival of Dr. Lyster; the sight
of a friendly face must have a great comfort. Of course, his old friend could
not tell him what he most wished to hear, and Mortimer angrily responded to
the unwanted news.
Of course, Mortimer shortly thought better of his passion, and begged Dr.
Lyster to remain in town until Cecilia's illness reached a resolution.
An aside. I thought British physicians were referred to as "Mr.", not "Dr.".
Why would Dr. Lyster be referred to as such?
Later that day, Cecilia ceased her raving delirium to lapse into a comatose
state, and Dr. Lyster saw an opportunity to reconcile Mortimer and his father.
He visited Mr. Delvile, Sr., and " ... openly informed him of the dangerous
state of Cecilia, and the misery of his son." (p. 911) Mr. Delvile wasted no
regret on the possible demise of Cecilia, but did suffer remorse knowing that
her illness was largely due to his refusal of asylum to the troubled girl.
Dr. Lyster suggested that they surprise Mortimer by going to the pawnbrokers
together. Much did the proud Mr. Delvile struggle with disgust at finding
himself in such a locale, but worry about his tormented son overcame his
distaste.
Mortimer was roaming the streets when his father and Dr. Lyster arrived, and
the doctor tricked Mr. Delvile into entering Cecilia's room with the pretense
that they would wait for Mortimer there. Before he could retreat, Mr. Delvile
was struck with the sight of
It is my considered opinion that Cecilia's sufferings actually made it
possible to be accepted into Mortimer's family as nothing else could have.
Only guilt could have caused Mr. Delvile to acknowledge Cecilia as a member of
his family. But there is a bittersweet quality to this acceptance; was it
really worth it? Burney obviously tried to make us think so, but I do not.
As Mr. Delvile rushed from the room, he met Mortimer. " Mr. Delvile, no
longer supported by pride, caught him in his arms, and said, 'Oh come home to
me, my son! this is a place to destroy you!' " The most touching
speech from Mr. Delvile in all this book. Mortimer broke away, and again
rushed from the house, saying that he was unable to bear kindness. Mr.
Delvile returned to his chilly home, " ... pursued by the pale image of
Cecilia." (p. 913)
Cecilia received more visitors that day. The overemotional Henrietta was with
great effort persuaded by Dr. Lyster to tone down the extravagance of her
grief at finding her friend in such a state. I wonder if she was really
saying something to herself like, "See, this is what happens to these
overbred, overdelicate blue bloods. Unable to bear the slings and arrows of
outrageous fortune. If Mortimer had had the brains to marry a sturdy peasant
like me, he would never have had any problems like this." Maybe I am being
uncharitable.
After the noisy emotion of Henrietta had been toned down, Mr. Albany returned
with three of the children Cecilia had saved from poverty and starvation.
With sadness he noted her oblivion to all about her. He drew the children
around Cecilia's bed to pray for her, and he was joined by the nurses and Mrs.
Wyers. The room was wrapped in silence, the awe of approaching death.
Jill Spriggs
Re: Burney, Cecilia: V:10:9: The Penultimate Chapter !!!!
Burney calls this one a tribute and I would like to raise my glass
(just now filled with brandy and ginger ale) to those of us who have
stayed the course with Jill -- a tribute to us who have made it to
the end.
The tribute in the chapter is to our Cissy. (I should say I have
always liked calling Richardson's Clarissa Clary and I find I prefer
calling Cecilia Cissy for some of same motives of fondness.)
It is Mr Albany's tribute to Cissy that Burney highlights. He tells
the children whom she had saved from destitution, see in her
the example of the reward the world will offer you. Perhaps
in this moment we get the real moral inference of this book.
For my part I found it another powerful chapter. I agree with
Jill that Mortimer is the kind of person who turns away from
sickness -- indeed from anything seriously demanding or
unpleasant when it is not a matter of his manhood (which
in this book = sexual jealousy). I also agree with her on the
irony of the final successful "match" that "Cecilia's sufferings
actually made it possible to be accepted into Mortimer's
family as nothing else could have." In the text there is nothing
to dispute the notion that this marriage is worth it -- and
that is probably a real problem for anyone who wants to
argue for a feminist reading.
I don't know why Dr Lyster is called Dr Lyster. I think some
physicians were given the title Dr and others the title Mr,
but don't know why the distinctions were made.
Dr Lyster does save this last part of the book. He is the
sane presence. Earlier I saw in him one "source" or analogy
in Burney's fiction for Mr Bennet. Now he turns his realistic
mind to the problem at hand.
There were some striking moments, e.g.,
I thought some of the voices of the other characters were
convincing; the landlady's motives kept the perspective of
a ruling cash nexus in mind.
Surely this happy ending is ironic. Surely.
Ellen
From: Andrea Schwedler Subject: Summing up Cecilia I haven't read Eva Figes' book but I was wondering whether she also
discusses Lady Pemberton's gothic parody of Delvile castle? Is it just
comic relief or is there a deeper meaning? Did Burney feel she had to
jump on the bandwagon of the gothic fad? There's this one scene in the
book (I am too tired to look it up right now) where Lady Honoria makes
fun of stuffy, stuck-up Delvile senior who's rotting away in his old
decrepit castle. One of the few very funny scenes in the book. Apologies
for repeating myself but Lady P. is just one of my favorite characters.
Lady Pemberton pops up again on the last pages when Cecilia and Mortimer
are finally (re-)united (sigh). I don't really see why Burney thought
this necessary (p. 931 "Lady Honoria Pemberton, who was accidentally in
town..."). Oh, come on. Maybe she felt she had to emphasize once again
that Cecilia and Mortimer won't enjoy a happy-ever-after... ("partial
evil with chearfullest resignation", p. 941). How stupid does she think
her readers are? She's really rubbing it in too much.
What annoyed me most about the novel is its general lack of composition,
the heavy-handed plot, the authorial voice (devoid of all traces of
irony), the insipid Mortimer.
The minor characters (even if they are only types) are more convincing
and some scenes are quite powerful: Mr Harrel's suicide, the "storm"
scene, Mrs Delvile and Cecilia fighting for Mortimer, Cecilia's descent
into madness, the scenes with Mr Briggs and Lady Pemberton. I wish
Burney had dared to let loose her comic talents.
Andrea Schwedler
Re: Lady Honoria that marriage is a relief
I think I didn't make myself clear. Lady Honoria is arguing that being
married is preferable to being single, because you'd be allowed to do things
you otherwise wouldn't, and in exchange you'd be accountable to only one
person rather than everybody (older married women, men etc.).
What I meant in asking
"Can Burney be talking about herself in this passage?" is that, did she see
herself as "shackled" when she was single? Remember the reaction of her
father and the other guy (I haven't read a biography of her yet, so I don't
remember the names). This if I remember right happened after Cecilia, but
this is an incident we are aware of. I was just thinking that maybe there
were other instances that made her feel "shackled" and wish she was married
and accountable to just one person. And if she chooses that one person well,
it wouldn't be that bad after all. This all agrees with what Ellen said:
"her marriage was a relief and escape from the court and her family". My
question was, do you think she knew it would be a relief long before it
actually happened?
I didn't understand how pregnancy is related to this. I thought that was a
disadvantage of marriage not an advantage.
From: Oldbuks@AOL.COM October 23, 1998
Now, don't all of you have a feeling of accomplishment for finishing this
book? That is, forgetting the arthritis you have acquired in your hands from
holding it open!
Dr. Lyster and Mortimer apprehensively rushed to the room after seeing Albany
depart, fearing the effects of yet another unpredictable visitor. All was
quiet within; everyone had been impressed by Mr. Albany's prayer. Mortimer
hesitatingly approached the sickbed. The staring vacant eyes, the colourless
complexion, roused in Mortimer such agony that he went to her side, kissed
"each burning hand...", and finally "folded to his bosom her feeble form.
(Oxford Cecilia, ed. MADoody and PSabor, p. 919)
Dr. Lyster thought he detected a change in his patient, and commanded Mortimer
away. He was right; at long last, Cecilia had fallen into a deep, natural
sleep. All watched anxiously over the girl, until after a "long and heavy"
(p. 919) sleep, she awoke, with her senses returned. With difficulty did Dr.
Lyster keep the emotional Henrietta away, and Mary ran to Mortimer with " ...
the first tidings that her mistress had recovered her reason." (p. 919)
Mortimer stayed to the side of the room, waiting for Dr. Lyster to give his OK
on seeing the invalid. When Cecilia asked if there were any friends there,
Henrietta sprang forward before she could be stopped, overwhelmed with joy.
Remonstrating with the excitable friend, Dr. Lyster commanded her away.
Cecilia asked if there was anyone else there to see her, and Mortimer was with
difficulty restrained from "throwing himself at her feet". The doctor
escorted him out of the room, and stressed the importance of not "agitating or
disturbing her" (p. 921). The grateful Mortimer, every pore "teeming with
glad tumult" was willing to do whatever his friend suggested, and they
reentered the room.
Dr. Lyster talked to Cecilia about her marriage, and told her that he had
forbidden Mortimer to see her until she felt she was able to bear the
excitement. The town physicians, who had been summoned by the servants, then
examined Cecilia, and confirmed the need for her remaining quiet. Mortimer
kept a watch on events from the chamber door.
Cecilia began to ask about the events leading up to her illness, and how she
had come to be in the room where she found herself. Dr. Lyster was informed
of the events by Mortimer, who was glad not to have to tell Cecilia himself.
Mortimer, who if you recall had no idea of the events transpiring with Mr.
Eggleston, had returned to England to inform his father of his marriage in
person, planning then to ascertain the condition of Mr. Monckton, see Cecilia,
and return to his mother. He was astonished, upon returning to town, to see
Cecilia's servant Ralph, who was waiting in the street for his mistress. He
told Mortimer that Cecilia was at the home of Mrs. Belfield, and that
Henrietta was not there. Mortimer, knowing that Cecilia would never make a
pleasure call upon that obnoxious mother, suspected that Cecilia might after
all be entangled with Belfield. He arrived at the home of the Belfields "in
some disorder" but longing for Cecilia to be vindicated. His worst
suspicions, however, were apparently confirmed when he surprised Cecilia alone
with Belfield, " ... the rest of the family confessedly excluded, his rage
turned to horror, and he could hardly support himself." (p. 923)
Mortimer pleaded with Dr. Lyster to ask forgiveness for his ever suspecting
her, then continued with his story.
After Mortimer had sent Cecilia to St. Jame's-square, he asked Belfield to
confer with him at the coffee house Cecilia spent so much time seeking and
leaving, only to again return. In the private room he had commandeered, he
asked Belfield to explain the circumstances of his conversation with Cecilia.
The usually hot headed Belfield, drawing upon Mortimer's past generosity to
him, told him that neither he nor Cecilia had sought a tete a tete, and that
she had wanted to speak with him for advice about her projected journey to
France. Mortimer, relieved, shook hands, and went to St. Jame's-square to beg
Cecilia's forgiveness.
This part of the story does not hang together, for me. Mortimer thought that
his father was at Delvile Castle, and was surprised, when he arrived there, to
find that his father was in residence there, and that "Cecilia had not even
enquired for him at the door." (pp. 924 - 925) What happened to the porter?
On page 891, Cecilia asked of the porter "whether young Delvile had been
there?", and on page 893, she left a message for Mortimer, saying that she
would be at the home of Mrs. Roberts (of course, she never made it). So how
can Mortimer say that Cecilia had never asked for him? Why would the porter
not pass on the message?
It seems that Mortimer was behaving in just about as nutty a manner as Cecilia
at this point. Convinced that Belfield was somehow concealing Cecilia, the
furious Mortimer searched unsuccessfully for him. Giving up on him, Mortimer
then commenced a fruitless search for his wife. I guess he must have had more
strength of mind than his wife. Of course, Cecilia had been through more in
the last year than he, considering the time she had spent with the Harrels.
Dr. Lyster gave such of the story to Cecilia as he thought she could bear.
Relieved from her perplexity, she only desired to be reunited and reconciled
with her husband. It was quite an emotional scene.
' Cecilia, extremely affected, could not utter a word; she held out to him
her hand, she looked at him with gentleness and kindness, but tears started
into her eyes, and trickled large drops down her colourless cheeks." (p. 926) The scene was taxing for the weakened Cecilia, and Mortimer was urged away
from his wife by the worried Dr. Lyster.
It was probably best for Henrietta that she witness that affecting scene; she
finally would understand the strength of the tie between Mortimer and Cecilia,
and accept the fact that there could never have been anything between her
brother's friend and her.
Soon Cecilia was able to enjoy unlimited time with her husband, and Dr. Lyster
prepared to leave London. When he attempted to reconcile Mr. Delvile to
Cecilia, however, the man returned to his old arrogant self, and reiterated
Monckton's scurrilous charges. Cecilia decided to write to Mr. Monckton
herself, and ask him to clear her. With great regret, Mr. Monckton did, in a
letter written will ill grace, but effective all the same.
I will comment on the rest of this very long chapter in a second post.
Jill Spriggs
Re: Burney, Cecilia: V:10:10: At the Last Minute Yet Another Inset Story
I agree with Jill that the sudden introduction of yet another
twist in the plot does not quite hang together. What we
have here is an inset tale in the manner of a picaresque
novel. However, when in a picaresque novel someone tells
someone else his or her history, it usually occurs in a
moment of calm. It's an interlude. Jill pointed to some of
the detail which is not consistent; I'll add to that Mortimer's
jealousy of Belfield is a repeat of his jealousy of Monckton
with Burney providing closure by the uncharacteristic
reasonableness of Belfield.
How to explain it? Here's one speculation which I am led
to make because in my work on Trollope I have been talking
to a few people who know his work well and one man made
in an interesting suggestion: when we are confronted with
an enormous book, does it not make sense to assume
some of it was written before? I know that Pope actually
wrote reams of heroic couplets, pairs, characters, and so
on and saved them until he could find a place to put them
in a given poem. They came to him spontaneously -- as it
were through inspiration. It is as hard for me to believe
that Burney knocked off this gigantic book in a year or so
as it is to believe that Austen did not have a writing career
which extended over 30 years and included incessant
and ceaseless rewriting of her novels as well as beginnings
of new ones.
So I suggest that Burney had this plot all ready; she is
unable to create an extended imitation of consciousness
in a deep-musing way. I rather think the first writer to
do this in the third-person narrative form is Anne Radcliffe.
I also think Austen learned to do this in the 3rd person
way from Radcliffe, and some of our earliest extant texts
of this type are to be found in S&S attributed to Elinor
just after Lucy tells her of Lucy's engagement to Edward
and during Marianne's near encounter with death. The
chapters of Catherine at Northanger may have been originally
written before, but what we have represents a rewrite in
the middle 1810s. Since Burney cannot do this, she
fills the interstices of dramatic narrative and description
(which are good, I don't say they are not), with this
previously executed tale.
Ellen Moody
From: Sallie Knowles I finished, at long last, Cecilia last week, and I wanted to add my
agreement with Ellen's comment :
I wanted to shout Hallelujah! when Dr. Lyster arrived with his calm,
sensible approach to the hysteria surrounding Cecilia. I could somewhat
understand Mortimer, since his and his father's actions brought Cecilia
to this state, but Henrietta needed to be banished to outer Siberia
until she could control herself. Unless, of course, she was actively
trying to kill Cecilia so Mortimer would be left a widower she could
console.
I liked how Dr. Lyster understood just how to work on Mr. Delvile Sr. to
get him to the Pawn Shop.
Sallie Knowles
Re: Burney, Cecilia: V:10:10: Mr Bennet Puts a Stop to the Mangle
It's curious that the voice of sanity at the end of the novel is
a character who has a line which closely recalls that of
Austen's Mr Bennet. Those who would see Burney as
ultimately subversive of the established order, sceptical,
would certainly like Sallie's observation. It is Dr Lyster
who puts a stop to the wringing out of Cecilia by
her society.
For my part, whatever one can say of the faults or flaws in
this book, I think it is not stupid or silly. George Eliot
famously mocked the average 19th century woman
novelist who wrote insipid unreal dreams which dripped
with glamour and every snobbish impulse in the human
soul as "Silly Lady Novelists." Burney is not that. In
passage after passage she presented a mind that
can think, a presence that is saturnine and disillusioned,
a female Johnson (within limits).
This last chapter is called "A Termination." I see this as
a semi-Freudian slip. Termination is a word whose
connotations make me think of death not marriage. Someone
asked, How did the subject of a mangle come up? It was
I who mentioned it, and I did so because in her frantic
wanderings it is a visual detail repeated by Cecilia.
I too have seen mangles in my time: my British mother-in-law
now over 90 had one; a very elderly lady in my neighborhood
who died some years ago had a mangle in her kitchen.
We might think of the mangle as a image which expresses
an idea Burney is communicating to us. Life as a mangle.
Cecilia as mangled. Then she subsides into the Delvile family.
Let us hope our Cissy finds solace in her books.
Ellen Moody
--Fanny Burney, Cecilia Subject: Cecilia, Vol. V, Bk. X, Ch. X, A Termination, Part Two
As might be expected, Mr. Delvile was less angered by finding he had been the
victim of "perfidy that had deceived him" than by the irreverence that
Monckton had shown to his venerable family in his letter clearing Cecilia of
all wrongdoing. The work of softening was completed by Dr. Lyster, who "knew
well how to work upon his passions by representing the disgrace of his own
family from the present situation of Cecilia. " (p. 929) He left Mr. Delvile,
authorized to invite Cecilia to remove to what would become her home from that
date.
Mortimer was angry that the invitation had not come from his father
personally, but Dr. Lyster pointed out that if Mr. Delvile was relenting in
this great matter, it well became his son to relent in lesser ones. I will
indulge myself in this, my last post on the weekly readings of Cecilia, by
quoting the famous passage, from which Jane Austen was said to get the title
for her most famous book. Caps are the author's, not mine.
Mortimer persuaded Dr. Lyster to assist him in the removal of Cecilia to her
new home in St. James-square. Cecilia persuaded Henrietta to return to
Suffolk, since it would hardly be good for her friend to be confronted with
the happiness of the man she loved, with another woman.
Mr. Delvile gave no impression of pleasure in receiving his daughter-in-law,
but mindful of appearances, put her in "the best apartment in the house". So,
that's how the aristocracy had such a low birth rate; separate bedrooms!
I suspect the presence of Lady Honoria fulfills the same function as Mr. Lovel
and Captain Mirvan in Evelina, to wind up the book with some comic relief
after many very serious chapters. She did provide a welcome light touch to
this final chapter.
Dr. Lyster kicked things off by claiming that Mortimer " ' ... has got the
best wife, and you, Sir, have here the most faultless daughter-in-law, that
any husband or any father in the three kingdoms ... can either have or
desire.' " (p. 932) Lady Honoria remonstrated with him, saying that he should
have excepted the present female occupants of the room. Dr. Lyster dug
himself in deeper by telling her that he had been so warm in his commendations
of Cecilia, that he had unwittingly told the truth before he could think.
Lady H scarcely thought this comment better. She accused the doctor of
inhabiting Delvile Castle so long that he had been unfitted for civilized
company, a remark to which Mr. Delvile took offense. Dr. Lyster defused the
situation by assuring her that he was so dazzled by her presence, that he
thought not of where he was. Lady H found this much more acceptable, with the
caveat that he must not look as though he were telling a joke when he was
giving a compliment; " ' Nothing sets off a compliment so well as a long
face.' " (p. 932) She recommended thinking of Delvile Castle as an effective
way to check all merriment, and suggested that Mr. Delvile " ' ... must have
the constitution of five men, to have kept such good health, after living so
long at that horrible place.' " (p. 933) After a characteristically pompous
riposte from Mr. Delvile, Lady Honoria pretended to whisper to Cecilia the
recommendation that she have her marriage annulled and marry a more suitable
(and tractable) husband, such as Lord Derford. Lady Honoria seemed to have a
rather interesting concept of the institution of marriage (which reminds me of
Mae West); it is much more manageable than the single life, because a woman
only has to answer to the one (the husband) rather than to the multitude. As
long as she takes care not to love him, and to keep him properly subjected,
she should enjoy a pleasurable life. She also recommended continuously
quarreling, for if husband and wife " ' ... are reconciled, you ought to
behave pretty, and seem contented." (p. 934) Lady Honoria had no fears about
scaring off potential suitors with her eccentric attitudes towards marriage,
because she expected to have it arranged for her by her male relatives, and
her future husband would not find out what a bargain he had made until after
they were married.
After several more pages of banter, Cecilia at long last retreated to her
room, where she remained some days before getting the strength necessary for
again meeting friends. As soon as possible, Mortimer took Cecilia abroad to
meet his mother, and the reunion was predictable touching. The Egglestons
took entire charge of Cecilia's estate, and Mortimer avoided aggravation by
leaving all intercourse with them to his lawyers.
Mortimer was again summoned home when his uncle died, making his father Lord
Delvile. His uncle's wife was enchanted with Cecilia's romantic history, and
when she died shortly after her husband, she made Cecilia heiress of her
estates, restoring to her the fortune lost when she took her husband's name.
It was with considerable satisfaction that she again sent for Mr. Albany, to
resume his post as her "almoner and monitor" (p. 939).
Henrietta returned to the home of Mr. Arnott only temporarily, because
Priscilla found a new husband and returned to her formerly favorite
activities; " ... with new hopes, new connections, -- new equipages, and new
engagements." (p. 940) Henrietta was compelled to return to her uncongenial
home, but not for long. Mr. Arnott, missing her when she was gone, came to
town to take her back as his bride.
Mr. Belfield continued to jump from occupation to occupation, until he finally
rejoined the army, with Mortimer's help, and was sent abroad for action,
where, hopefully, he would either distinguish himself or get himself
conveniently killed. (shades of Poor Richard Musgrove!)
Mr. Monckton suffered the pain and disfigurement of his wound for the rest of
his life which he so justly deserved.
And Cecilia. The ending given her had just a slight taste of the bittersweet.
Jill Spriggs
Re: The Commonplace Phrase "Pride and Prejudice"
Everyone who has read P&P must see its
second title (the first was First Impressions)
in the paragraph Jill quoted. I will quote just one sentence
of it to add to her observations:
Though the phrase was a commonplace (I have some across it
in Hester Thrale Piozzi's letters and elsewhere), Burney's application
of the phrase applies to Austen's P&P in more ways than equating
the both the hero and heroine with different kinds of pride and prejudice.
We might say that Pride and Prejudice began their miseries and
Pride and Prejudice ended them. Darcy mortified Elizabeth publicly
by his proud refusal to ask her to dance; her prejudice against him
led her not to question Wickham's story or the telling of it. His
class prejudice led him to interfere with Bingley and Jane's love,
and her pride to refuse his offer of marriage so insultingly and frankly
it woke him up. They are brought back together by the pride
and prejudice of Lady Catherine; a sense of her pride had kept him away,
but she was proud of his conduct over Lydia and Wickham. Her
unfair prejudice against him made her forget all his genuine hardness
and the real difference in their temperament; his unfair prejudice against
Jane made him see that he too had made a serious error in judgement
and this humbling led him to understand one must sometimes change
one's mind (which we recall at the beginning of the novel he asserted
he never did).
I wish Austen had left it First Impressions but the
contemporary phrase "pride and prejudice" was as complex
and resonating a duo as the equally commonplace "sense and sensibility."
Ellen Moody
Re: The Funny Coda at the End of the Story
When we were reading Evelina a couple of people commented it
sometimes reminded them of a situation comedy. At the end of
Evelina we also have a (tasteless -- or so I thought) comic
oneupping by means of a monkey. Enough of us have watched
enough situation comedies on TV to know that after a final
spate of commercials end 5 minutes before the half-hour, one
gets a three-minute coda where everyone laughs at something,
a note of reconcilation is struck, and we return to the all important
commercials. To me Lady Honoria's reappearance had the
flavour of this coda at the end of the story. I was impatient
at it as a device.
On the other hand, I agree with Jill (and in one of her books either
on Austen or Austen and her fellow female contemporaries Claudia
Johnson makes the same point) that Lady Honoria allows Burney
to present the other or subversive, ironic or common sense
(call it what you will) point of view. She functions as a release
valve. I very much liked Jill's summary and commentary on the
pages devoted to her, especially the following:
This reminds me of Lady Susan's outlook. I cannot find it in myself also
to recommend continuous quarrelling -- though Lady Susan's friend, Alicia
Johnson seems a devotee of that point of view.
Ellen Moody
Re: Cecilia: Journey's End
All the tying up of the knots reminded me of a 19th century novel,
though the ironic sting in many of the outcomes is not 19th century.
It's not poetic justice to hear that Priscilla got another man with
whom to proceed just as she did with Harrel -- though it's true enough
to life, if a woman could be that lucky (given what Priscilla is).
I was irritated by Cecilia getting yet another fortune. What
nonsense. My view of Arnott marrying Henrietta is something
like Knightley's about Martin marrying Harriet. She's lucky
to get him, and if that's what he loves and satisfies him, well,
chacun a son goût.
I too liked the close, and submit in tone and attitude it provides
an analogous final paragraph to that oft-quoted clause at
close of MP:
In fact the quiet plangency which Burney cannot quite pull off shades
into sweet melancholy, but the thought is not much different and
I think may be found in the consciousness of Elinor Dashwood,
Fanny Price, Anne Elliot, and is applicable to the concluding
situation and Mr and Mrs George Knightley as well as Mr and
Mrs Fitzwilliam Darcy:
I do not include _Northanger Abbey_ because the concluding chapter
of that novel returns us to satire and is as much about literature as
life.
Ellen Moody
Re: Cecilia: Quiet Desperation and Bright Delusion
First I repeat Nancy's comment (which I believe Dorothy and Sallie)
have given voice to more than once:
I would not have finished this book or gotten so much out of it without
Jill's posts.
Nancy went on to say:
Nancy We don't close MP with a sigh of satisfaction; I hear notes at
the end of both Persuasion and S&S which tell of acceptance and
resignation to what can be hoped for and imagined rather than what is.
I know there are people who read the closures of Emma and P&P
ironically, and certainly NA ends with a sharp barb. Burney doesn't
want us to walk away thinking life for Cecilia will end here and be
all bliss ever after. One can note that the "warm affection of Lady
Delvile" seems as important as the love of Mortimer (and we remember
what that was worth); in Austen too the ending often emphasises the
women's companionship (such as it is) with one another as central
as their marriage to the men.
I wish we had had a novel on Belfield who
Jill summed up the following way:
I saw a different parallel, one I am more familiar with from French
novels and military memoirs (remember we are not that far away
from the Napoleonic era -- I think of Alfred de Vigny) of the period.
We are certainly told from the point of view of all his friends he
disappeared, but we are also told that with Delvile's advice and
influence he joined the foreign service (shades of Brandon), and
"his hopes were revived by ambition, and his prospects
were brightened by a view of future honour" (Oxford Cecilia, ed.
MADoody and PSabor, p. 940).
This reminded me of Rasselas. There too we find a note of bright
hope which is qualified by our memory of how easily deluded and
enthusiastic he can becomke.
Ellen Moody
Subject: Burney's ideas about women and their place in society
To: AUSTEN-L@LISTS.MCGILL.CA
Fanny Burney's ideas about women and the place of women in society are hard to
find in the forest of verbiage of her books.
I know someone said that Burney wrote in such a long-winded style because the
publishers wanted a five volume book, but I wonder if Burney did not sue that
verbiage to conceal rather than elucidate her opinions on the status of women?
Cecilia may be man "Heiress"-- an heiress without money, an heiress who still
has to ask for an allowance and have her purchases approved. She can
contribute to charity as long as her husband does not disagree with the
objects of her benevolence.
The sufferings of the last chapters are Cecilia's punishment for
participating in a secret marriage. No good reason for the hasty and
clandestine ceremony has been given. As long as Cecilia has learned to be a
better accountant, she could enjoy her inheritance as long as she was
unmarried. So what if Mortimer had to stay on the continent for years? Better
he leave Cecilia single. I think Cecilia believed those who told her that a
husband would take care of her and protect her and when she found out that
being married merely worsened her situation her mind temporarily snapped.
Cecilia could not bear the burden of having all her dreams collapse
Frankly no good reason was ever given for Cecilia to love Mortimer. My picture
of her in her later years is as a true lady bountiful and devoted mother. She
will also be Lady Delvile.
Well, the books of that day often assured females that being a mother would be
adequate recompense for all they had to suffer and put up with--but I take
leave to doubt it.
Nancy
From: Mary Tyler Knowles I feel quite guilty at having lurked for almost all of the time while
listening to this discussion, especially since I did read the book. My
trouble is that I read it (as I always seem to) in several huge gulps this
summer during the time when I don't teach. Reading it fast was quite a
wonderful experience (I read Wives and Daughters immediately before it)
because I demanded so much less of Burney. I didn't mind the wordiness, the
repetitions, because I blasted past them. I esp. liked the scenes with the
profligate family (ok, the name escapes me, perils of fast reading!) whose
materialism was rampant and which culminated in suicide. I also found
Monkton appallingly appealing. His avaricious and hypocritical interest in
her as well as his ability to weazel into Cecilia's confidence was
fascinating. Mortimer did seem lightweight. Would those reading at the
time have been as impatient with his vacillations as we were? I was struck
by how alone Cecilia was for so much of the time as well as by Mrs.
Delville's ambivalence about her. It's fine to like someone "different" as
long as it's outside of the family. Sounds familiar. I was also quite taken
by the graphic description of Cecilia's breakdown. This was, to me, one of
the most powerful scenes in the book. Helplessness. Hopelessness. On the
whole I enjoyed this novel and wished that Burney had cut about 250 pages
to tighten it. I apologize for participating in the group so little while
getting so much from those who did.
Cheers, Tyler
Subject: Burney and money
To: AUSTEN-L@LISTS.MCGILL.CA
Burney can not believe that Mortimer is an adequate hero. I think that one
of the themes of the book is that women are dependant on men but that they cannot
depend on them to be there and to be supportive.
She had two legacies; why
couldn't she have taken it out of the money from her uncle?
To: AUSTEN-L@LISTS.MCGILL.CA
Subject: Cecilia, Vol. V, Bk. X, Ch. VIII, An Encounter
From: Jill Spriggs
" Her dress was in much disorder, her fine hair was dishevelled, and the
feathers of her riding hat were broken and half falling down, some shading her
face, others reaching to her shoulder." (p. 902) Cecilia, half recognizing
him, begged him to go save Mortimer from certain destruction. Raving, she
hallucinated that her husband was " '... in the next street, I left him there
myself, his sword drawn, and covered with human blood. ... the hand of death
is upon him, -- he is breathing his last -- Oh murdered Delvile! massacred
husband of my heart! groan not so piteously! fly to him and pluck the
poniard from his wounded bosom!' " (p. 902)
Subject: Cecilia and sex again
To: AUSTEN-L@LISTS.MCGILL.CA
Again I am struck by the non-consummation of the marriage because
without it the scene is not rooted in concrete reality. Take for example
the intense expression of necessary obedience to her husband which
Cecilia exhibits. She must obey his orders: "Be alone ... dismiss
everybody ... admit me this moment." This would make psychological
sense were she really his wife.
The beginning of Cecilia's descent into withdrawal
would also make more sense had she had the intensely emotional
experience (or at least so we are asked to assume it was for
gentry females at the time) of sex with the man who has possibly
murdered another and will now have to flee her.
Date: Thu, 22 Oct 1998
To Austen-l
Subject: Cecilia, Vol. V, Bk. X, Ch. IX, A Tribute
" ' Don't go on, Sir!' cried Delvile, with mingled rage and horor, ' I will
not have her days limited! I sent not for you to give me such an account!' "
(Oxford Cecilia, ed. MADoody and PSabor, p. 911)
" ... the changed and livid face of Cecilia ...
and, ... with sudden consternation, he involuntarily stopt. ... Mr. Delvile
regarded her with the utmost horror: the refuge he so implacably refused her
on the night when her intellects were disordered, he would now gladly have
offered at the expense of almost similar sufferings, to have relieved himself
from those rising pangs which called him author of this scene of woe." (912)
"She was wholly insensible, but perfectly quiet;
she seemed to distinguish nothing, and neither spoke nor
moved" (Oxford Cecilia, MADoody and PSabor, p 912)
To: AUSTEN-L@LISTS.MCGILL.CA
Subject: Cecilia, Vol. V, Bk. X, Ch. X, A Termination, Part One
To: AUSTEN-L@LISTS.MCGILL.CA
" ... he darted forward, and kneeling at the bedside, ' Sweet injured
excellence!' he cried, ' wife of my heart! sole object of my chosen
affection! dost thou yet live? do I hear thy loved voice? -- do I see thee
again? -- art thou indeed my Cecilia? and have I indeed not lost thee?'
then regarding her more fixedly, ' Alas,' he cried, ' art thou indeed my
Cecilia! so pale, so emaciated! -- Oh suffering angel! and couldst thou
call upon Delvile, the guilty, but heart-broken Delvile, thy destroyer, thy
murderer, and yet not execrate him?'
Organization: Great Basin College
Subject: Burney Cecilia - Nearly There
To: AUSTEN-L@LISTS.MCGILL.CA
Dr Lyster does save this last part of the book. He is the
sane presence. Earlier I saw in him one "source" or analogy
in Burney's fiction for Mr Bennet. Now he turns his realistic
mind to the problem at hand.
---
Her next solicitude was to furnish herself with a well-chosen
collection of books; and this employment, which to a lover of
literature, young and ardent in its pursuit, is perhaps the
mind's first luxury, proved a source of entertainment so fertile
and delightful it left her nothing to wish.
" ' The whole of this unfortunate business,' said Dr. Lyster, ' has been the
result of PRIDE AND PREJUDICE. Your uncle, the Dean, began it, by his
arbitrary will, as if an ordinance of his own could arrest the course of
nature! and as if he had the power to keep alive, by the loan of a name, a
family in the male branch already extinct. Your father, Mr. Mortimer,
continued it with the same self-partiality, preferring the wretched
gratification of tickling his ear with a favourite sound, to the solid
happiness of his son with a rich and deserving wife. Yet this, however,
remember; if to PRIDE AND PREJUDICE you owe all your miseries, so wonderfully
is good and evil balanced, that to PRIDE AND PREJUDICE you will also owe their
termination: for all that I could say to Mr. Delvile, either of reasoning or
entreaty, -- ... was totally thrown away, till I pointed out to him his own
disgrace, in having a daughter-in-law immured in these mean lodgings!' " (pp.
930 - 931)
"The upright mind of Cecilia, her purity, her virtue, and the moderation of
her wishes, gave to her in the warm affection of Lady Delvile, and the
unremitting fondness of Mortimer, all the happiness human life seem capable of
receiving: -- yet human it was, and as such imperfect! ... she checked the
rising sigh of repining mortality, and, grateful with general felicity, bore
partial evil with chearfullest resignation." (p. 941)
" Yet this, however, remember; if to PRIDE AND PREJUDICE you
owe all your miseries, so wonderfully is good and evil balanced, that
to PRIDE AND PREJUDICE you will also owe their termination..."
"She recommended thinking of Delvile Castle as an effective
way to check all merriment, and suggested that Mr. Delvile " ' ... must have
the constitution of five men, to have kept such good health, after living so
long at that horrible place.' " (Oxford Cecilia, ed MADoody and
PSabor, p. 933) After a characteristically pompous riposte from Mr. Delvile,
Lady Honoria pretended to whisper to Cecilia the recommendation
that she have her marriage annulled and marry a more suitable
(and tractable) husband, such as Lord Derford. Lady Honoria seemed to have a
rather interesting concept of the institution of marriage (which reminds me of
Mae West); it is much more manageable than the single life, because a woman
only has to answer to the one (the husband) rather than to the multitude. As
long as she takes care not to love him, and to keep him properly subjected,
she should enjoy a pleasurable life."
"Sir Thomas saw repeated, and for ever repeated, reason
to rejoice in what he had done for them all, and acknowledge the
advantages of early hardship and discipline, and the consciousness
of being bornto struggle and endure (Penguin MP, ed Tanner, p
456).
"she checked the rising sigh of repining mortality, and,
grateful with general felicity, bore partial evil with chearfullest resignation".
(Oxford Cecilia, ed MADoody and PSabor, p. 941)
Thank you Jill for a stellar accomplishment. You have rendered Cecilia
palatable to many who would never pick up the book itself--- the size alone
would be a turn-off to many. The condensation of the book , with asides, was
masterly and I for one thank you for your efforts.
Usually, novels that end in marriages have a feeling of closure. Whether or
not readers like or appreciate Col. Brandon or Edward Ferrars, Austen gives
them the feeling that the women they marry will be happy. The same feeling of
"Happy ever after" is what fuels the romance industry, and Cecilia can in one
sense be considered a romance. I think we can assume that Cecilia will be
happy with her Mortimer; why then is the ending of the novel unsatisfactory?
why do we not close the book with a sigh of satisfaction ( at any thing
except reaching the end of this behemoth) but rather experience a slight dissatisfaction?
"Mr. Belfield continued to jump from occupation to occupation,
until he finally rejoined the army, with Mortimer's help, and was sent
abroad for action, where, hopefully, he would either distinguish himself or get himself
conveniently killed. (shades of Poor Richard Musgrove!)"
Subject: Cecilia
To: AUSTEN-L@LISTS.MCGILL.CA
mknowles@tiac.net
Ellen Moody.
Pagemaster: Jim
Moody.
Page Last Updated 25 January 2003