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Posts Tagged ‘Matthew Prior’


Ciarhan Hinds as Wentworth lifting Amanda Root as Anne Elliot into the carriage with the Crofts (1995 BBC Persuasion)

Henry: ‘Condemn’d in lonely Woods a banish’d Man to rove’
Emma: ‘That I, of all Mankind, will love but Thee alone’– Prior, Henry and Emma

Friends and readers,

Still on this question of how intertextuality’s layers deepen the meaning of a text (or film).

Last time I wrote of Persuasion, I traced the threads Austen wove therein from Charlotte Smith’s elegiac poems and Austen’s knowledge of Smith’s difficult life (betrayed by a husband, impoverished, crippled) in the context of other intensely romantic poets and texts (Byron, Shelley, Edmund Spenser): the characters from this angle in the novel present themselves as melancholy, plangent, drenched in irretrievable loss, with anecdotal counterparts presenting a prosaic buoyant hope in renewal.


Sally Hawkins as Anne Elliot cracking under the strain of remembering what was (2007 ITV Persuasion)


Helen Schlesinger as the cheerful disabled Mrs Smith (1995 Persuasion)

Tonight I want to write of another longer skein of allusion in Persuasion, which if examined turns out to reach across the novel, and offer readings about loyalty, male obduracy and suspicion of women, female abjection, constancy in love, sex, men and women’s natures and circumstances from Pride and Prejudice through to this last sixth full novel. This time it is a case of a text redolent with a cynical realistic disillusioned wit, which connects to the most plangent poignant moments of Persuasion and its comic-ironic, and burlesque elements too.


Dancing at Uppercross (1995 Persuasion) — one of the lighter moments in the film

I move to the first half of the 18th century, to Matthew Prior whose forte in lighter verse, tales and narratives, and lyrics was ironical sentiment. Once very well-known, to 18th century audiences and perhaps into the early 19th (I surmise Byron could have enjoyed his poetry, and his more serious philosophical metaphysics continued to be read), technically speaking, Prior is said by some to be the best male poet between Dryden and Pope. His Poems on Several Occasions (1709) appears to have been well-known until late in the century, and printed there are the two poems we will deal with, The Nut-Brown Maid (1503?), followed by Henry and Emma (by Prior), as an imitation (an invitation to the reader to compare), frequently alluded to.


Prior’s Collected Poems (1719), with featured frontispiece an imagined moment from Henry and Emma

There is another edition of Prior that Austen could have read these two poems in. At the close of an honorable career as a diplomat (if competence and producing useful treatises hard to negotiate means anything), in 1719 underpaid, undervalued partly because of his original low rank, Prior found himself near broke. His many influential political and poetic friends, Pope, Swift, Harley, Bathurst, Arbuthnot (see Ripply, Matthew Prior, a Twayne Life, Chapter 1), using Tonson as publisher, helped him produce an immense volume of poetry by subscription (a large handsome folio, 500 pages long, 1,445 people subscribing for 1,786 copies). The sale made Prior independently secure (it’s thought he may have made as much as 4,000 guineas at 2 guineas each volume). Prior’s poems were reprinted in the 18th century and Austen could have read his poem elsewhere (the type of thing is exemplified by Dodsley, A collection of Poems in Six Volumes by Several Hands with notes, 1748, reprinted and enlarged numerous times, which however does not contain these poems). She probably read Prior in the 1709 edition where the medieval poem is included, but the 1719 reprint is as much a possibility.

Austen mentions Prior twice, both times in the posthumous sister volumes of Northanger Abbey and Persuasion published by her brother and sister after her death. In the famous Chapter 5 of NA she inveighs against the over-valuation of male pseudo-scholarly texts over novels:

… while the abilities of the nine–hundredth abridger of the History of England, or of the man who collects and publishes in a volume some dozen lines of Milton, Pope, and Prior, with a paper from the Spectator, and a chapter from Sterne, are eulogized by a thousand pens — there seems almost a general wish of decrying the capacity and undervaluing the labour of the novelist, and of slighting the performances which have only genius, wit, and taste to recommend them.

If by chance a female reader is found reading a novel, she is shamed into self-deprecation and condescension:

‘It is only a novel!’ replies the young lady, while she lays down her book with affected indifference, or momentary shame. ‘It is onlyCecilia, or Camilla, or Belinda;’ or, in short, only some work in which the greatest powers of the mind are displayed, in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour, are conveyed to the world in the best–chosen language. Now, had the same young lady been engaged with a volume of The Spectator, instead of such a work, how proudly would she have produced the book, and told its name; though the chances must be against her being occupied by any part of that voluminous publication, of which either the matter or manner would not disgust a young person of taste: the substance of its papers so often consisting in the statement of improbable circumstances, unnatural characters, and topics of conversation which no longer concern anyone living; and their language, too, frequently so coarse as to give no very favourable idea of the age that could endure it (1:5).

Not a very high recommendation. In his “Life of Prior,” Samuel Johnson is not keen on Prior’s comic and witty poetry about sex and love either. By this time in the century what was wanted in a lyric was something emotionally deep, the poetry of sensibility and I darsay the libertine and pessimistic are never openly popular. Prior’s verse links to the vein of John Gay’s insouciant wit. As far as we can tell from Austen’s letters, the poetry of sensibility was her preference too: she speaks highly of Cowper, Johnson, Crabbe, Charlotte Smith.


Louisa has just fallen and Wentworth and Anne are the first there (1995 Persuasion)

The second reference is in Persuasion. Louisa Musgrove has just fallen on her head and all are gathered around her, at first fearing a death from concussion. When Louisa is seen to be still breathing, everyone around her appears in a state of distress about her mental faculties, motor skills, general health from here on in. Anne has just felt rapture at overhearing Captain Wentworth describe her value as a nurse and organizer over Louisa (“No one so proper, so capable as Anne!”), but when Mary Musgrove, petty mean spiteful, and, ceaselessly actively jealous, insists on taking Anne’s place, Anne observes Wentworth so crestfallen for Louisa’s sake, seemingly indifferent to her, Anne; he cares intently about Louisa above all, and the “mortifying” conviction arises in Anne’s mind that she was “valued only as she could be useful to Louisa.” Prior again comes to Austen’s mind as partly narrator partly Anne:

She endeavoured to be composed, and to be just. Without emulating the feelings of an Emma towards her Henry, she would have attended on Louisa with a zeal above the common claims of regard, for his sake; and she hoped he would not long be so unjust as to suppose she would shrink unnecessarily from the office of a friend (1:12).

Anne is intensely conflicted but the parallel makes plain that while (as is implied) not quite as fanatically in love as Emma towards “her Henry” (it is clearly a case of love), Anne would have done everything she could for this girl that Wentworth seems to love so — in place of her whom he was once so devoted to.

The matter alluded to is, as I’ve suggested, Matthew Prior’s rewrite or sophisticated ironic imitation of a medieval ballad, The Nut-brown Maid turned into Henry and Emma, one of the more popular poems of the 18th century. Prior rewrites the medieval enigmatic narrative fully, adding all sorts of concrete circumstances in a spirit of part ironic mockery part sweet love tone. Both versions of the poem are stanzaic. In both Henry tests Emma: they have fallen in love and maybe have had sex (unclear in both medieval and Prior’s poem) and in the 18th century poem have hunted, danced, and courted to their heart’s content. It is over-time to marry.

In both the medieval and then 18th century poem Henry tests Emma by lying to her.  He pretends Emma’s father has rejected him or he has committed murder. He is now “Condemn’d in a lonely Woods a banish’d Man to rove.” She will have immediately to elope with him if they are not to be parted (this before they can marry). He tells her they will have nothing if they wed. In the medieval poem, Mozart-like (it anticipates Cosi Fan tutte), her loyalty to Henry is tested: does she love someone else? In both poems, he outlines a series of terrible deprivations: she will have to live in forests, go hungry, be despised for running away with him. In both poems, Emma says nothing of this matters. She throws all caution to the winds and trusts to him and time. She of “all mankind” will “love him alone.” That’s the dual refrain. He keeps at it and names sacrifice after sacrifice, and at the last in the 18th century poem he says he has another mistress and loves her too, and she will have to serve this mistress, Now, is that all right? Will she still come? She will have this other woman as rival.

Well, she’s up to each turn of the screw: she will herself care for this other woman. At that Henry is satisfied and tells her in fact they are as a pair accepted by her father. In the medieval tale he had pretended to be a peasant and reveals he is a prince.  In the 18th century poem, he has no other mistress. The reader the first time through is fooled too (rather like Austen’s novels, which often at first omit vital information). Henry had decided to test Emma’s loyalty to him, her resolve, her faithfulness, chastity, if you will. She has proved herself faithful and worthy of him.  The ballad is crude, but at moments there is mild melancholy wildness; Prior’s are sometimes verses of sensibility and sometimes our implied author is tongue-in-cheek.


Anne musing climbing the stairs (1995 Persuasion)

Is Austen likening Anne Elliot to Prior’s Emma and that original nut-brown maid? If so, because the Prior poem is satiric, is she partly mocking Anne Elliot? One critic, Galperin (The Historical Austen) argues the whole novel is burlesque, and we have been misreading it. The cancelled ending is in fact the true and better one, and there we see how comic it was supposed to be. Galperin insinuates not only did Henry and Cassandra misname the books, but they chose a different text than Austen intended.

I’m hard put to see Persuasion as a sort of mean burlesque.  David Selwyn in his book, Jane Austen and Leisure demonstrated Persusion takes up anguished analogous issues in poems with closely similarly stories in his Tales: in “Procrastination”  and “Delay has Dangers,” a young couple are made to wait prudently,  never get together, and live out their lives apart in grief and/or desolation. In “Danger has Delay” we find a Mrs Norris figure turning her heroine into her way of thinking.   Although there is much ironic comedy, one ribald moment (oddly enough over death), and gentle fun at Anne’s high musings of constancy and romance as she walks the streets of Bath, Austen’s Persuasion is as serious about these losses as George Crabbe (who in her letters she declares was in spirit like a husband). As in Mansfield Park and Austen’s treatment of Fanny Price (also found in Crabbe’s tales) on my pulses I know it’s deeply felt.

At least Austen is saying Anne over-does it? Anne Elliot is not quite an Emma but she is coming close because she is so in love, so desperate and so abject. Wentworth is not deliberately testing Anne: Persuasion is no literary stereotypical misogynistic texts where the assumption is woman are fickle, promiscuous, can be turned like weathercocks. Again Mozart’s Cosi Fan Tutte (thus do all females) comes to mind.

The misogynistic perspective is in fact one Austen may be eager to counter. This is confirmed in a long dialogue at the close Persuasion that links to the theme of inconstancy, using the 18th century language we find in Persuasion, loyalty to an attachment after the person has died. All will recall how at the White Hart Inn, Anne finds Wentworth’s friend, the disabled Captain Harville grieving openly for the death of his sister, Phoebe, because he is hurt for her: “Poor Fanny! she would not have forgotten him so soon!” Captain Benwick had claimed he would never forget Phoebe, or know another love, but has nonetheless within a very few weeks fallen in love with Louisa Musgrove. Where was his vaunted depth if he could forget so soon? Harville has not forgotten his sister. One could say (were one privy to scenes not dramatized in the book) Benwick took advantage of Louisa, however half-unconsciously in his own need. Louisa was susceptible because she was emotionally and physically weak and vulnerable after falling from a stone stairway. Harville explains that Wentworth is taking the framed miniature of Benwick that had been meant for Phoebe, and having it re-framed it for Louisa so Harville need not do this (Persuasion, 2:11).


Robert Glenister as Captain Harville and Anne having their talk over the re-framed miniature

The word used is “inconstancy.”  From Benwick’s case Harville and Anne debate over whether men or women are the most inconstant. Paradoxically — in the face of his assertion that Fanny Harville would have been more faithful than Benwick — Harville insists men are most constant, most in need of their families and emotional support because they must sail far away and spend so much alone (it seems) on a ship. All literature proves this, says he. Anne objects that literature proves nothing of the sort as it is written by men; she eloquently protests that precisely because women don’t go out and endure dangerous adventures in the world, but stay at home, they are “preyed upon” by their feelings. They have no other outlet, cannot forget, as they are given no other object. Still Harville is not convinced and she,not contented with defending women based on the idea they have no way to be inconstant, pivots on the idea on the need for an object. She has not read Donald Winnicott but she knows how central to women the need to feel attached and needed:

‘I believe you [men in general] equal to every important exertion, and to every domestic forbearance, so long as — if I may be allowed the expression, so long as you have an object. I mean while the woman you love lives, and lives for you. All the privilege I claim for my own sex (it is not a very enviable one: you need not covet it), is that of loving longest, when existence or when hope is gone! (2:11 or 24).

This extraordinary compelling moment of Anne asserting as the privilege the right to feel fully something self-destructive, deeply hurtful to the personality structure shows Austen has moved full circle from Prior’s tongue-in-cheek dual poems.  Austen began with alluding to Prior comically over too abject a love to finding something deeply disquieting in the pains of unreciprocated love which still holds out. Constancy is not a matter for misogynistic testing, and if it truly exists in women (quite contrary to what men claim), it’s because they are given nothing else.


Joseph Mawle as Harville and Rupert Penry-Jones as Wentworth half-discussing Wentworth’s change of heart (added scene in 2007 Persuasion)

As it turns out, when Wentworth sees by everyone’s response to what happened to Louisa after she falls, and that he is now expected to behave like a bethrothed, realizes he has gone too far. He wakes up to remember this is a girl with a very simplistic understanding of what he was getting at in his lectures on not being persuaded away from what you had determined upon . When he leaves Anna off at Uppercross and returns to Bath, he realizes he wants out. It was Anne who kept him and held his attention at Upper Cross and Lyme.  Much later Anne finds out he hurried away to visit his brother — thus leaving “the field” (Louisa) open to Benwick. Anne herself (and Lady Russell) had been hoping for Benwick to come to her as he seemed about to propose to her. Benwick says he cannot come and we realize later that’s because he is already on the rebound to Louisa. As Louisa was not deeply committed to Wentworth, she cannot be accused of inconstancy. The attachment was short in time and thus remained superficial and she easily moves to Benwick. Wentworth’s removal of himself succeeds.

What is the gain of this layering of meaning interwoven here? The satiric perspective provides a hard questioning edge to Austen’s text: in the autumn Wentworth had been flirting with Louisa, but finding himself irresistibly drawn to Anne, began dialoguing about people who are over-persuaded from seizing their heart’s desires. Then when Louisa takes this too seriously and has an accident as she attempts to prove she is above (beyond?) persuasion, he uses Anne as nurse without truly thinking of her as a person. Anne is overly abject, but pulls up just in time as she feels resentment (however slight) for being valued only for what she can do for Louisa. Anne is also conflicted, wanting to do what Wentworth wants, and to do what is right for him, Louisa, herself, not to omit Benwick. We have seen how Wentworth torments Anne and almost marries Louisa.


A scene from the BBC 1971 Persuasion: Anne not strong almost falls (early in this not-well-known film)

The second sensibility perspective makes us look more deeply into this notion of constancy: why is what Harville contends (and the medieval and Prior poem assumed), that women are inconstant not true. Their circumstances and psychology makes them vulnerable to emotional attachments, however painful and potentially destructive to them. After 8 years of Wentworth’s absence, Anne has aged and became haggard. She has been given no adequate substitute our narrator says. She rightly does not like the superficial Bath, and Charles (offered as an appropriate partner at age 22) is not an adequate partner for her. I believe if Crabbe is there in the subtext Austen is also showing how cruel over-prudence can be, and we have the early and many years of joy of Captain and Mrs Croft to assure us, and Mrs Croft’s words to re-enforce the counter-idea that the risks are worth it.

The novel does not discount the harm that may be done by marrying someone unfitted to our temperament — without saying there can be only one partner. Charles is much the worse as a character for having married Mary. It’s the non-thinking Charles who mistakes his sister to think she’ll change her nature and they’ll be ever so happy. In the assembly rooms in the spring Wentworth of course is also thinking of himself and Anne as he speaks to her, trying to reach her. So constancy as an ideal is not absolute. We are given enough to suggest that in future Benwick and Louisa will be another of the many mismatches in Austen. For the moment sex, love, emotionalism takes both over but as time goes on, Wentworth says, Benwick as a thinking man — as was Colonel Brandon in Austen’s first published novel, Sense and Sensibility — will be bored. This paradigm can suggest that Austen saw Colonel Brandon and Marianne Dashwood as eventually becoming a very happy couple indeed.  Louisa will eventually become restless. Inconstancy then arises from a lack of true compatibility.

‘I confess that I do think there is a disparity, too great a disparity, and in a point no less essential than mind. I regard Louisa Musgrove as a very amiable, sweet-tempered girl, and not deficient in understanding, but Benwick is something more. He is a clever man, a reading man; and I confess that I do consider his attaching himself to her with some surprise. Had it been the effect of gratitude, had he learnt to love her, because he believed her to be preferring him, it would have been another thing.'(2:8 or 20)

Eventually, Louisa and Benwick will be another of Austen’s several mismatched couples who were drawn together originally by sexual attraction and over-emotionalism and youth: from Mr and Mrs Bennet, the Palmers, Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram, to perhaps Mr and Mrs Woodhouse, Admiral Tilney and poor Miss Drummond that was (Mrs Tilney’s birth or maiden family name), and Sir Walter and Lady Elliot. We never do see Benwick and Louisa together after we leave them at Lyme. Had Austen shown them, we might have foreseen what is to come by the present relationship.

Not only are there these complications of very different nuances coming out of this intertextual embedding of Prior, but the novel has another whole skein, which I began with, of very different sources and memories:  the poems of Charlotte Smith, the story of her life, the poetry of Byron, of Scott. We have an  intertextual groundwork in Crabbe’s stories of struggling poorer and middling couple deprived of what is most precious if intangible in life. Let us recall the famous marginalia of Cassandra scratched out next to Austen’s line in Persuasion: “She had been forced into prudence in her youth, she learned romance as she grew older — the natural sequel of an unnatural beginning:”

‘Dear, dear Jane! This deserves to be written in letters of gold’ (quoted in Tomalin, JA: A Life, 260)

These intertextualities from other authors do not take precedence over the book’s naturalistic art and how it is close to its author’s heart, memories and life experience. The book is not called Melancholy, Abjection or Constancy, but Persuasion. Persuasion opens the book up to wider themes than erotic passion: it includes Austen herself as someone over-persuaded. It is limiting to see this as her remembering her youth when she was deprived of Tom Lefroy, or say remembering her own decision not to marry Brook Bridges (if Nokes is right and this romance as played out in Miss Austen Regrets was a second serious possibility), or give herself utterly to some other partner, we don’t know about, man or woman, for example, the mysterious romance by the seacoast Cassandra dreamt of, or Martha Lloyd. The cancelled manuscript reveals that Mrs Austen had given Austen a hard time over how she presented authority in the person of Lady Russell.


Fiona Shaw as Mrs Crofts (1995 Persuasion)

Austen herself as a writer and woman is involved, how she has allowed herself to be over-persuaded to live a life different than some other she yearned for (more as an independent writer?) and now that she is ill (another part of the novel’s subtext), dying there is no time. She writes she wishes she had read more. She dreams of going to sea in the figure of Mrs Crofts (so beautifully acted by Fiona Shaw in the 1995 film). I find the final moments of the 1995 Persuasion with Amanda Root as Anne in the sun on the bridge a beautiful fulfillment of actuating elements in the core of the book.


Amanda Root as Anne looking out to sea aboard a ship with Wentworth (1995 Persuasion)

Ellen

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Dear friends and readers,

The yearly meeting of the East Central American Society for Eighteenth Century Studies concluded a couple of days ago. Its topic, “Networks” provided a perspective that made for new alignments of information and insight: concrete human relationships may be said to be the basis of many lives, of many political and social movements, of every kind of artistic project; finding out and describing people’s interconnections, how they connect, why, what they use connections for, turned out to tell the story of history and works of art in fresh ways. This first of three reports covers the panels for Friday morning and early afternoon. As usual this report is not meant to reflect a general view of what went on, as I simply followed my own interest in what I choose to go to; I also give just the gist of the papers I heard.

Thursday night was our customary Oral/Aural experience organized by Peter Staffel. Some years people have done parts of plays, and read poetry chosen by Peter, but this year we “went full circle” back to 20 years ago when a few performers played the romantic subplot of Dryden’s Marriage a la Mode. We listened to and watched members of our society enact this play again, with all its wry and perceptive remarks on love and marriage.

William HogarthJonesFamily
Hogarth’s portrait of The Jones Family children performing The Indian Emperor in 1730/31 reminds us how popular were amateur theatrics in the 18th century

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GoreFamilywithGeorgeLordCowper
Zoffany’s The Gore family (at home), with George, Lord Cowper belongs to the 18th century genre of painting called conversation pieces ….

Friday began at 9:00 am and the first panel, “Friendships and Their Networks” was chaired by Linda Merians who gave one of the two papers. Elizabeth Lambert spoke first on Edmund Burke’s different interconnecting worlds of people and projects going on in his Irish country estate, Beaconsfield. She covered a small portion of the material of her book, Edmund Burke of Beaconsfield: Burke’s life at Beaconsfield after his retirement.

Beaconsfield

Beth began by telling us that Burke studies are in a healthy state with two new books published recently (e.g., David Bromwich) and Fred Lock’s day-by-day biography. She told of Burke’s state of mind as he retired, his relationship wih his wife, and then took us to Burke in his later years. The list of his guests reads like a roster of the finest minds, people with the most interesting experiences in the UK at the time. It’s piquant to see how differently Burke was regarded by his friends as a group and then separately. Elizabeth Montagu saw a farmer, husband, neighbor, good companion. Hester Thrale noted the dirt and informality of the house and how Burke’s wife, Jane, enjoyed drinking and dressing up. Guests included Garrick, Frances Burney, French exiles, local Irish associates. Burke fought with neighbors over property rights (a small pond, the right to kill rabbits). We read about their amateur theatricals, about how Burke provided an outfit for one man by sneaking it out of a closet. Beth painted a delightful picture of a Burke not often discussed in books about his political life or philosophy, the man in the country, the life at his table. Among other projects of his late years (which included a vexatious incident of litigation she referred to under the label “rabbit killing and pond wars”), Burke set up a school for the children of the French exiles, and in his letters we can watch him setting the place up: hiring teachers, selecting books, providing mattresses, blankets, soup plates. Beth said the school and Beaconsfield provided a place for the healing of Burke’s soul after his years in Parliament.

prior
Matthew Prior (1664-1721)

Linda Merians began by quoting Samuel Johnson’s famous definition of a network (it’s of a concrete fishing net), suggested that for some the word has very negative connotations (the New York Times defined a networker as a “leech”), and said how we look at this part of human behavior depends on our age, what career we had, or the stage we are in, how good we were at networking. Networking was central to Prior’s career success: at age 10 when his father had died, he was working in a pub and so impressed the Earl of Dorset, the man paid for Prior to go to the best schools, and Matthew learnt to read and translate Latin, made the right friends and eventually became a career diplomat. He is said to have written 3000 letters (where he expended some of his sharpest sallies). Linda also gave us a picture of the man’s at-home social life and how in his case it spilled into the making of his career. He enjoyed entertaining guests and wrote social verse for them. He was employed by the Tories, and when Harley (Earl Oxford) was thrown out of office Prior visited him in prison. Undaunted (in effect), he carried on writing to a friends and people who could help him and others, e.g., Shelton. Sometimes Prior does sound the note of bitterness (as Samuel Johnson did in his famous letter to Chesterfield) writing that this help has come too late and while he is now in bad health. Late in his life Prior had to keep writing to support himself. He wrote to cover debts, sought patrons to subscribe for his next publication (as did Swift) and performed in letters, but he also maintained friendships important to him (he wrote “friendship can be no more forced than love”). Linda found endearing how Prior refers to his verse as his “little stuff.”

In the talk afterward people said you could buy rare books by Prior for very little. Alas he is not much read nowadays. Nor is Pope outside 18th century and literary and scholarly circles. A couple of people suggested that Prior was himself the (unsung) hub of a network. We agreed that a house and place were central to who became a hub for networks. The house may also be central to the identity of the writer and others living there.

thrale-houseStreatham
A contemporary print of Streatham, the Thrales’ home

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Samuel9LivingMuses
Richard Samuel’s The Nine Living Muses (1779): The sitters are (standing, left to right): Elizabeth Carter, Anna Barbauld, Elizabeth Sheridan, Hannah More, Charlotte Lennox; (seated, left to right): Angelica Kauffmann, Catherine Macaulay, Elizabeth Montagu, Elizabeth Griffith

At 10:30 the second set of panels began, and my panel was part of this set: “Forging Connections among Women.” Catherine Keohane spoke first: she presented the triangular relationship of Hannah More, Elizabeth Montagu, and Ann Yearsley where More was cultivating Montagu to further herself while she supposedly commended Yearsley’s writing to Montague.

Portrait_of_Elizabeth_Montagu_(1718-1800)_by_Allan_Ramsay_(1713-1784)_in_1762
Elizabeth Montagu (1762) by Allen Ramsay (1713-1784)

by Henry William Pickersgill, oil on canvas, 1821 Hannah More (1821) as painted by Henry William Pickersgill

by Joseph Grozer, after  Sarah Shiells, mezzotint, published 1787
Ann Yearsley by Joseph Grozer, after Sarah Shiells, mezzotint, published 178

Catherine focused on a nine-page letter from More to Montagu most of which consists of More’s praise (flattery?) of Montagu’s critical work on Shakespeare. More is showing how women have the right to produce literary criticism based on the excellence of Montagu’s book. The uncomfortable part of this networking is More describes Yearsley’s work in terms much more fitting either to stereotypes of Shakespeare or to Montagu’s work. Yearsley is given the backhanded compliment of imitating the Bible in place of the classics. We have no sense of Yearsley’s voice. We do have a accurate sense of what contemporaries valued Montagu’s criticism for.

Erlis Wickersham described the arduous unceasing work of Sophie Von La Roche during the time she was producting a periodical called Pomona for “Germany’s daughters.”

LaRoche
Sophie Von La Roche (1713-1807)

Sophie was the only German woman writer to produce and write in a periodical in this era. She wanted to provide other women with cosmopolitan knowledge of the world outside their local worlds, to recognize and understand the cultural icons of their day. She kept up the periodical almost single-handedly, producing an issue every month for two years, using other women’s writing sent to her (not always identified) but writing most of the material herself. She herself was well-educated by a liberal father. She translated, provided songs, musical accompaniments for poems, discussed issues of the day (abolition of serfdom), American Quakers, German translations from Naples, material about and from Greece, Switzerland, Italy. Her message was it’s acceptable for a woman to be an intellectual.

herletters

My paper came next – on Anne Home Hunter and Anne Macvicar Grant: I’ve put the text on academia.edu: Poetry and Prose from the Center and the Periphery. My argument is that we need to study these two women from the point of view of their lives and art as women; when we do, their full oeuvres emerge as of great interest to us today: they deal with global and political issues; they are also most moving when they intermingle their personal experiences, friends and poetic concerns with the larger historical and geopolitical perspectives they carve out. Grant is a fine poet, but she reveals her friendships and is is at her most interesting and original in her prose writing; her ethnographic studies and transations and literary criticism are worth perusual. Hunter left few letters but reveals her connections with women in her verseis a great poet, and although I argue her lyrics for Haydn are a small part of her oeuvre, they are extraordinary and so I include here a performance of “The Wanderer:”

Elizabeth Childs talked about using a variety of Austen post-texts (movies, sequels, other analogues) to teach Austen in an all-girls’ college. The larger question is what is Austen’s cultural role in the 20th century. She focused on the Austen project, a publishing venture where best-selling authors are supposed to re-write Austen’s famous six novels. Thus far Joanne Trollope has published a Sense and Sensibility, Val Mcdermid, a Northanger Abbey, and A. McCall. Smith, an Emma. The publicity emphasizes these authors’ celebrity status; what evaluative criticism there has been suggests the authors have been too reverential, and the attempt to align closely modern day circumstances with Austen’s plot-design and themes can be jarring and anachronistic. Liza suggested that Smith’s Emma set in Botswana is concerned with the nature of male authority in the local culture.

sensibilitycover
This cover makes Trollope’s name, a teenager’s coat and the title of the book prominent; Austen’s name is in tiny letters to the left.

Among the topics discussed afterward were the recent demoralizing falling out of print of those women’s texts that had been made available for the first time in the 1980s, and the continued lack of scholarly annotated editions for many women’s non-fiction books. There is still also the problem for Austen world books that the identification of women with sentiment skews the way these originally ironic books are written and framed. It was agreed that Jo Baker’s Longbourne because it introduces a new perspective (that of the servants), new characters, takes place in areas connected to Austen and yet far from her immediate concerns (the Peninsular war) helps account for its strength and success.

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PamelaBenoist

Pamelacommonillus
Above an engraving (by Benoist) for a French edition of Pamela and just below a simple woodcut type illustration for an inexpensive Pamela

After lunch, the presidential address was given by Sondra Jung and was about Pamela Chapbooks and their illustrations. Richardson’s Pamela was the focus of a central popular media event of the era, and among the enormous amount of paraphernalia produced were illustrations. These visualized scenes from the novel provide us with different readings of the book and basically what Sondra demonstrated was that insofar as the illustrations can tell us what working and lower middle class people felt as they read, Richardson’s message came across to them in abridged and other editions as deeply conservative, religious, pious. He described what 20th century critics write of Pamela (elite, ironic, complex meanings) to what we may surmise from these chapbooks, abridgements and illustrations, most of which remove the erotic ambiguities we find in Francis Hayman, Hubert-Francois Gravelot, and the best known today, paintings of Joseph Highmore. He then took us through a history of different editions, engravings, and included in his purview the US. Pamela, he suggested, was by most readers read as a conduct book. These lesser-known but important illustrators include John Arliss (he illustrated a juvenile library edition of Pamela); Sondra cited the names and talked of the publishers of these books, the style and interest in the pictures found there: they are small, blurred, and seem sometimes intended to show the fashions of various readers’ eras.

Ffithedition
A copy of the fifth full edition: note the subtitle

There was considerable discussion of Sondra’s presentation afterward, most of it querying the reliability of statistics, problems in ascertaining who were the readers of the different Pamelas, the perspective of book history people.

I didn’t get to make a small contribution I might have made, though I’m not sure I could have (I cannot resist saying how proud I felt but also much flustered at having been awarded the Leland D. Peterson award at the beginning of the luncheon): when I was around 14 my father had in our house several sets of English novel classics first printed in the 1930s and 40s: these were not abridged, they were printed and distributed by mainstream book-of-the-month type publishers in inexpensive hardbacks meant to look like serious books (dark brown, silver-colored designs). Most of these sets did not have novels with any kind of open sexual matter, overt politics and probably violence too, so Jane Austen, Dickens’s David Copperfield, George Eliot’s Silas Marner were repeated choices, with individual ones Elizabeth Gaskell’s Cranford, Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island. Only one set included a copy of Pamela, but I remember that the story, characters and what seemed to me heroine’s obsession with her virginity, indeed the whole attack on her seemed obsessive and surprised me greatly, seemed very strange in the context of 1950s New York City. I couldn’t take seriously its obvious reiterated theme of “virtue rewarded,” but now surmise that this theme enabled the inclusion of this book in just one set out of many classic books. My point would have been that ordinary readers and publishers of the 1930s through 50s saw Pamela as both ostensibly about virtue and highly erotic.

A second report will follow in (I hope) less than a week.

Ellen

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