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Realism in the fiction of Frances Burney

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Realism in the fiction of Frances Burney

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Content REALISM IN THE FICTION OF FRANCES BURNEY
fey
Harvey Richter Harris
A Dissertation Presented to the
FACULTY OF THE GRADUATE SCHOOL
UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
In Partial Fulfillment of the
Requirements for the Degree
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
(English)
August 1956
UMI Number: DP23012
All rights reserved
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D issertatio n P u b lish in g
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UNIVERSITY OF S O U TH ER N C A LIFO R N IA
G R A D U A TE SCH OO L
U N IV E R S IT Y PARK
LOS A N G ELES 7
Ph. 0 e ' s i H3JM-
T h is d issertatio n, w ritte n by
Hary.@y...RLchiier..J!Ar.r±a.........
u n d e r the d ire c tio n o f JnQ.&Guidance C o m m itte e ,
a nd a p p ro v e d by a ll its m em bers, has been p re
sented to and accepted by the F a c u lty o f the
G ra d u a te S chool, in p a r tia l fu lfillm e n t o f the
require m en ts f o r the degree o f
D O C T O R O F P H IL O S O P H Y
Dean
Date.
Guidance Com mittee
^ 4 ^ ..
Chairman
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Sincere appreciation and thanks are due Dr. Walter
Crittenden of the University of Southern California for
skilful and untiring direction; Dr. William Davenport,
Dr. Francis Christensen, Dr. Bruce McElderry, and Dr.
Rene Belle, also of the University of Southern Califor
nia, for their reading and able criticism of the text;
Dr. Edward Hooker of the University of California at
Los Angeles for his authoritative review of the tabula
tions of eighteenth-century critical opinion; Miss Helen
Azhderian and Miss Deborah King, respectively of the
libraries of the University of Southern California and
the University of California at Los Angeles, for many
indispensable services; and Mrs. Leona Harris, the wife
of the writer, for her unfaltering cooperation.
H.R.H.
TABLE OP CONTENTS
Page
PREFACE.......................................... 1
Chapter
I. CHRONOLOGY............................... 9
II. TOPOGRAPHY AND SETTING.................. ip.
III. CHARACTERIZATION: THE PHYSICAL ASPECT. ... 86
IV. CHARACTERIZATION: THE PSYCHOLOGICAL ASPECT . 118
APPENDIX. The Criteria for Classical and Popular
Realism in English Fiction Between
17i } - 0 and 1789. .......... 165
BIBLIOGRAPHY. .............................. 175
PREFACE
Association of the name of Frances Burney (Mme. ;
I
, J
• D’Arblay) with the realistic novel has been customary since!
! |
! the appearance of Evelina in 1778. Eighteenth-century j
! i
critics and commentators, particularly those of the John- I
i :
I
' sonian circle, eagerly sought realistic qualities in the 1
: works of this author, even though the realistic movement inj
|
• literature, as such, was still in its unrecognized infancy.j
I |
jIn her Early Diary Miss Burney quotes Mrs. Thrale,^ who wasj
i !
j among the first to express critical opinion of this author’s
j j
i '
!works:
! !
S I am sure there’s a great deal of human life in this j
book /BUvelina'7, and of the manners of the present time. I
i It’s writ by somebody that knows the top and the bottom, j
| the highest and lowest of mankind. \
i
In her Diary and Letters Miss Burney records Dr. Johnson’s j
j
remark that Henry Fielding "never drew so good a character"j
i
as Mr. Smith,2 a roomer at the Branghton lodgings. The I
; 1 i
The Early Diary of Frances Burney, ed. Annie Raine i
Ellis (London, 1913)# II, 237. Hereafter cited as Early |
I Diary; all references, unless otherwise noted, are to this j
;edition. j
: p |
' Diary and Letters of Madame D’Arblay, ed. Charlotte j
| Barrett^ I (London and New York, 190lj.), 71-72. Preface and
‘Notes by Austin Dobson. Hereafter cited as Diary and !
! _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ J
! 2
i
!
iCritical Review, meanwhile, praised the popular first novel
j —————' ———— —— — —-
|for its ’ ’lessons of experience"^ and the Monthly Review for
iits "diversity" of characters and incidents*^"
> Similar judgments of many other persons contemporary
with Miss Burney, critics always mindful of their fundamen
tal requirement of "truth to nature" and "naturalness," may
I
be found in the letters, diaries, and critical writings of
I
|the period. These critical reactions were numerous follow
ing the publication of Evelina (1778) and Cecilia (1782);
i
1
ithey were not so plentiful after the appearance of Camilla
(1796) and The Wanderer (18Hj.).^
More comprehensive and detailed interest in Miss
l
Burney’s realism has been displayed by various later liter-
I
:ary historians, critics, editors, and biographers, who have
1
:profited by a historical perspective which embraced
Letters; all references, unless otherwise noted, are to
this edition.
^See "Evelina" (anon, rev.), Critical Review, 1^.6:202-
20lj., September 1778.
^"See "Evelina" (anon, rev.), Monthly Review, 58:316,
!April 1778.
I ^The following editions have been used exclusively for
! the analysis of Miss Burney's fiction: Evelina, ed. Sir
I Prank D. Mackinnon, Oxford, 1930* Cecilia, 3 vols., London,
iX8935 Camilla, 5 vols., London, 1795; The Wanderer, 5 vols.,
j London, lblij.. Hereafter cited by title only; all refer-
I ences, unless otherwise noted, are to these editions.
3!
| additional realistic developments in literature. Ernest A. ;
i I
|Baker, Charles E. Vaughn, Reginald B. Johnson, Austin
I i
:Dobson, Muriel Masefield, and Edith Morley are among those j
; who have studied Miss Burney's realism with intelligent j
!
! sympathy and resourcefulness. Also a number of students \
; I
I(including Miriam Benkowitz, K. Danz, Joyce Hemlow, Eugene j
White, and Carl Buttner) have specialized in Miss Burney's
; ; i
I fiction, recognizing realistic qualities while treating her;
technique, diction or style, literary origins or influences.!
i
Since none of these general appraisals or analytical studies^
whether contemporary or later, is based specifically upon
close analysis of the realism of Miss Burney's works, the
present undertaking appears justifiable.
Although essentially a realist, Miss Burney felt and, j
I
t
iin her fiction, manifested, in ever-increasing strength, j
ithe influences imparted by writers who sought escape from 1
i !
j i
!the trammels of classical codes. It would be interesting j
I 1
jto trace the progress of these romantic intrusions (senti- j
jmentalism, melodrama, Wordsworthian love of nature, and |
Isomethirg akin to aesthetic or spiritual flight) and to note
i
ithe degree and the manner of their disturbing effect upon
! t
jMiss Burney's mind and art. To do so, however, would extend!
: i
I this investigation beyond the intended limits. t
i |
j The primary purpose of this study, then, is to discover!
~.... ' i l
i s
|the intrinsic qualities of the literary realism of Miss
!Burney’s prose fiction as viewed in the light of the popular!
realistic criteria covering, roughly, the years 17ij.O to j
1789* Prom the accumulated data, it should be possible to 1
»
; 1
draw useful conclusions concerning the degree to which the 1
author satisfied or departed from certain popular eoncep- |
tions of literary realism that prevailed in the period. j
!More strictly incidental must be the substantiation or refu
tation of the views of later commentators, while special j
i
• notice of the similarities or differences between Miss j
j
|Burney’s realism and that of later authors in the movement i
i ^
|will be avoided as irrelevant. J
: 1
1 To carry out these purposes a body of criteria had to ,
| |
be established. The concepts of literary realism which
were in vogue in the age of Johnson, though now generally
known, had not, previous to this effort, been projected or
i
! codified with thoroughness. Even Henry Fielding’s realistic
I !
principles either were not comprehended or were slighted byj
| the critics of his time,^ and later students of criticism I
i
j have not supplied the needed list. It has therefore been i
j
necessary to gather, select, and tabulate the realistic j
! I
|
1 ^Joseph B. Heidler, The History, from 1700 to 1800, of!
■ English Criticism of Prose~Fiction, University of Illinois I
! Studies in Language and Literature, Vol. 13, Ho. 2 (Urbana,!
: 1928), p. 169. - ;
1 : ~ ~ " ~ . . ' ■ 5 j
1
! principles and qualities which were generally upheld and j
1 j
‘ encouraged by contemporary writers, critics, and other
! persons interested in literary trends. Joseph B. Heidler's
The History, from 1700 to 1800, of English Criticism of
I Prose Fiction was the major bibliographical guide in this j
i n"wl 1 1 ' I' '■' - | - i .........._ ' ' " I
; phase of the work.? j
i
Two sets of criteria emerged upon examination of j
representative materials drawn from these sources— the *
!
I classical and the popular. Comparison of these sets, which}
i i
! have been placed in the Appendix to afford a general com- |
i \
| posite view, will suggest the empirical bias of the popular]
i i
! realists as opposed to the speculative approach of the more!
j conservative Classicists.® For application to Miss Burney's!
i *
! fiction, a special set of popular criteria has been pre- |
| ,
! pared from the comprehensive list. It is arranged in the 1
! i
I form of definitions, which incorporate the meanings of
eighteenth-century terms in order to avoid confusion that
might arise from the use of the terms themselves. This
special set, presented here, has been adopted to insure the!
[ ;
jpracticable frame of reference which the limitations of this
! ,
| study require. No attempt has been made to segregate items'
I I
| ' !
j ;
i
! !
| ^Heidler, pp. 177-183. |
1 8 '
i Neither of these tabulations represents for the period
! a general agreement, among critics. ________________________j
linked with classical origins or preferences.
Popular literary realism between 171+0 and 1789 was a j
j
complex of conceptions derived in part from such elements j
I
C- j
as classical criticism, the rationalism of Descartes, the ;
empiricism of Locke, the spirit and methods of mathematical!
and biological science generally, and in part from the J
experience of ordinary living in a commercial and utilitar-j
ian atmosphere, which stimulated reaction against the j
universals and other abstractions of speculative thought in«
favor of empirical standards that permitted the focusing of
interest upon the diverse actualities of everyday life. j
A realistic novel of the Johnsonian era is a product i
of this complex. It is essentially social and moral; it j
is amusing or edifying, or both. It is preeminently true j
to (in accordance with) human nature as the daily and aver-I
i
age experience of local and contemporary people reveals !
i
i
that truth; and it is reasonably factual in its treatment ]
of external nature, with or without considerable attention 1
i
to detail. j
1
A realistic novel is, therefore, one that displays, !
with a view to wide-spread acceptance (appeal to average
common sense), the psychological truth of emotion and |
^ !
sentiment as well as bC, objective surface realities; one -
i
that uses either actual or imagined persons, places, events,]
I 71
land objects (involving probability and verisimilitude, with!
! . I
|reference to the local average); one that presents individu-i
; ' I
ial as well as typical characters, and the unusual and *
I ' !
(diverse aspects of life as well as single, uniform aspects,j
!whether with reference to characters, manners, incidents,
or elements of style; one that exhibits particular as well
'as general truth, such truth having its basis in the senti
ments, in the emotions, in manners, or in objective appear-!
I |
|ances.
j A realistic novel, furthermore, generally seeks, in
jits treatment of characters, manners, places, settings,
(incidents, and diction, that which is correct and proper
|according to a fixed prevailing standard (decorum), and
: that which is appropriate and fitting to the situation in
I hand (propriety). It strives for the elimination of "dif- [
jferentness," for the harmonization and agreement of internal;
! i
;parts (consistency and uniformity). It also tries to gain !
- ;
I I
isharpness in its suggestion of the actual by presenting the'
| j
[contemporary and immediate fact, circumstance, or event, j
; often with an air and effect of spontaneity. I
| !
; A realistic novel, finally, is one that shows truthfulj
| !
I reasonable taste- and custom-satisfying relationships !
: I
| between various elements in prose fiction: between charac-:
i i
i i
jters of specified age, class, sex, and temperament and the I
I ;
8
settings, circumstances, incidents, or speech with which
they are related (aspects of conformity); between such
characters and their own sentiments, manners, and speech
(aspects of conformity and consistency). A realistic novel,
similarly, shows proper and fitting relationships between
incidents and their arrangement; between circumstances and
incidents; between circumstances and speech; between the
elements of style (aspects of decorum, propriety, and con
sistency).
In this study Miss Burney's treatment of time, topog-
i
raphy and setting, and characterization will be considered, j
j
The particular eighteenth-century criteria for each of
i
these subjects, Miss Burney’s own expressions of critical J
i
import, and the objectives of the separate analyses appear
in the opening paragraphs of the several chapters. The
s-everai analyses and conclusions follow in conventional
order.
CHAPTER I I
I
t
CHRONOLOGY
s
(
!
Between 171+0 and 1811+, critical comment on the treat- !
i
. ment of time in prose fiction was almost non-existent. '
! Contemporaneity was -in-d-emand, as may be illustrated in the j
demands of Fielding and Smollett for a "thoroughly realistic
! depiction of contemporary life"1 and in Beattie's praise
of the novels of Marivaux and Le Sage for their "natural
descriptions of present manners."^ Some appreciation of
the effects of spontaneity is reflected in Richardson's
reference to "the nature of familiar letters written, as it
:were, to the moment,3 while the heart is agitated by hopes j
| and fears on events undecided."^- Spontaneity, whether of j
! thought, feeling, or expression, together with its immedi- j
i J
1 :
j ate embodiment in writing, was not habitually praised with j
j !
{ timing in mind; it was recognized as a delightful quality
> i
} ♦
^eidler, p. 169.
^James Beattie, Dissertations Moral and Critical ;
(London, 1783), p. 57^ •
» I
3 O
-'The italics are Richardson's.
^Samuel Richardson, Novels, ed. William Lyon Phelps,
! XIII (London, 1901), xxxix. ;
in an author’s spirit and literary style. An article in j
i
the Monthly Review for April 1778 uses the term "sprightly"^!
|to describe the effects of spontaneity in Evelina, and !
I Mr. Crisp, a friend of the Burneys, declared that "it was |
I !
i not ’hard fagging' that produced such a work as 'Evelina' J — ;
| j
It was the ebullition of true, sterling genius** (Diary and '
i
Letters, I, 262). I
”1 }
More frequently, one may find implications of critical 1
: !
interest in chronology, particularly in references to sys- j
; tematic plot development, as in Fielding's review of !
I i
{Charlotte Lennox's Female Quixote;^ or in John Moore's View j
i I
I of the Commencement and Progress of Romance, wherein the j
naturalness of the development of Tom Jones is described I
j and lauded.7 |
! |
| But such references to time, infrequent and often j
| ' [
vague, are offset by many critical expressions which are
persistent and emphatic in their call for probability and
! ^See "Evelina" (anon, rev.), Monthly Review, £>8:316,
: April 1778.
■ ^Henry Fielding, Covent-Garden Journal, ed. Gerard E.
| Jensen (New Haven, London, Oxford, 1915), I, 281.
! ?John Moore, Works, ed. Robert Anderson (Edinburgh,
1820), V, 59-60.
11 I
i 1
! O
jplausibility— for truth to fact and verisimilitude. That s
: representation of immediate, everyday, and average experi- |
1 ence of local and contemporary people was widely enjoyed is
i
1 seen, for example, in such utterances as that of Mrs. Thrale
i
i
; upon reading Evelina: j
i i
It is a sweet book, and the great beauty of it is thati
i it reflects back all our own ideas and observations; for !
everybody must have met with something similar to almost :
all the incidents. (Diary and Letters, I, 98) j
! i
It appears that any realistic treatment of time conducive
!
j to the fulfillment of the evident popular demand would
; generally meet critical expectation and approval.
! ' *
j ;
! Prances Burney prepared no systematic statement of her;
i
theory for fiction, and her few scattered remarks which i
; throw light on her attitude and approach include none that j
' \
| pertain to a technique for the treatment of time. Her
i
! early comment, **I cannot express the pleasure I have in
i
i writing down my thoughts, at the very moment— my opinion of
: I
| people when I first see them1 * (Early Diary, I, Hj.~ljp), j
j testifies to her spontaneity, to her contemporaneity and j
'immediacy, but it does nothing to suggest a theoretical ,
I stand regarding dramatic time, duration, or passage of time.;
j ;
!
i
i I
i i
i 8See p. 7. I
12
In this chapter the element of time in Miss Burney’s
fiction is examined. Contemporaneity, spontaneity, and
immediacy are touched upon as occasion arises but are not
analytically treated; the emphasis falls rather upon chrono
logical matters— upon the author’s methods of dating her
works ^ her means of suggesting the duration of action, and
her techniques for marking the passage of time.
The first three novels offer no direct statement re
ft
garding dramatic time. 1 In Evelina, an epistolary novel,
the reader is obliged to rely for a general determination
of the period upon the exhibition of places, objects, and
manners, for although month and day dates abound, no year
date appears. For a more precise determination, internal
allusions must be examined* Sir Frank Mackinnon undertook
such a study and made the following observations:
0
Cox's Museum (p. 9 i | . ) was open only in 1773 and 177^;
its contents were dispersed by lottery in May 1775>«
Garrick acted at Drury Lane (p. 31) on Saturday, 2 April,
when Evelina returned in raptures from the play. But
Garrick’s farewell to the stage was on Monday, 10 June
1776. Marybone /sic~ 7 Gardens, where Evelina went on 30
June (p. 291), were finally closed to the public in
September 1776. The Little Theater in the Hayraarket
is referred to as Foote's (p. 236). But Foote died in
1777. (Evelina, p. £72)
%he term, which designates the period of the whole
action, is borrowed from Mackinnon. See Evelina, p. £72.
13
!
; Upon such considerations Mackinnon was able to establish
the probable dramatic date of Evelina as a period ”a few
I years before the date of its publication in 1778” (572).
!
In contrast with Evelina, Cecilia utilizes very few
iplaces of public amusement and refers only briefly, never
;precisely, to contemporary public events. The author’s use
t
: of one contemporary dramatic production, together with her
particular praise of one contemporary singer, provides the
i I
; best clue to the dramatic date of this novel. In Volume I ;
Miss Burney alludes to a rehearsal of a version of Meta- !
i
stasio’s Artaserse and eulogizes the male soprano Pacchi-
i
erotti (I, 73). With his friend, Bertoni, the arranger of
the music for this version, Pacchierotti visited London in ;
; the autumn of 1778 and may have appeared in the cast1® when
1 ' n<
Artaserse was performed at the Haymarket, January 23, 1779> i
This date accords well with a date which can be estimated j
!
for the rehearsal of Artaserse as described in Cecilia. By I
i
>
counting the twenty-six days that passed after Cecilia's 1
i
undated birthday (II, 332) and before the arrival of the
Miss Burney records in her diary under date of Janu
ary, 1779# Pacchierotti's singing ”a rondeau of 'Artaserse,'
of Bertoni's, the composer accompanying him” (Diary and
Letters. I, 156).
■^Grove's Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 5th ed.
(London and New "York, 195^)# I# 690.
14
| letter* dated October 21 (III, 93), it can be demonstrated
I
! that the birthday must have occurred on or near September |
i
' 2$, Another reference, made only two days before the j
; |
; rehearsal, affirms that the time of Cecilia’s coming of agej
! is "only eight months distant” (I, 63). Hence, the rehearsj
1 i
I al in Cecilia must have taken place on or near January 23, I
, i
: 1779, the date of the actual performance. The dramatic j
date for Cecilia is thus inferred to be a period embracing j
: the year 1779* j
! I
Camilla affords fewer clues than Cecilia to dramatic j
i date. No year date occurs. The few allusions to public |
j -
! places and events, such as the Northwick public assizes
i (I, 190) or the Middleton races (II, 344) » are so slightly
s
! enlarged with informative detail that they are practically :
t
I without value as dating devices. The same must be said j
!
regarding several allusions to literary works,13 whose pub-j
1
lication dates may not be trusted as anterior limits of the!
%*he author's allusions to the music of the Pantheon,;
; the Pestino, the Ancient Music, and Abel's Concert (Evelinaj
! p. 71+.) , an^ to Vauxhall (104 ff), while vaguely suggesting '
’ contemporaneity with Bertoni's Artaserse, are insufficient-!
ly specific to provide a more exact definition of the dra- ;
I matic date. At best they help to point up contemporaneity.;
j See Roland E. Prothero, The Light Reading of Our Ancestors
| (New York, /l9ZjJ) , p. 2W- -----------------
^ Camilla, III, 201, 234-5 IV, 339.
; i
I i
: period. What is known with certainty is Miss Burney' s con- j
I i
firmed interest in contemporary youth (to which the whole 1
book bears witness) and her steady effort, embracing the
:
years 179l j - to 1796,^ to bring this work to completion.^ '
i
Consideration of these facts favors the establishment of thej
dramatic date of Camilla within the few years before pub- !
lication in 1796. j
i
The Wanderer differs from the earlier novels in that it!
" i
!consciously impresses upon the reader the historical period
j of the story. It opens with a direct but not precise state--
• 1
jment of the period of the main action: j
\ !
j During the dire reign of the terrific Robespierre, and j
! in the dead of night, braving the cold, the darkness and I
j the damps of December, some English passengers, in a small
i vessel, were preparing to glide silently from the coast j
of Prance. (I, /l7) I
(
The "dire reign," an obvious reference to the Reign of
'Terror, suggests the years 1793 and 179ij..^ Additional 1
! ^^Diary and Letters, V, 2ij.6, 2I 4 . 6 n1 , 262, 270.
-’ Miss Burney prepared an outline," or "skeleton," some |
;time before she left Queen Charlotte's service in 1791
| (Diary and Letters, V, 27^1-) • Presumably she acted upon the I
i Queen's suggestion, made in 1795* that she do something "fcr
| the good of youth" (II, 322); but it was only in 179k that ,
she took "tightly" to the writing of the book (V, 2lj.o). j
| 16 *
j Robespierre, who was elected to the Committee of Pub-:
jlie Safety on July 27, 1793» immediately abetted the policy!
1 of terror then in force and intensified it between June 12 !
1 and July 28, 179i+, the day of his own execution. See j
allusions to Robespierre and his time persistently remind |
: the reader of the period.One of these, made by the i
i i
1 character Mr. Riley, refers to Robespierre as one who ’ ’ now j
! I
■ rules the roast /sic~7 in France" (II, 151+) and so points to!
! his period of supremacy in the early part of 179i+.Even I
: more effectively do the crimes of Robespierre's unnamed j
i commissary and the sorrows of Juliet, to whom the agent was|
i
illegally married, compel reflection upon that era.
' i
Although the main action hinges on the atrocities of !
i !
: the Reign of Terror, the larger canvas of the French Revolu-j
j tion is inevitably invoked. G-abriella, who fled to England!
immediately after the outbreak of the Revolution, was !
i
I
; molded by Revolutionary thought and conditions (IV, 188, I
t ■
1 '
!206). Elinor's intellectual life was rendered feverish, andj
| nearly tragic as a result of Revolutionary influences (I, !
] j
j 3US» k37)» Juliet and Gabriella are both characterized!
i |
as products of the Revolution (IV, 188, 386). In a broad |
I
view, then, the period of the French Revolution, from 1789 !
'Encyclopedia Brittanica. printing of 1955, XIX, 356. I
| ^ The Wanderer. I, 107; II, 43M+35; IV, 187; V, 9l+. !
■ ■^®It was after March 15, 1791+, that Robespierre, as '
;president of the Convention, sanctioned the death of Dantonj
;and Hebert, the greatest obstacles to his domination in
iFrance. See Encyclopedia Brittanica, printing of 1955, XIX,'
!357. ;
17
| to 179i+» is involved; but the years 1793 and 1794- more
properly designate the dramatic date of the main action*
It has been said that ”a novel dated in a more distant
period tends to take on the characteristics of an historical
■ novel while as it approaches the present it takes on an j
essential realistic quality."^9 The Wanderer, which aban- !
doned immediate contemporaneity for a period twenty years ,
removed from the date of publication (l8llj.), is an illustra-j
1 t
tion of this observation. Most of the difficulties encoun-j
tered by Juliet in her effort to make a living were contera- I
porary, but the historical background, the period of the !
main action, and the heroine's fear of her Revolutionary !
husband vitiated the contemporary and therefore the realis-:
tic spirit. The contemporaneity of the other novels is not•
|so affected; the dramatic dates are all within a few years
|of publication.
1 The duration of the main action in Miss Burney's fic- j
j tion is not more precisely defined than dramatic date. It \
j may be estimated, however--with ease in Evelina, with dif- *
| ficulty in Cecilia, Camilla, and The Wanderer. The duratied
!
1 Evelina is anticipated in the author’s preface. She is j
! J
. |
‘ no i
IQ
i Sister Mary Aline Gelson, An Analysis of the Realis- i
,tic Elements in the Novels of Ren! Bazin (Washington, D.6. , |
. ^<^2} , p. 2. 1
: 18 |
j j
■ at pains to focus interest upon "the first six months" ,
i i
i
! (p* x) after Evelina’s entrance into the world, Mackinnon !
I !
: has shown that this estimate is almost exact if the span i
; j
jof time is calculated from Evelina’s arrival in London on |
• April 2 to her marriage with Lord Orville soon after Octo- j
j
her 13 (573)* As there is no specific reference to the
period of duration in the course of the narrative, the j
I
1 period must be determined by a simple computation of the j
|
1 passing days, which are indicated by the dated letters of j
1
; the action. Actually, the span is six and one-half months.|
; ■ !
, 1
jBut if the calculation begins with Evelina's departure from!
; S
I Berry Hill about March 18, fifteen days earlier, then the j
; duration of the main action must be regarded as about seven;
]
i months. ^0
i
j The main action of Cecilia opens with the heroine's
I departure from Bury and closes with her final reception in
{ the Delvile home* Counting back from January 23, 1779 (the!
* I
date already established from the statement that Cecilia ■ '
would be of age in eight monthsdiscloses the date of
j the opening incident to be about January f>, 1779, Counting;
20 i
Mackinnon has noted that the eighty-four letters of j
Evelina were written in the course of one hundred and sixty1
days (Evelina, p. 573)* j
i '
I Cecilia, I, 63. !
I forward from a letter dated May 1, 1780 (III, 291) shows the
|date for the closing incident to be about the middle of
May, 1780. The period of the main action extends then from
I !
January 2, 1779# to May 15, 1780— a span of one year and j
! j
! four and one-half months. j
‘ i
The total action of Camilla is broken into two parts, i
; I
1 the first serving as a prologue to the main action. In the!
1
1 I
introductory part, childhood experiences of the principal I
characters are detailed— from the arrival of Sir Hugh Tyrold
1
! to the establishment of Eugenia as Dr. Orkborne's pupil.
; No clear time limits for the action are supplied, but refer-!
j ences to coming Christmas holidays (I, 7# l i } - , 85) and to !
i \
"the heats of the present autumn” (39) suggest that most, j
|
! if not all, of the events and incidents belong to an undated
! t
j autumn. This view is supported by Sir Hugh’s decision, j
I i
; late in the introductory part, not to call Clermont home
from Eton "after the next ^hristmas7 holidays” (85), but ;
I
uncertainty arises in the announcement that the boy would
I
I be sent "next month” (9^) to Leipzig. The month in ques- 1
1 tion is not made clear, and Clermont goes abroad without 1
1 <
! further reference to the time of his departure (95)• The i
; |
author also fails to specify month or season for the remain-
! j
ing few events. ,
; 1
1 The second and principal part opens with a reference !
20 '
{
| |
|to Eugenia’s fifteenth year (109). Since Eugenia was eightj
: i
■ years old at the time of Camilla’s tenth birthday (26), a j
t ‘
I period of seven years marks the interim between the two ;
i !
:parts.
i <
| The main action extends from Sir Hugh’s invitation to !
i :
!Camilla to spend three months at Cleves to her marriage. j
|No clear dating of this period is furnished* The statementj
i
i that Camilla is "just seventeen" (Hi).) tends to the belief J
j J
that it is again autumn, for the heroine’s tenth birthday, |
: J
I
narrated in the introductory portion, is there represented ’
‘ t
as an autumnal event (26, 39). However, a reckoning of the:
j ]
references to time points to another season. Camilla re- !
: jected a social invitation on the grounds that she had 1
j"still six weeks due her uncle at Cleves" (II, 219), indi-
1
| eating that she had already spent six weeks of the three-
j
| months’ stay (I, 115) expected of her at that place. Two
; of those six weeks must have been spent there before Edgar’s
i !
j arrival, for Camilla and Edgar had both left Cleves about ;
t ;
! July 28 (II, 116, 130, 2 l j.6) , and Edgar had been at Cleves I
• i
i j
I on© month lacking a few days (II, 13°) • The date for the j
l i
| first major incident of the major action may therefore be j
I approximated as June 15. j
j The date of the last major incident, Camilla’s mar- J
j riage, also lacks clear statement. It is another approxi-
!mation, reached by continuing the count of the passing days
i 1
' and weeks from the pivotal date, July 28, and by estimating
I the lengths of various periods in which undated incidents j
: j
! are summarized.^2 it appears to fall on or near February j
■ l£. The duration, therefore, may be approximated at eight j
i
I
! months. !
; {
! }
i i
As in the earlier novels, The Wanderer offers no j
! i
direct hint as to duration. One must again have recourse j
i
to numerous references to passing days, weeks, and seasons.!
i
The period stretches from the wanderer1s channel crossing ;
: to her marriage with Mr. Harleigh. A count of the days
between the return of the heroine to Lewes in uthe first ;
week of February" (I, 290) and Mr. Riley1s observation that|
} i
I Robespierre "now rules" (II, 154) shows that March 3 must I
j be the approximate date on which that observation was made.j
. The year date, 1794* was previously determined. Counting j
the days from March 3, 1794* back to the opening incident j
i
of the channel crossing in "the damps of December" (I, /T7) j
reveals the initial date of the main action to be about
j December 7* 1 7 9 3 j
I pp
j For example, Camilla, V, 183-192.
^The computation is aided by the author^ reference
■to a "cold February morning" (The Wanderer, II, 122), to
"the first week of February" (I, 290), to "the dark month -
22 ;
. i
| Similarly, no date for the final major incident is j
given, but the reference to Robespierre again assists. The!
i i
! computation, which involves estimates of several undated
■ periods,^ leads from March 3, 1794, the date of Mr. Riley’ s
‘ j
i comment, to the announcement of Juliet’s marriage (V, 388) i
I
and shows the passage, again approximately, of seven months.
The terminal date appears to be early in October, 1794* !
; i
I The duration of the main action,, then, embraces the time j
between early December and early October— a period of ten !
months.^5
3
i
Miss Burney obviously preferred to limit her main \
i
actions to comparatively short periods--from seven months '
in Evelina to sixteen and one-half months in Cecilia. With'
, the possible exception of Evelina, she did not deem it necea-
j i
sary to be specific with regard to duration. For even a I
I !
!partial clarification, the last three novels need the I
of December" (119), and to the period of "more than a I
month," during which Mr. Harleigh had been interested in !
the stranger (218).
2i^For example, The Wanderer. Ill, 206-299; 388. |
I ^The computation is aided by references to "the dry I
j clear frost of the latter end of March" (The Wanderer. II, j
177)» to "the beginnings of April" (2$L), to the end of !
"the season for Brighthelmstone (III, 68), to "the burning *
:rays of the vertical sun" (IV, 225), to "the oppression of |
!the heat" (257), and to "the end of August" (342). j
i
i '
23 !
unintentional assistance which casual reference to passing j
I
I time affords. In contrast with the neglect of duration, !
i i
i the marking of the passage of time is abundantly illustrated
I in all four novels, meticulous care being especially ob- I
! i
• j
i servable in Evelina. Of the eighty-four numbered letters, !
i
P A ^
' only twelve are without month and day dates.But the ;
i
; missing dates can be easily approximated. The first two i
letters of Volume I, an undated exchange between Lady j
i
: Howard and the Reverend Mr* Villars, were ’ ’written some !
i 5
' i
months” (20) before the third letter, Mrs. Howell’s, which !
is dated March 8. Dates of four other letters can be ;
i
readily and closely associated, by noting context, with 1
immediately preceding dated letters.^7 p0r example, un-
; dated Letter VI (Volume I), written by Lady Howard to Mr.
| Villars, must have been written shortly after his communi- |
|
cation of March 18, since it records impressions of Evelina I
i
I
obviously obtained soon after Mr. Villar1s note announced j
and dated Evelina's departure for Howard G r o v e .28 Lady
Howard's undated Letter XXVII (Volume II) reverses this
| p/1
j tDSeven of the thirty-one letters in Volume I are un-
| dated, two of the thirty in Volume II, and three of the
j twenty-three in Volume III.
1 27Svelina, I, Letter VI, 25; II, Letter XVIII, 272;
jIII, Letter XXII, 507, and Letter XXIII, 508.
I Pf)
L Evelina, I, Letter V, 2^, and Letter. VI, .25. ___
22* I
S pattern, for the context shows that it prompted Mr. Villar's
1 reply on May 2.^9 Pour of the undated letters are continu-j
; ations.3° Thus, undated Letters XVIII and XX (Volume I)
, appear, respectively, after Evelina’s letters of April lj? j
I !
' and 16; and Letter XXI (Volume I), also Evelina’s, is j
treated as a continuation of her letter of April 16 (Letter:
XX), although its reference to f,the adventure of yesterday"i
I (lOlj.) indicates that it could have been dated April 17. In
I
; Volume ill, undated Letter XIII is an enclosure, an un-
! mailed farewell letter which had been written by Lady Bel-
j
j mont to Sir John Belmont apparently just before her death j
\ . j
j in childbirth— written, that is to say, a little more than !
I j
] seventeen years (Evelina’s age) before the opening of the j
I j
I story (p. x)• Such observations demonstrate that the un- j
i j
; dated letters offer no serious impediment to the time !
; scheme. i
| I
i The dates of the Evelina letters are not flawlessly j
, i
! consecutive. After a careful tracing of the dates, Mackin-j
! !
Jnon explains the inconsistencies by his inference that j
! "Frances Burney used the current calendars of 177ii, 1775* '
! |
i
' I
j I
■ 29Evelina, I, Letter XXVIII, 1^, and Letter XXVIII, !
(156.
* 3°Evelina, I, Letter XVIII, 88, Letter XX, 97, Letter j
|XXI, lOij.; II, Letter XX, 283. !
25
and 1776 as her work progressed,"3^ whereas the period of
Evelina’s recorded experiences was limited to about seven
months. Such discrepancies, like the missing letter dates,
offer some disruption in the time plan but occasion no
weakening of the realistic effect.3^
The calendar references used in Evelina to suggest the
passage of time are ordinary and not greatly varied. The
letter dates provide the most convenient means for suggest
ing chronology and for dating events and incidents described
in the letters. Most of the letters show only month and day
dates, but in Volume I the names of days appear in sixteen
letters or parts of letters. Mornings, afternoons, evenings,
nights are also occasionally indicated on the date line (I,
Letter XII, etc.). At least twenty-nine of the eighty-four let
ters deal, altogether or in part, with incidents of the day
on which each letter was written, and, similarly, thirty-six
deal with incidents of the preceding day or of recent days--
31por Mackinnon’s data, see Evelina, p. 572. Miss
Burney found it difficult to maintain an accurate account of
dates while keeping her journal: "I have, from want of
time, neglected my journal so long, that I cannot now pre
tend to go on methodically, and be particular as to dates"
(Diary and Letters, I, I3I-I32).
32certain other errors or discrepancies of a minor
order appear in Evelina. July, twice appearing for June,
suggests printer’s errors (275* 277). October i f . should be
October 5 (if-28).
26;
I evidence of Miss Burney's penchant for immediacy.
In all four novels, an accounting of the passing days ;
i is persistently practiced, although periods of several days j
i
: or weeks intermittently break the monotony of this proce- ' <
|dure. Often this day-by-day technique appears in unbroken j
sequences of several days each.33 "The next morning,” 1 1 the ,
next day,” "the following morning” are tediously recurring
!
phrases. j
i
| A more detailed and journalistic chronology, brought
:about by a persistent internal timing of the incidents of a |
i
igiven day, is also characteristic. Customary phrases for \
; !
this time-of-day technique, such as "very early," "this j
morning," "after breakfast," "at dinner," "during the ride,"j
"at tea," "at five o'clock," "at supper," "the rest of the j
evening," steadily promote the reader's awareness of time’s1
jpassage. Present time and limited duration are represented;
I in such elements. !
In Evelina, the frequent reference to meals3^- (break- '
i 33Evelina, I, Letters X-XIII', 30-47, Letters XVI-XXIII,•
:69-130, etc. Cecilia, I, 21-58, 64-117, 203-347, etc.
! Camilla, I, 299-334? III, 96-314-3, etc. The Wanderer, I, *
:225-253, etc. |
| 31+Miss Burney's use of meals, preeminently a timing |
device, holds no gustatory interest and regularly has littld
jor no social significance.
\ 1
I
27
'fast, dinner, tea, supper)35 and to various parts of the
jday remind one of the method of a time-conscious diarist36
|bent upon relegating each day’s events to its proper place
I in time. One may find in a single Evelina letter, in
i
:chronological order, a veritable series of such time-speci-
;fying devices;37 and in Cecilia such series are so regularly
j
|and studiously employed that they suggest a carefully con-
|sidered compensation for the loss of the letter-dating
;advantage of Evelina.38 This time-of-day technique also
i
, occurs conspicuously in Camilla39 an£ The Wanderer.
|
i However, a judicious modification of this practice
j < 3 C?
i -^Maekinnon states: "Probably the most momentous
; change in social arrangements since 1775 is in regard to
jtimes of the day, as regulated by the hours of meals. In
'1775> polite society breakfasted about 10, dined at an hourj
! varying from 2 to i | _ :30 (the later, as always, the more
fashionable) , took tea an hour or so after dinner, and . . . ;
had supper at 9 or 10" (Evelina, p. 576). j
Miss Burney records’ ? "We breakfast always at 10, and I
rise as much before as we please,--we dine precisely at 2,
drink tea about 6--and sup exactly at 9” (Early Diary. I,
15).
3^Miss Burney’s time-of-day technique is observable in
I ' tlQr Diary and Letters.
i
I 37p01> example, Evelina, III, Letter XV, i j . 36.
j 38Cecilia, jl, 92-136, etc.
| 39CamiIla, III, IV, 26-89, etc.
I ^°The Wanderer, I, 2^5-252, etc.
;appears after the first novel. In the first two volumes of j
| j
j Cecilia, the habit of excessive timing by reference to meals;
' is curbed, and in Volume III It almost disappears. In !
' j
« i
1 Camilla, the tendency to delete meal-reference continues, i
I and in The Wanderer the device, relatively, is only occa- j
i sionally used. Observance of time of day, meanwhile, re- j
I mains conspicuous. i
j ;
; Terms and phrases such as “tomorrow,” "for one week," ;
"two or three months," "for some days,” "in a few days," '
i
'"in about ten minutes," "next Thursday," "meanwhile," "less!
I
I than a fortnight" belong in another category, since their j
; function is to place events, ‘ incidents, and periods in past]
! j
!and future time. Apart from simple and direct reference to;
: |
a past or future point in time, the novels exhibit an habib-j
ual reference to periods of days, weeks, or months which !
‘ J
I mark a sojourn or an absence, or which designate the passage
i i
or limited duration of such periods. Unfortunately, the ;
limits of some of the periods are not precisely defined. j
I
jThe time spans so inexactly treated do not fit easily or
i clearly Into the stream of day-by-day accounting. Notwith-j
.standing this defect, all these expressions, complementing !
i I
. the time-of-day phrases, heighten time consciousness and, !
! by contributing to the coherence of the over-all time \
! scheme, assist chronological clarification. |
29
The sense of passing time derived from the accounting
of passing days and weeks is accentuated in the four novels,
in varying degrees, by mention of holidays, by reference to
seasons (both calendar and social), and by dated letters*
In Evelina, calendar seasons, holidays, and names of months
do not play an important role in the time plan. One finds
but a passing reference to an "ensuing spring" (20), to
"the Ring’s/' birthday" (3l±2) and to the anticipated
month of "September" (211). Evelina's description of hot
London weather arouses an image of a summer day:
London now seems a desart /sic/; that gay and busy
appearance it so lately wore, is now succeeded by a look
of gloom, fatigue, and lassitude; the air seems stagnant,
the heat is intense, the dust intolerable, and the in
habitants illiterate and under-bred. (216)
Actually, such description, like the allusion to an evening
that was "remarkably warm" (391), lacks confirmation of
season. The dated letters, together with the treatment of
social seasons, obviate internal need for systematic calen
dar reference.
The visits to certain public places and the participa
tion in certain private social functions imply social sea
sons, which serve as inherent reminders of the time of year.
Providing dates for such seasons, as in Evelina's accounts
^•The birthday of George III fell on June I j . (new style).
30
of the opera in the Haymarket (111 ff), or the winter and
summer theaters (97 ff), or Mrs. Stanley's private assembly
(3I 4 . ff) , was hardly necessary. English readers knew very
well not only the seasons for opera and stage plays but also
for enjoying gardens and spas. They knew that Sadler’s
Wells (235* 2I 4 .O) opened annually on Easter Monday and closed
near the end of September.^ They knew that Ranelagh (29,
45, etc.) opened on Easter Monday and closed about the
middle of July ,^-3 that Vauxhall (235, 2I|.0, etc.) was essen
tially a summer resort,^- and that the season for the
Bristol Hotwells (337 ff) was from May to September, the
period, to quote Mackinnon, “which was not the season at
Bath.
Miss Burney’s use of such places as settings is more
frequent in Volume I than in the remaining two volumes. The
spacing is evidence that she was inattentive to the support
which such settings might afford to her time plan. Certain
ly the settings, being numerous, are not prominent as a
time-accentuating technique.
^See Mackinnon’s “Notes,“ Evelina, p. 526.
^See Mackinnon’s “Appendix II,“ Evelina, p. 51+5*
^•See Mackinnon’s “Appendix IV," Evelina, pp. 554~£55*
^See Mackinnon’s “Appendix VI," Evelina, p. 566.
31
Cecilia has the appearance of being more fully equipped
with calendar references than Evelina, so steadily and con
sistently are the day-by-day and time-of-day techniques
applied. However, only one of four named months carries a
reference to present time (Cecilia, I, 25; III, 279), and
the four descriptions of weather as "muggy” (II, 171), "hot"
(179), "extremely hot” (232), and "remarkably fine" (III,
209) offer no aid towards season identification. Even the
use of public places and private entertainments as settings
with seasonal implications is in sharp decline as compared
with the author’s earlier practice. The settings for the
rehearsal of the opera (I, 69-79), Harrel’s masquerade
(II9-H4 . 8), and the Vauxhall tragedy (II, lOip—13l|-) afford a
few minor accents to the sense of passing time.
More impressive are the references to holidays and sea
sons. Christmas holidays are mentioned at least four times
(I, 9, 22, 50; III, 200), Easter holidays six times (80,82,
23k> 271, 272, 276). Winter is mentioned five times (II,
270, 3M+; III, 208, 220, 309), summer twice (III, liplp, 309),
and spring once (209). Nevertheless, their contribution to
the sense of passing time is somewhat illusory. Most of
these statements refer to past or future time and have no
appreciable effect on time-consciousness. The admissible
exceptions are the six references to Easter, which mark the
1
: 32'
!
, period between the first Christmas and Easter; the notice
, of "the end of July” {II, 19ij.); and the references to the
I
j second Christmas, on which day Cecilia acquired her new
I
house (III, 200), to an "advancing spring” (209), and to
. the winter of Cecilia’s majority, which had just passed
: (208).
; The distribution of the eighteen expressions of time
f
*
! in ten of the seventeen months of the duration (one large
i
; gap occurring between March 17 and August 20 of the year
' 1779) does not appear to be significant. For of the ten i
1 |
-effective elements, five (in the Easter sequence) occur in j
■: i
;the space of two days and are read in the course of forty- j
(
two pages in Volume 1,^ while two (those that herald the j
* |
;spring of 1780) occur on the same day, about March 22, and j
! are read in the course of two pages of Volume III.^ j
j 1
The best device for accenting the passage of time in
Cecilia appears to have been consciously and deliberately
employed. It consists of ten dated letters, which, togetha?
with a dated advertisement, constitute well-dispersed mile
stones in eight of the fifteen months that comprise the
^6Cecilia, I, 23^-276.
^ Cecilia. Ill, 208-209.
33
duration.^*® With but two exceptions they occur less than
two months apart, the largest gap being less than five
months. All of the letters bear month and day dates. The
year dates of three letters are missing, but they are easily
inferred. An accounting of the passing days, weeks, and
periods in each of the intervals between letters yields no
serious inconsistency when checked against the letter dates.
The milestones are plausibly though not exactly spaced with
respect to time.
Miss Burney's interest in accenting time suffered a de
cline in Camilla. The day-by-day and time-of-day techniques
are still much in evidence, but only about eleven calendar
references appear in the course of the narrative. Five of
these anticipate Christmas holidays (I, 7, lij., 85, 129» II,
319), two refer to autumn (39* 3^-9), two to summer (II,
2l\$l III, 3^1-9), one to Michaelmas (IV, 160), and one to the
!lend of July" (II, 21+6). Appropriately, three of the refer
ences to the coming Christmas (I, 7, Hi-, 85) and one to
"the present autumn" (39) stamp the season of the prologue.
The remaining seven expressions belong to the main action
and are distributed, according to estimated dates, in the
first five of the eight months of the duration. Of these
^ Cecilia, I, 266, 387; II, 82, 95, 302; III, 93, 121,
229, 287, 291, 332.
* ...... Jk
I
[seven, only the reference to summer and to the end of July
I '
are at all effective as means of accenting passing time. !
| j
.Furthermore, weather is related to time in but three state- I
i ' ■
ments, all negligible, pertaining to a “bright moon” (III, ;
136), some “delicious weather" (IV, 2l£) , and a "fire" (15>9) j
in a grate on a cool morning. Dated letters occur nowhere j
1
,in the novel. j
I
t
Camilla, the most important social settings best j
accentuate passing time. They comprise, besides theater ;
1(111, 221 ff) and opera (V, 263 ff), the Northwick fair (I, !
! !
[ 3£), a public breakfast given on the occasion of the public j
‘ assizes (I, 190 ff ) , the Tunbridge season '(III, 135> ff ) , a j
;"fair for cattle" (IV, 89), and Mrs. Berlinton’s ball in j
i ;
the Southampton season (V, 50 ff). The Northwick fair '
■accents the autumnal setting of the prologue. The remaining;
■settings, associated with the duration of the main action, i
1
ipoint up the summer and autumn of that period. Not too well
► . !
|spaced, owing in large measure to a considerable gap between
j 1
[Volume I, page 190, and Volume ITT, page 13^4-, these settings
’ j
I 5
^nevertheless constitute an unconscious yet strong support to
[the time plan. ■
| I
j The trend towards disuse of calendar reference, as j
; i
1 evidenced in Camilla, appears to have been arrested in The j
j . I- - - r " "I m inrtrr-r-iiii*
|Wanderer. Day-by-day and time-of-day techniques are still j
1 i
35
conspicuous in the treatment of time’s passage. Seasons do
not contribute importantly to the time scheme; winter is
mentioned but twice (I, 25, 78) and holidays once (II, 253)*
However, at least nine descriptions of weather assist:
four are associated with the winter season (I, 25, 78, 119;
II, 221), one with early spring (II, 177), and four with
summer (IV, 255, 257, 258, 3^-2) • No dated letters appear,
and only a few social settings, including Brighthelmstone
(II, ip2 ff; III, 68) and a reference to seasonal bathing at
Teignmouth (V, 213), tend to a slight, indirect support to
time-consciousness.
The names of months, together with the four descrip
tions of summer heat, best accent the time plan of The
Wanderer. Of the ten references to months, six (December,
February, March, April, August, and September) are named
when current. December and February have duplications, and
May or June is anticipated. As June and July are inferred
by means of weather descriptions, only two months (January
and October) are totally neglected.^-9 spacing of these
elements, despite the omissions, is sufficiently effective
^December (I, /T/i 119); February (I, 290; II, 122);
March (II, 177) i April (II, 25i+) J August (IV, 3I 4. 2) J Septem
ber (V, 379); May or June (II, 7 l \ . ) i June and July (IV, 255,
257, 258).
36
to induce the opinion that they were consciously placed by
the author to indicate the passage of time. A count of the
days in the intervals between the named months, while again
reflecting no inconsistency damaging to the dicta of prob
ability and plausibility, reveals the author's belief that
precision in timing is unimportant and unnecessary.
In dating events and incidents, whether physical,
social, or psychological, Miss Burney reveals a multiple
timing technique which is partly deliberate, partly uncon
scious. She most nearly approaches exactness and actuality
in the conscious dating of the Evelina letters. In the
other novels, wherever occasional letters of fictitious date
or wherever allusions to holidays, calendar seasons, and
months replace the letter-dating of Evelina, her fundamental
willingness to be content with plausibility becomes apparent.
Her treatment of social events, places, and seasons also
lends a certain if unevenly applied support to the sense of
passing time. Such support, however, was apparently acci
dental inasmuch as it seems unconscious and unintentional.
A perusal of late eighteenth century popular critical
opinion reveals no focusing of interest on the subjects of
dramatic time, duration, or passage of time. Explicit
I dating was not demanded. Duration was not considered as a j
! I
; need in realistic fiction. Techniques for suggesting pas- j
!
I sage of time were not analyzed or specified. On the other !
i I
i hand, widespread appreciation of realistic representations :
I ‘
! of contemporary life is evident. It is therefore a fair !
assumption that critical approval would he accorded any ;
plausible representation of time that did not noticeably j
run counter to average and local experience, especially if
, it heightened the sense of contemporaneity and immediacy.
i I
j It is apparent from the analysis that Miss Burney's {
i ]
| treatment of time more than satisfied the critical expecta-i
j tions of her readers. Her stories, placed in contemporary^!
i
\ or, in the case of The Wanderer, near-contemporary settings,:
' presented incidents as though they had but recently oc- ;
: curred. In the first three novels, and in Evelina in par- j
i •
j ticular, the narration is often imbued with a spontaneity !
; i
j characteristic of genuine youthfulness, a sprightliness andt
i <
| verve that recommended itself to her admirers as "natural'1 —i
I
j !
j true to life* The chronological method of history as !
i !
, applied to the stories was also entirely acceptable.
| In neglecting exactly to define the dramatic periods
i
i
i
I Commenting on the.use.of time in her preface to j
i Evelina,^Miss Ellijj^remarked: "Only the present moment: i
j nothing o£7$±me~', eo cpmp" (Annie Raine Ellis, ed. , Evelina, I
I London,. .1931, xxxxij. ........ .... .. .... — -. • „
38 :
on which the actions or her narratives rest, in failing to ;
mark off precisely the limits of duration, and in exhibiting
carelessness as she dated events, incidents, and periods in!
the passage of time, Miss Burney did not antagonize her |
i
contemporaries. The dramatic dates were, for them, suffi- ;
ciently objectified by the contemporaneity of her subjects
1
and materials, and the durations, however irregularly and i
vaguely delimited, were rendered acceptable by the implica-j
tions of the references to passing time. Furthermore, she ;
was so steadily alert to her sense of passing time, so per-!
sistently minute and frequent in her use of references to
time (particularly in her day-by-day and time-of-day se
quences) that she suggested a real presentation of it. She
felt no compunction in glossing over gaps and irregulari
ties, for although she occasionally used actual time, she
held no belief or ideal respecting time which would prompt j
absolute accuracy in its portrayal; but, in the eyes of !
i
her contemporaries, some inconsistency or expedient inven- j
tlon, if hidden from the casual view, implied no defect. i
She was constantly aware of what was proper and fitting in .
time arrangements, and she regularly conformed to current
custom in the timing of events and incidents (including I
meals) and in this way offset the irregularities. She was
I
satisfying to her readers in that she was reasonably :
8
j
factual, reasonably loyal to the requirements of decorum
; i
I l
iand propriety in her treatment of time. Probability,
'plausibility, realistic representations if not actual re- j
I
productions of average temporal experience--these were the '
|normal expectations which she faced and which she met. I
; (
In spite of incompleteness and discrepancy in her j
treatment of time, Miss Burney never forgot the importance j
j
to realism of a genuine time-consciousness. She was usually
I
; at some pains to implant and to maintain such awareness in j
!her readers. This is noticeable in the arrangement and !
dating of the Evelina letters and in the use of sustained ;
’reference to the French Revolution in The Wanderer; it is •
:especially demonstrable in the treatment of the passage of
time, which uses such means as letter dates, the day-by-day1
| and time-of-day techniques, references to seasons, holidays,'
; !
; i
; months, days, and even weather. The author’s use of social!
-events, seasons, and settings, although not intended to I
; i
:support the time plans, often contributes to the reader’s
! i
I sense of passing time. The dated letters in Cecilia and
I
' the designated months and weather descriptions in The
i i
!Wanderer illustrate her greatest effectiveness in the use
.
f - .
(of such aids, whereas the virtual absence of time-accenting!
\
ldevices in Camilla betrays her intention, in that novel, to
|emphasize the timelessness of the universal import of her
;teaching with respect to morals and manners. j
i ;
' It is noteworthy that Miss Burney seldom permitted !
I
|time elements to be associated with character, and only
i
!occasionally with circumstances, incidents, or nature,
j !
Characteristically, she was concerned with time's passage, !
hence with time designation. j
; With respect to the treatment of time, Miss Burney I
' apparently went beyond the expectation of her contemporaries.'
iShe used actual calendar dates, though not consistently or j
flawlessly. In her habitual allusion to time, she provided
jan effective means for heightening time-consciousness and j
for bringing the portrayal of real life into sharper relief.!
i !
; She not only satisfied the critical standards of her day;
i
she also advanced time-consciousness as a means to the ;
;realistic representation of life. j
CHAPTER II
TOPOGRAPHY AND SETTING
Critics in Miss Burney's era gave little more specific
attention to the treatment of topography and setting in I
I
prose fiction than they did to the treatment of time. j
Cities and tow*?, landscapes, the immediate scenes and atmos-
J * .
phere of action were not typical subjects for theoretical
speculation. A/isso7 Bosker (Literary Criticism in the Age
of Johnson) goes so far as to say, too categorically, that
"external nature was hardly considered worthy of any serious
attention."**- ;
I
Expressions of general belief regarding setting did
occasionally appear. A critic of Goldsmith's Vicar of
Wakefield, thinking of the simplicity of the Vicar1s char- 1
acter and way of life, declared appreciatively that "the
scenery should be in proportion, simple, unstudied, and
unadorned."^ Horace Walpole (The Castle of Otranto, 2nd
ed.), seeking varied and fanciful settings, asserted in his
^(The Hague, 1930), p. 77»
^"The Vicar of Wakefield" (anon, rev.), Critical
Review, 21:i^39“iU|-l, June 1766.
l f . 2
preface that his characters should "think, speak and act,
i
as it might be supposed mere men and women would do in
extraordinary positions."3 Christof M. Wieland, a German
i
author well known to Miss Burney’s contemporaries, showed ,
his interest in realistic backgrounds^- in his preface to
I
i
The History of Agathon: i
The peculiar characteristic of the country, of the
spot, and of the age in which the scene of history is
laid, should be constantly kept in view.
Such indications of theoretical interest in topography .
and setting are infrequent and generally undeveloped; but !
an unconscious desire for realistic treatment of these sub->
jects of fiction is abundantly if indirectly demonstrated
i
by calls for verisimilitude, for truth to fact, and even, ;
to a more limited extent, for photographic reproduction. !
Dr. Johnson, upholding verisimilitude as conformity to i
i
i
truth and reality, refused to call the "metaphysicaIs" poets
I
for the reason that "they neither copied nature nor life."'’ ;
He revealed more graphically, if less theoretically, his i
flair for objective truth when he kicked a stone to disprove
^(London, 1765), p. vii. J
^(London, 1773), I, xviii. I
5 1
-^Johnson’s Lives of the Poets, ed. George B. Hill ;
(Oxford,1905), I, 19. !
43
/
the Idealism of Berkeley* In the Essay on the Genius and
Writings of Pope, 5th ed*, revised, Joseph Warton, although
writing of poetry, gave further recognition to the call for
exact portrayal? as he explained the writings of Theocritus:
The climate of Sicily was delicious, and the face of
the country various and beautiful. . . . The poet de
scribed what he saw and felt . . • and the beauties of
that luxurious landscape . . • were present and real.
(I, 3-4)
Warton urged that writers of his own day should follow the
ancient poets’ example by making use of ’ ’domestics facta J
• • • drawn from models with which we are exactly acquaint- j
ed" (I, 272).
William Hogarth in "The Analysis of Beauty" lamented ,
the failure of painters to provide for posterity a "faith
ful representation of facts,"® favoring, as Bosker has
said, "a literal rendering of nature with all its beauties
and imperfections."9 Such an interest in photographic
detail Is also upheld In the Elements of Criticism^ of
i
^Boswell’s Life of Johnson, ed. George B. Hill, I
(Oxford, 1934)* 471. j
?(London, 1806). I
®See C. A. Fresnoy, De Arte Graphics, trans., Mr. Wills
(London, 1754) * Zp*J7*
^Literary Criticism, p. 80.
10(Edinburgh, 1762).
44 1
1
i
Lord Karnes (Henry Horae), who felt that
in narration as well as in description, facts and objects
ought to be painted so accurately as to form in the mind '
! of the reader distinct and lively images. (Ill, 174) !
Probably it is Clara Reeve (The Progress of Romance) j
<
who most simply and concisely sums up the prevailing atti- ;
:tude11 as to what the realistic novel should be: j
The Novel is a picture of real life and manners, and
of the times in which it is written. . . . gives a
familiar relation of such things, as pass every day before
our eyes. . . • The perfection of it, is to represent ;
every scene, in so easy and natural a manner, and to make j
them appear so probable, as to deceive us into a persua- j
i sion (at least while we are reading) that all is real. |
Such criteria for realistic prose fiction may have been
motivated by a predominating interest in human nature and
in human experience; nevertheless, they carry, clearly and
inevitably, the implication that unrealistic treatment of
topography and setting would not be relished or condoned.
!
Critical comments by Miss Burney as clues to her work-j
ing theory for topography and setting are as infrequent as !
i j
!those which pertain to time. Only one remark has a sig- *
\
inificant, direct application, since it explains the author’s
i
;tendency to curtail whatever descriptions she undertook for ;
>
her settings: *
11
(New York, 1930), p. 111. (Reproduced from the
Colchester edition of 1785*)
I could fill whole pages upon the general beauty of
the place and country, but . . . I know nothing tires so
much as description. (Diary and Letters, I, 326)
Less relevant, but not without importance in this connec
tion, is her remark that "to avoid what is common, without
adopting What is unnatural, must limit the ambition of the
vulgar herd of authors” (Evelina, p. x). Also noteworthy
is her approval of close observation as seen in her reac
tion to Dr. Johnson’s notice of her cap: "Nothing escapes
him. My Daddy Crisp is not more minute in his attentions”
(Diary and Letters, I, 116). Her theory for setting, as
for time, must be largely deduced from her practice.
In this chapter the geographical places and place
names of Miss Burney’s fiction are examined in order to de
termine their kinds, their actuality, and their use. Par
ticular places and locales are treated similarly, the
locales being considered with the places of which they form
a part. Whenever practicable, typical settings are further
analyzed to ascertain the manner of their structure and
presentation. The latter consideration touches the prob
lems of physical detail, of atmosphere, and of the relation
ship of setting to character and incident.
Many geographical places appear as settings in all
four novels. Landscapes and seascapes are also used.
1 4 - 6
England in each of the narratives provides the national
background. The principal English counties include Dorset
shire, Kent, Hampshire, Suffolk, and Sussex. A number of
cities, towns, and villages also appear, most of them
actual, a few fictitious.1^ Of the remaining geographical
places, English or foreign, none exhibits the function of
setting. Some bear a connection with characters, as may be
seen in the allusion to Bristol (Cecilia. II, 213), recom
mended for the convalescence of Mortimer Delvile, or to
Admiral Powel's recollections of Dorchester ale and Devon
shire cider (The Wanderer, V, 351), which carry some sug
gestion of that naval officer’s lustiness. The rest have
no important relationship either to characters or plots.
Thus Devil’s Dyke (III, 126) and the Downs near Brighthelm-
stone (III, 126) have only a passing interest.
Apart from pictorial landscapes, which are most preva
lent in The Wanderer, the outstanding fact concerning Miss
Burney’s description of geographical places, whether from
i
Fictitious geological places in Miss Burney’s novels
comprise Berry Hill (Evelina, lj?, etc. ),' - ’ Bury (Cecilia, I
S$ etc.), Rumford (III, 316), Etherington (Camilla, I, I 4,
etc.), Cleves (I, 3^4-, etc.), Belmont (V, 298), Northwick
fl, 35, 129), Cornfield (III, 95), and Midleton (III, 95).
Geographical places have been regarded as fictitious if they
do not appear in the topographical and placename diction
aries listed in the bibliography.
; i+7
j the topographical or atmospheric standpoints, is its scanty
j treatment. In the four novels England receives no more
j than a descriptive adjective. The counties are hardly
I
; graced to that extent. An exception occurs when the reader
! is informed that Camilla livad in Etherington, “beautifully
; situated in the unequal county of Hampshire, and in the
> vicinity of the varied landscapes of the Hew Forest”
; (Camilla, I, I j . ) . There is no description for any of the
fictitious towns, or for the actual towns of Alresford,
I
■ Winchester, Bagshot, Dover, and Wilton, despite the fact
: that action takes place in all of them. Even the resort j
t
; towns of Tunbridge (Camilla), Bristol (Evelina), and s
i 1
! Brighthelmstone (The Wanderer), although important as set- j
; i
! tings, are neglected. j
; i
i London, the resort towns of Bath, Southampton, and j
! I
! Teignmouth, together with certain smaller towns and villages^
! i
: fare somewhat better. Evelina, anticipating her visit to j
! i
j London, writes to Mr. Villars: ;
! They tell me that London is now in full splendour.
Two Playhouses are open,--the Opera-House,— Ranelagh,-- '
and the Pantheon.--You see I have learned all their
i names. (Evelina, p. 29) i
r ■ “ " 1 ■ ' 1 I
|Upon her arrival she remarks, "The houses and streets are j
1 !
:not quite so superb as I expected” (31); but the best touch
( ■ '
|appears in her letter to Maria Mirvan, written as she began;
1 i
jher second stay in "the great city" (207): !
London now seems a desart /sic7; the gay and busy
appearance it so lately wore, is now succeeded by a look
of gloom, fatigue, and lassitude; the air seems stagnant,
the heat is intense, the dust intolerable, and the in
habitants illiterate and under-bred. (216)
In this last description, a fullness of seasonal condition
and atmosphere rare in Miss Burney is apparent. Otherwise,
London acquires something of a realistic atmosphere only in
the subsequent fragmentary treatment of various places of
amusement, in the brief accounts of walks in the parks and
gardens, and in the passing references to the theaters and
shops (30-33),
In at least two instances, touches of topographical
description affecting London link realistic fact with char
acter and mood. One of these is represented in Evelina’s
last description of London. The city had a “look of gloom,
fatigue, and lassitude,” no doubt, because the unhappy girl
away from her friends, faced the prospect of spending weeks
in the metropolis with her irritable grandmother, Mme.
Duval. In Cecilia, it is the affected Mr. Meadows whose
concept of what is fashionable impels him to an expression
of distaste for the city:
London*. . . . G melancholy! the sink of all vice and
depravity. Streets without light! Houses without air!
Neighborhood without society! Talkers without listeners!
— ’Tis astonishing any rational being can endure to be so
miserably immured. (II, 3$9)
Among the resort towns, Bath (Evelina) receives the
l | - 9
fullest topographical attention, although the one brief
paragraph allotted to this purpose serves as a summary of !
I
i
sights rather than as a setting for action. Evelina •writes:!
i
The charming city of Bath answered all my expectations.;
The Crescent, the prospect from it, and the elegant sym
metry of the Circus, delighted me. The Parades, I own, !
rather disappointed mej one of them is scarce preferable j
to some of the best paved streets in London, and the
other, though it affords a beautiful prospect, a charming'
view of Prior Park and of the Avon, yet wanted something j
in itself of more striking elegance than a mere broad
pavement, to satisfy the ideas I had formed of it. (ij-92}
i
Description of Southampton (Camilla) is briefly linked
to action when the agent, Mrs. Hittin, seeking easy access
to various shops, requires Southampton shopkeepers "to givej
I
their directions to the churches, the quays, the market- j
place, the antique gates, the town hall, etc." (IV, 217). ’
Otherwise, the author's topographical interest here turns
to the neighboring sea. A touch of seascape atmosphere is
evident in the picture of t
i
j
a very fine yacht, and three large pleasure boats . . . 1
surrounded by various other vessels of all sorts and j
conditions which were filled with miscellaneous parties, I
who meant to partake the same gales for their own diver- !
sion or curiosity. (V, 5-6)
Teignmouth (The Wanderer), "a beautifully situated !
!
small town," induced sentimental and romantic rather than ;
/ 1
realistic impulses, but geographical facts remain basic in j
j
the author's depiction of near-by locales. "Invited by the :
verdant freshness of the prospects," Juliet reaches
£0 I
a charming spot, now awfully noble, now elegantly simple;!
where the sea and the land, the one sublime with its j
sameness, the other, exhilarating in its variety, seem to!
be presented, as if in primitive lustre, to the admiring !
eye of the meditative being. (V, 220) ;
i
The author, whose eye has become closely attentive to the 1
!
tints and hues of physical detail in nature, carries the !
I
description to a climax rare in these writings: I
She clambered up various rocks, nearly to their summit,‘
to enjoy, in one grand perspective, the stupendous expan-!
sion of the ocean, glittering with the brilliant rays of '
a bright and cloudless sky. Dazzled, she descended to
their base, to repose her sight upon the soft, yet lively;
tint of the green turf, and the rich, yet mild hue of the
downy moss. Almost sinking, now, from the scorching
beams of a nearly vertical sun, she looked round for some
umbrageous retreat; but, refreshed the next moment, by
salubrious sea-breezes, by the coolness of the rocks, or
by the shade of the trees, she remained stationary, and
charmed; a devoutly adoring spectatress of the lovely,
yet magnificent scenery encircling her; so vast in its
glory, so impressive in its details, of wild, varied
nature, apparently in its original state. (V, 220-221) j
This pictorial setting is presented chiefly for its own |
sake. The details of the scene are generally if not minute-
i
ly represented, but the romantic coloring, which reflects i
i
the author1s unrealistic interest in the sublime and beau- j
tiful, tends to blur the lines of objective reality. Real-!
istic atmosphere might have been enhanced if all reference ;
i
to human or animal life had not been suppressed. ;
In The Wanderer, the non-resort towns of Salisbury and j
I
Romsey, an unnamed hamlet near the New Forest, and Stone- ■
i
henge progressively display a more fully developed 1
f
£1
topographical interest of the realistic kind than is to he
found in the earlier novels. The Salisbury description,
although the slightest of the three treatments, shows a
casual interest in the town scene while linking it with the
incident of Dame Fairchild's little boy getting wet in a
gutter. Content with a general treatment, the author here
•omits details and particulars which might have heightened
the realism of the scene. The description is approached
negatively. Juliet was too self-occupied
to remark the buildings, the neatness, the antiquities,
or the singularities of the city which she was patrolling;
till her eyes were caught by the little rivulets which,
in most of the streets, separate the footpath from the
high-road. {IV, 229)
The scenes of Romsey, although not important either to
character or to incident, are a new blending of topography
for its own sake with a sympathetic understanding of rural
life, particularly from the economic point of view; but
again the author deals in classes of objects and fails to
be photographic. Apparently made up of on-the-spot observa
tions, these scenes depict contrasting aspects. Juliet is
the witness;
Carts, waggons /sic~7, and diligences, were wheeling
through the town; market women were arriving with butter,
eggs, and poultry; workmen and manufacturers were trudging
to their daily occupations; all was alive and in motion;
and commerce, with its hundred hands, was every where
opening and spreading its sources of wealth, through its
active sisters, ingenuity and industry. (IV, 253)
52
But when the hour of repast arrived, she observed that j
: the road, but just before so busily peopled, appeared to J
; be abruptly forsaken. The labourers were no longer work- !
; ing at the high ways, or at the hedgesJ the harvest-raen I
were vanished; the market-women were gone; the road re- i
' tained merely here and there an idle straggler; and the j
fields exhibited only a solitary boy, left to frighten I
! away the birds. . . . /Women/ were within, preparing ;
their meals, or cleaning their platters, and feeding J
their poultry, rabbits, or pigs. (IV, 255-257) ' <
Miss Burney’s approach to the rural scene, still real-
|istic but colored by the inclusion of objects now associated
|with the romantic cult, is further exemplified in her still
more elaborate treatment of an t , obscure, , hamlet in which
t
i
the wandering heroine took temporary refuge. Here, from j
"a small meadow," Juliet beheld a prospect "gay, varied, 1
; verdant and lovely" (XV, 315-316). Particularizing with ;
j unprecedented care, the author continues:
On the opposite side of a winding and picturesque road,:
by which the greater part of the hedge around the meadow
was skirted, was situated a small Gothic church; of which;
the steeple was nearly over-run with ivy, and the porch,
j half sunk into the ground, from the ravages of time and
i of neglect; wearing, all together, the air of a venerable
; ruin. Further on, and built upon a gentle acclivity,
stood a clean white cottage, evidently appropriated to
j the instruction of youth, or rather childhood; to which
sundry little boys and girls, each with a book, or with
' needle-work, in his hand, were trudging with anxious j
speed. . . . Sheep were browsing upon a distant heath;
| cows were watering in a neighbouring stream; and two 1
j beautiful colts were prancing and skipping, with all the ;
bounding vigour of untamed liberty, in the meadow. Geese,I
turkies, cocks and hens, ducks and pigs, peopled the farm-!
yard; keeping up an almost constant chorus of rural noises;
■ which, at first, stunned her ears, but which, afterwards,
entertained her fancy, by drawing her observation to their;
| various habits and ways. The children came, jumping, to i
; play around her; and her friend Dash, discovering her |
retreat, frequently left the wood-eutters to bound for- ;
wards, and court her caresses. (IV, 316-317) i
►
i
Here at last the author sketches a relatively complete|
topographical picture, one that is diffused with rural j
atmosphere and one that is essentially realistic in its sug-!
j
gestion of the common daily life of a rural community. Not!
at the moment concerned with background for incident, the ;
I
author is apparently interested only in her own passing |
1
observations and reflections. She seems to be using the !
sensitive, intelligent Juliet, appropriately enough, as a !
I
S
mouthpiece. Nevertheless, she occasionally moves away from!
representation of classes of objects as she becomes intent
\
upon the Gothic church, the white cottage, and Dash, the
friendly dog. In spite of their almost complete detachment j
1
from important characters and incidents of the action, I
i
these passages represent the author's greatest achievement j
i
in the realistic description of inhabited areas. |
In still another instance, Miss Burney’s interest !
i
shifts to an uninhabited historical region in her convincing1
I
report of Stonehenge. Juliet, being diverted from her
troubles by the resourceful Sir Jasper Herrington, perceived
that she was approaching "the scattered remains of some j
1
i
ancient building, vast, irregular, strange, and in ruins" !
(V, 132). Presently, she arrives !
1
at a stupendous assemblage of enormous stones, of which I
the magnitude demanded ocular. demonstration to. be .entitled]
:
to credibility. Yet, though each of them, taken sepa-
rately, might seem, from its astonishing height and
breadth, there, like some rock, to have been placed from |
“the beginning of things**; and though not even the rudest;
sculpture denoted any vestige of human art, still the :
whole was clearly no phenomenon of nature. The form that:
might still be traced, of an antique structure, was evi
dently circular and artificial; and here and there, sup
ported by gigantic posts, or pillars, immense slabs of
flat stone were raised horizontally, that could only by i
manual art and labour have been elevated to such a height.
Many were fallen; many, with grim menace, looked nodding;■
but many, still sustaining their upright direction, were i
so ponderous that they appeared to have resisted all the
wars of the elements, in this high and bleak situation,
for ages. . . . Mounting, then, upon a fragment of the |
pile, she saw that the view all around was in perfect i
local harmony with the wild edifice, or rather remains I
of an edifice, into which she had pierced. She discerned,!
to a vast extent, a boundless plain, that, like the ocean,:
seemed to have no term but the horizon; but which, also !
like the ocean, looked as desert as it was unlimited.
Here and there flew a bustard, or wheat-ear; all else i
seemed unpeopled air, and uncultivated waste. (V, 132-13i4)j
Here Miss Burney’s occasional on-the-spot,^3 near- !
photographic observation of actual physical objects-*-^- is :
i
13
Miss Burney provides factual accounts of her visits |
to many geographical places in her Diary and Letters. !
•^Many commentators have remarked Miss Burney’s power j
of close observation, but as a rule they have had in mind ;
her attention to human traits, manners, and language rather
than to objective detail. Christopher Lloyd, in his “Intro-
duction’ * to The Diary of Fanny Burney (London, /19I 4 . 8/),
states: “Fanny Burney’s mind was like the sensitive plate !
of a photographer on which the details of a /social/ scene,>
the actual words, and tones of a long conversation are ,
imprinted with imperishable fidelity” (10). Ernest A. I
Baker in • “fohe History of the English Novel (New York, 192ii-i
1939) too generously substantiates this view in saying that
a scene in Miss Burney's writings is best depicted when |
: again in evidence. Having visited Stonehenge, Miss Burney
doubtless had reason to believe that each enormous stone
i
i "taken separately" had been placed in position by men, not
.by nature. She had seen the "pillars" and "slabs of stone"
: in their various resting places and perhaps she had even
watched a "bustard" or a "wheat-ear" as it flew over the
ruins. The basic realism of the scene is not greatly
marred by Juliet's reactions to the ruins ("vast, irregular,
strange") and to the great plain (which she felt to be "in
perfect local harmony with the wild edifice").
| It becomes apparent that Miss Burney's technique for
j providing geographical background was rudimentary. The
descriptions of cities, though realistic, do little more
;than give a simple reminder that the incidents of the nar
rative take place in those cities, or that the city sights
I have tourist appeal. Such purposes may be accomplished
i
,through a single, brief expository statement, as in the
: description of Bath, sometimes through an indirect refer
ence, as in the linking of Mrs. Mittin’s shopping motives
with the places of Southampton. Most frequently, however,
■ topographical descriptions are brief expositions of immedi-
;ate locales, expositions that serve as practicable back-
S
j
apparently written down exactly as she saw and heard it (V,
1.156) _ , . . . . . .. _ _
grounds for incident. The delineation of the ’ ’rivulet’ * in
|
which Dame Fairchild’s boy got wet is a case in point. j
The few seascapes are sensitively observed, but they |
J
are not so fully exploited as the landscapes. They are
i
i
only momentary in their use and effect, but they display a |
sympathetic appreciation of scenes which harmonize well
with the concurrent incidents of the narrative.
!
Nearly all of the fully developed landscapes are pre- j
i
dominantly realistic, and the few that show a strong roman-:
/ i
tic cast still exhibit a realistic basis. Many descrip- j
*
tions of landscapes, especially in Evelina and Cami11a, are!
only fleeting touches to accompany incident; others, upon
which the author dwelt more llngeringly and more lovingly, '
are unrelated either to character or to incident. This ■
tendency, most noticeable in The Wanderer, is best illus- \
\
trated in the realistic description of the unnamed hamlet ;
I
and in the romantic description of the view from the hill- j
ock in the New Forest. A marked increase in attention to j
detail, though not to minute detail, appears in these laterj
descriptions,1^ whereas inherent atmosphere continues to be j
•^Mr. Dobson’s theory (’ ’Postscript" in Diary and Let- !
ters, VI, xii) that Miss Burney’s shortsightedness caused
her to concentrate her attention on what she heard cannot ,
easily be applied to some of these detailed descriptions. !
present only as a rare and unpremeditated ingredient of the
author's art.
Numerous particular places, both private and public, j
l
i
are used as settings. Usually the private places are the J
I
residences of the principal characters. A residence may be1
a castle (Cecilia, II, 177), a "capital house" (The Wan- 1
derer, I, 91), a parsonage (Camilla, I, ij.), or a middle-
class house (II, 193-191^) • There are also rented houses t
(Camilla. Ill, 182) and rooms (Cecilia, I, 2J+1) , cottages j
(The Wanderer, IV, 265), farmhouses (315), and a hut (280). j
The public places used as settings include well-known amuse
ment centers such as Drury Lane Theater and the Pantheon as
well as public parks and gardens. Public estates like
Arundel Castle are also u s e d .^*7 xt is questionable whether
any of the habitations have their origin in Miss Burney’s ,
j
knowledge of actual places, but her visits to many of the
Other public places used as settings: Cox’s Museum ;
(Evelina. 9^, 137); Hampstead (225, 275),* Hyde Park (305); :
Kensington Gardens (32, 305); Marybone Gardens (235, 267, t
291); the Opera House in the Haymarket (29, 44> 47, etc.; i
a- * - so Oecilia, I, 67, etc.; also Camilla, V, 213); Ranelagh ;
(Evelina, 29, 45, 70, etc.); a room for a ridotto (Camilla, :
III, 34^); St. James’s Park (Evelina, 498); Vauxhall (235, j
etc.; also Cecilia, II, 101, etc.).
-^Notably the mansion of the Earl of Pembroke (The ;
Wanderer, V, 116, 119)*
public places treated in her fiction are recorded in her
I
diaries.1® Public hotels, inns, churches, and shops, how- j
ever, are neither named nor individualized. Like the pri- i
i
vate residences and lodgings, they received no treatment j
that establishes identification. J
)
I
The immediate settings, or locales, are of course inti-j
mately associated with the places of which they form a !
!
!
part. Most of them are rooms in the private or public
(
places, for much of the action takes place indoors. In j
!
public places actual tea-rooms and assembly rooms provide ;
i
many interior locales. In private habitations fictitious j
I
breakfast parlors, dining rooms, drawing rooms, and bed
chambers are most frequently used, although, occasionally, ,
the scene of action is a study, a library, a music room, a !
stairway, a hall, or, not infrequently, an unnamed room. !
The rooms of cottages or farmhouses are usually not distin-j
guished. Exterior locales consist of private parks and
gardens, or, if they are of the public kind, they consist
of alleys, streets, and squares in populated areas, walks |
i
in public parks and gardens, the grounds of public estates,!
Mr. Dobson writes: "These scenes at the old London j
pleasure resorts of Evelina’s century— as was admitted by ;
her contemporaries--are depicted with full knowledge” j
(Fanny Blarney, London, 19014., p. 79). ;
59 I
|country roads and lanes, and, more rarely, a churchyard, a
beach, a bathing house, a meadow, a bit of countryside, or
i ;
: a spot in a forest. More unusual locales are the interiors i
!of public or private vehicles. j
! In general, the public locales may be regarded as !
: 1
;actual, the private locales fictitious. Only a few of each!
|kind are enriched with description or atmosphere; the rest,
I
|including the interiors of coaches, phaetons, post-chaises,
!chairs, and chariots, are left to the reader’s imagination.
; |
j Although most of the large and "capital” houses in
Miss Burney’s fiction are used as settings, many of them ]
receive little or no description apart from a reference to
I Q
rooms. 7 Still other habitations, not used as settings, are;
?0
accorded only passing mention. ;
! IQ ;
I 7Large houses used as settings with little or no de- j
jscription include Lady Howard’s house at Howard Grove, Mrs. !
[Beaumont's house at Clifton Hill, Sir John Belmont’s house |
|in Bristol Hotwells (Evelina); Mr. Monckton's house in Bury,i
iCecilia’s house near Bury, Mrs. Mears' London house (Ce-
i cilia); Mrs. Berlinton's Southampton house, Mrs. Arlsbery'sj
!house near Northwick (Camilla); Mr. Ireton's London house,
!Mrs. Maples’s London house, Mrs. Howel's house at Bright- i
ihelmstone (The Wanderer). !
j 20Undescribed houses that are not used as settings in-
ielude Lord Orville's house in Berkeley Square (Evelina); Mr.
;Monckton's London house, Lady Margaret's house in Soho
•Square, Sir Robert PIoyer’s house in Cavendish Square, the i
.Duke of Derwent’s house, the Deanery, Dr. Rupil's house, |
and possibly Violet Lane (Cecilia); Edgar Mandelbert's housej
near Cleves (Camilla): Mr. Harleigh's house at Bagshot Heath
1 l.The. WandererT. . . - - - _________ ^
1 Some of the large houses, however, excited Miss Burney’ s
i
powers of description in a variety of ways. Delvile Castle!
(Cecilia), for instance, is romantically appealing as Mr. I
]Delvile1s "estate in the North" (I, 177)» although it is j
! described with the eye of a realist. The exterior of the I
I
structure, though not examined with minuteness, received a |
• degree of attention not found elsewhere in these novels. '
i I
! The description is not photographic because it is lacking <
1 i
|in detail and because it is linked with the characteristics(
iof the occupants. Mr. Delvile’s order to pull up the draw- |
! 5
'bridge every night, the shutting off of distant views, the !
i ]
I airiness, elegance, and general austerity of the building--!
all these elements in the description touch the Delvile '
■ character and circumstances. There is a certain hybrid
atmosphere inherent in the description— a disturbing coales-j
! i
cence of romantic beauty and cold Stoical pride: *
i
I
Delvile Castle was situated in a large and woody park, '
and surrounded by a moat. A drawbridge which fronted the ;
entrance was every night, by order of Mr. Delvile, with j
the same care as if still necessary for the preservation '
of the family, regularly drawn up. Some fortifications !
still remained entire, and vestiges were every where to j
| be traced of more; no taste was shown in the disposition
i of the grounds, no openings were contrived through the j
! wood for distant views or beautiful objects: the mansion-,
house was ancient, large and magnificent, but constructed!
with as little attention to convenience and comfort, as
to airiness and elegance; it was dark, heavy and monastic,'
equally in want of repair and of improvement. The gran- !
deur of its former inhabitants was every where visible,
but the decay into which it was falling rendered such t
i
{ C
61
remains mere objects for meditation and melancholy; while
the evident struggle to support some appearance of its
ancient dignity, made the dwelling and all its vicinity
wear an aspect of constraint and austerity. Festivity,
joy and pleasure, seemed foreign to the purposes of its
construction; silence, solemnity and contemplation were
adapted to it only. (II, 177-178)
The interior of the castle is not so fully or so com-
positely presented. The mention of rooms, occasioned by
their use, is intermittent and casual: a hall and one of
its windows (239), a parlor (212), a dressing room (22ij.),
Mrs. Delvile1s apartment (231)« These locales are only
named, not pictured.
Observations of this kind apply also, in large measure,
to Mr. Delvile*s house in St. James’s Square, London
(Cecilia). The exterior is entirely ignored. The interior
is represented as
grand and spacious, fitted up not with modern taste but
with the magnificence of former times; the servants were
all veterans, gorgeous in their liveries, and profoundly
respectful in their manners; every thing had an air of
state, but of a state so gloomy, that while it inspired
awe, it repressed pleasure. (I, 111-112)
As the action proceeds, the rooms which are named
confirm the spaciousness if not the grandeur. A breakfast
room (226), a drawing room (195)# the library (279), the
dining room (II, 9), the several apartments of the family
and their guests (I, 279, 306, 360), and a number of un
named rooms come one by one into view, almost devoid of
curtains, rugs, mirrors, decorations, or other furnishings.
I 62 I
i
An occasional reference to an article of furniture, such as
I
a sofa (179), serves only to accentuate the prevailing vacu
ity. The action, in effect, takes place in a huge near-
I
vacant dwelling that depends upon the self-revelations of
the characters for any imparting of warmth, domesticity, or
'meaning. x
! Other large houses and their room layouts are similarly
neglected. Cleves Park (Camilla) receives notice that is in
--------- I
a slight way exceptional. It consists of "a noble mansion, !
with an extensive pleasure ground” (I, 8). The park appears'
(
to embrace "a small wood at some distance from the house”
(IV, 102), and it also contains ”a great barn"(I, 2^7), "a
lodge” (V, 396), ”a summer house” (II, 20), and the "family
chapel” (I, 58)— locales which are not described. Allusions
to rooms are mostly casual and with little enriching conno- !
-VV&, I
tation, but an unusual review of^premises is made possible (
jby Camilla's search for her loved ones. 1
I
I
When Camilla returned at twilight to deserted Cleves
Park, the author relates, she entered the house through "thei
sash-door of a bow window belonging to a room that was never1 ,
occupied but in summer" (V, 397). She made her way through
J
"a long stone passage, whence she meant to mount the back
stairs” (397)* She passed from "the bed-chamber gallery" :
(397) into "the billiard room” (398). She looked from a
1
63
window "to take a view of the side wings" and then sought
"to catch a glance of the windows belonging to the chamber
of Eugenia" (398)* She found "her own chamber" (399)
closed up. She did not dare to examine "the drawing room"
(399)9 but she observed that even "the library" was not
open, though it was "still too light for candles" (399) •
She entered "the chamber of Lavinia" (399), but, finding it
dark, she went on, shunning Miss Margland's "apartment"
(ij.00), and stopped near "the chamber of Sir Hugh" (ij.01).
In "the hall" she was surprised to see "the marble pavement
covered with trunks, packing materials, straw, ropes, and
boxes" (I4 .O3).
Camilla’s exploration of Sir Hugh’s house illustrates
the author’s penchant for linking setting with circum
stances; but in giving the fullest account of room layout to
be found in these writings, Camilla’s search has contrib
uted, realistically if unintentionally, to the concept of
size. The search also occasions, though the approach be
negative, the first of the author's few depictions of the
contents of a room. It is Sir Hugh’s room that gets the
unprecedented attention to detail:
It looked all despoiled and forsaken. Nothing was in
its usual order; his favorite gums hung not over the
chimney-piece; the corners of the room were emptied of
his sticks; his great chair was in a new place; no cush
ions for his dogs were near the fire; the bedstead was
naked. (i|01)
The cataloging of the rooms possibly affords a subtle
suggestion of the heroine's love of the place and of her
still greater apprehension of impending tragedy, but inher
ent atmosphere arises only in an unavoidable association of
dogs and guns with Sir Hugh's country-squire love of the
hunt. Allusions to rooms in the other parts of the novel
; do nothing to enhance the pictorial representation of the
house.
The external appearance of the house of the Harrels
i
(Cecilia) cannot be known, for the author elects to ignore i
it entirely. The interior would be equally difficult to j
envisage but for passing reference to a dozen or more j
rooms, such as those of the Cleves mansion, and two or three
i
i
rare allusions to particular furnishings (I, 23, Ilf?)* A
j breakfast parlor receives a touch of realistic description
| and atmosphere when Cecilia's ardor in the expectation of ;
I 5
a friend is represented as being "somewhat chilled, upon J
finding the fire but just lighted, the room cold, and the
I
servants still employed in putting it in order" (30); but
the unusually embellished drawing room is more exception
ally treated. At first, the author is content with the
vagueness of abstract terms. Cecilia, upon entering, finds
that i
the apartment, which was spacious, lighted with brillian-i
cy, and decorated with magnificence, was more than half
filled with company, every one of which was dressed with
gaiety and profusion. (23;
Later, some concreteness and specific detail appear. While
getting this room and others in readiness for a masquerade,
for example, Mr. Harrel shows Cecilia "an elegant Awning,
prepared for one of the inner apartments, to he fixed over
a long desert-table /sic7 , which was to be ornamented with
various devices of cut glass” (ll£). Mrs. Harrel excitedly
exclaims, nDid you ever see any thing so beautiful in your I
life? . . . and when the table is covered with the coloured|
ices and those sort of things, it will be as beautiful '
again” (ll£). Mr. Harrel also hits upon the idea of "fix
ing in fantastic forms some coloured lamps in the drawing
room" (119). In the course of the subsequent party,
Morrice, failing in an attempt to leap over the dessert
table,
caught hold of the lately erected Awning, and pulled it
entirely upon his own head, and with it the new contrived
lights, which, in various forms, were fixed to it, and
which all came down together, (lijlj.) !
A guest, who was standing near, "was covered with glass,
papier-machee /iic7, lamps and oil” (II4 J4 .). ,
These touches bring the reader as close to the reality
of rooms in large houses as Miss Burney permits. It is
patent, in this instance, that physical detail for the
interior settings was introduced not to enhance the real- !
, I
1 I
istic effect of locales, but to make possible an exhibition
of the folly of extravagance.
1 The description of the mansion of the miserly Briggs
(Cecilia), perhaps even more fully than that of the houses
of the Delviles and Harrels, reflects the character of the
| occupant. Cecilia could find "no bell in the parlour" (I,
I
I 108). When she was conducted to the room intended for her-
j self, she found it "entirely dark, and so close for want of:
; air that she could hardly breathe in it" (II, 71U • She
i
' waited on "the landing place" until Mr. Briggs opened "the 1
shutters," and then saw
an apartment the most forlorn she had ever beheld, con- j
1 taining no other furniture than a ragged stuff bed, two t
worn-out rush-bottomed chairs, an old wooden box, and a t
bit of broken glass which was fastened to the wall by
two bent nails. (7i±)
Mr. Briggs1 own room was
still more scantily furnished, having nothing in it but
a miserable bed without any curtains, and a large chest,
which, while it contained his clothes, sufficed both for
table and chair. (75) j
I
Here the realistic furnishings, with some minute detail, |
help to create an atmosphere of "vulgarity leagued with
avarice" (I, 115) as well as to accentuate the ruling pas- |
I
sion of Mr. BriggsJ but they fail, as elsewhere, to render |
a clear impression of the habitation.
Other private settings in the large-house category i
afford little additional evidence of significant realistic i
67
handling. The London house of Mrs. Stanley (Evelina) and
the Brighthelmstone house of Mrs. Ireton (The Wanderer),
however, merit notice for special reasons. The account of
Mrs. Stanley’s private ball displays an unusual effort to
provide a social atmosphere for a setting, an atmosphere
that is not dependent upon the behavior of the principal
characters. Evelina reports to Mr. Villars:
I expected to have seen about four or five couple;
but Lord! my dear Sir, I believe I saw half the world!
Two very large rooms were full of company; in one, were
cards for the elderly ladies, and in the other, were the
dancers. . . . The gentlemen, as they passed and re
passed, looked as if we were quite at their disposal, and
only waiting for the honour of their commands; and they
sauntered about, in a careless indolent manner, as if
with a view to keep us in suspense. (3ij.)
The description of the room assigned to Juliet in
Mrs. Ireton’s seaside home accords with the uncomfortable
effect that the irascible lady leaves upon others. It is
stated that Juliet used a chamber "of which the hangings,
i
and decorations, were sumptuous for the spectator; but in i
which there was a dearth of almost everything that consti- j
tutes comfort to the immediate dweller” (III, 2I 4 . 7). The j
rare allusions to hangings and decorations here prompt
unsatisfied expectations of a more revealing picture. The
depiction of Mrs. Ireton*s garden is more gratifying, for
its "parterre” is brightened with "pinks, carnations, and
geraniums” (280), while its Temple of the Sun, "a light
68
building . . . which overlooked the sea” (277)> is filled
with recreational objects that are A4«a&ed*:
Books that covered three window seats; songs and
sonatas that covered those books, various pieces of
needlework; a backgammon board; a cup and ball, etc.,
etc. (278)
The parterre and its flowers are displayed apparently to
facilitate the incident of the young Loddard’s whim of
flinging "flowers, leaves, and grass" (282), but the recre
ational objects of the Temple, lacking connection with the
action, seem to be listed solely upon an impulse to itemize.
Most of the less pretentious places, whether or not
they are settings, benefit little or not at all by pictorial
representation.^ The author departs from her habit of
shunning the appearance of such lesser places only in a few
isolated cases wherein the attempt to harmonize the set
tings with the characters is usually the dominant artistic
^Smaller places used as settings with little or no de
scription include the parsonage of Reverend Mr. Villars, the
lodgings of Mme. Duval in Oxford Street and in Holborn, the I
Queen Ann Street lodgings of Mrs. Mirvan (Evelina); the Suf-j
folk house of Mr. Arnott, Mrs. Belfield1s house in Portland j
Street, Mrs. Charlton’s house in Bury (Cecilia); the parson
ages of Reverend Mr. Tyrold and Dr. Marehmont, the lodgings
of the Tyrold party in Southampton (Camilla); the houses of
Mrs. Dyson, Dame Fairchild, and Dame Goss, cottages, farm
houses, a hut (The Wanderer).
Habitations not used as settings include Mrs. BelfieMs
house inJPadington, Mr. Arnott’s lodgings in London, Mr.
Bayley’sfhouse near Bury (Cecilia); Mrs. Pierson’s house,
Elinor’s Shoreham lodgings (The Wanderer).
1
69
motive*
Mr, Branghton's rented lodgings (Evelina) are repre
sented as ’ ’small and inconvenient, though his shop, which
takes in all the ground floor, is large and commodious”
(210), The picture is partially filled out by additional
allusions to ’ ’two pair of stairs" (210) and to rooms rented
by Mr. Smith (210) and Mr. Macartney (228). Gonceivably,
this dull setting harmonizes with the characters who dwell
in this place, the dull and ignorant Branghtons, but the
author made no special effort to establish such an impres- i
I
sion, |
In her representation of Mr. Dubster’s property
(Camilla), on the other hand, Miss Burney takes a dispro
portionate interest and unexpectedly attains her highest
level in near-photographic portrayal. She opens with un
usual attention to the exterior. Lionel, Camilla, and
Eugenia, driving into Mr. Dubster’s grounds, came to
a small house, just new fronted with deep red bricks,
containing, on the ground floor, two little bow windows,
in a sharp triangular form, enclosing a door ornamented
with small pains /sic/ of glass, cut in various shapes; j
on the first story, a little balcony, decorated in the i
middle and at each corner with leaden images of Cupids;
and, in the attic story, a very small Venetian window, I
partly formed with minute pains of glass, and partly
with glazed tiles; representing in blue and white, various
devices of dogs and cats, mice and birds, rats and fer
rets, as emblems of the conjugal state. (II, 286) !
After inspecting the house, "yet unfurnished, half
70
papered, and half white washed" (293), the party was shown
the attractions of the garden. The "arbour" was
an angle, in which a bench was placed close to the Chi
nese rails, which was somewhat shaded by a willow, that
grew in a little piece of stagnant water on the other
side. A syringa was planted in front, and a broom-tree
on the right united it with the willow; in the middle
there was a deal table. (299)
"The grotto" proved to be "nothing but a little square hole,
dug into a chalky soil" (300), soon to be embellished with
rows of "cockle-shells" and bits of "shining black coal"
(302). The "summer house," which was "not above half com
plete yet" (30^) and reached only by means of a ladder, was
"no more than a shell; without windows, scarcely roofed,
and composed of lath and plaister, not half dry" (306).
Not only do such descriptive passages at times reveal
close, on-the-spot observation; they also objectify in Mr.
Dubsterfs property arrangements the personal characteristics
of the man--disjointed, incomplete, childish. The author
has here pictured character in its immediate environment in
an extremely rough and unfinished manner; she has ventured
far in experimentation; nevertheless, she has done so with
greater consciousness, with greater consistency, and on a
larger canvas than can be found elsewhere in her work.
A special though slight consideration of the habita
tions of the poor is evident in Mrs. Hill’s "small lodgings
I up two pair of stairs" (C ecilia, I, 96) and in Mrs. Matt’s
rooms "up three pair of stairs" in "a miserable house in a
court leading into Piccadilly" (III, 175>). Juliet’s rooms
(The Wanderer) in the shops of Miss Matson, Mrs. Hart, and
Gabriella are not described, and several of her stopping
places, especially farmhouses or cottages, now and then
receive only slight descriptive touches. The fullest por
trayal of a small place, though incomplete, is found in the
depiction of a poacher’s hut;
in which, though the whole dimensions might have stood in
a corner of any large hall, without being in the way, she
/Juliet7 found a father, mother, and seven young children!
at supper. (IV, 280)
Incidental references to a "staircase ladder" and a "trap
door" (28if), which separated the attic-story from the
kitchen, make a negligible contribution to the interior
picture; but the drawing of an "outer building, without
casements, and encumbered with old utensils and lumber" and
of a "small disorderly garden, which was hedged round, half
planted with potatoes, and half wasted with rubbish" (292) j
affords genuine realistic impressions. j
It may be deduced from the foregoing that only a few j
of the many private places of Miss Burney’s fiction are
described, and these, for the most part, incompletely and
obscurely. When they are treated, it is, ordinarily, not
to pursue pictorial or sentimental objectives, but to j
72
accentuate the leading traits or the circumstances of the
characters. This artistic motive is most apparent in the
incomplete depictions of the lodgings of the poor as well
as of the houses of Delvile and Briggs. Usually only a
small amount of physical detail and atmospheric content,
is involved, although, in exceptional cases, as in the
description of Mr. Dubster’s place, the treatment may be
enriched to a surprising degree. Miss Burney’s rare exhi
bition of photographic detail of the physical kind is sug
gested in the latter description.
Private places and locales, in these novels, are
usually nothing more than simple, convenient but undevel
oped means for suggesting an appropriate background; but
they may be immediately linked with incident, as in the
nocturnal movements of the poachers in their hut, or with
circumstances, as in Camilla’s search for her friends.
House furnishings are occasionally introduced either to sug
gest character (the chamber of Briggs) or to prepare for
incident (Morrice’s leap). Social atmosphere imparted
solely by the physical setting, not by the characters,
occurs only spasmodically as in the description of the
rooms in Mrs. Stanley’s home.
Many of the public places, whether or not they are
used as settings, are not described. This is true not only
; 73
of amusement places and of the less glamorous hotels, inns,
churches, and shops but also of many thoroughfares and
other exterior locales.22
Of the public-place settings that are depicted, however
unsatisfactorily, the London amusement centers of Evelina
are best developed. Drury Lane Theater is not described
I beyond mention of the plays presented and of a "side-box,"
"the box-door," and the "curtain" (97). The "Opera House"
j
in the Haymarket is not sketched, but, after her first
visit to it, Evelina is made to invoke atmosphere in her
account to Mr. Villars: I
i
I could have thought myself in paradise, but for the
continual talking of the company around me. We sat in
the pit, where every body was dressed in so high a style,
that, if I had been less delighted with the performance,
my eyes would have found me sufficient entertainment from
looking at the ladies, ( l j . 7 )
Evelina's report after her second visit is less glowing.
It refers only to the door-keeper's "bars" (111) where the
tickets are sold, "the pit" (1|7) , "the gallery" (113),
which is "a mean place" (lllj.), "the seats" (117), "the
green curtain" (115), and "the last dance" (117). Atmos-
t
22
Public places that are not described include London
places such as Bagnigge Wells (Evelina, 2I 4 .O); Don Saltero's
(23 i | . , 238, 239); George's at Hampstead (23ip); Sadler's
Wells (235, 240). A number of places in Bath, Brighthelm- i
stone, and Bristol are also used without descriptive appa- i
ratus. j
phere is only faintly suggested in the passing references
to "the sweet voice of Signor Millico" (III4 .) and to the
clearing of the seats by "parties going away" (117). Other
wise, the attention of the author is riveted upon the char
acters of the narrative, and the allusions to setting are
but passing and incidental.
Miss Burney is not always so negligent in dealing with
public places. Giving her account of the room in which a
ridotto took place, Evelina writes: "The room was very
magnificent, the lights and decorations were brilliant, and
the company gay and splendid" (1^8). There are additional 1
references to the dancing and to "the walks" (if8). On
another occasion Evelina characterizes the "long room" of
the Hampstead Assembly:
i
This room seems very well named, for I believe it
would be difficult to find any other epithet which might,
with propriety, distinguish it, as it is without ornament,
elegance, or any sort of singularity, and merely to be
marked by its length. (279)
Marybone Gardens inspired little description, for the placej
was "neither striking for magnificence nor for beauty," butj
at least "the firework was really beautiful, and told with j
wonderful ingenuity, the story of Orpheus and Eurydice"
(292). White Conduit House is also neglected, but a bit
of atmosphere appears in Evelina’s comment: "There were
many people, all smart and gaudy, and so pert and low-bred
1$
that I could hardly endure being amongst them1 ’ (2l|.2).
Ranelagh, the Pantheon, and Vauxhall prompted more
enthusiastic responses than the foregoing, but as realistic
descriptions they too are found wanting. Of Ranelagh
Evelina writes:
It is a charming place, and the brilliancy of the
lights, on my first entrance, made me almost think I was
in some inchanted /sic/ castle, or fairy palace, for all
looked like magic to me. (l + i l j )
j
Mention is also made of "the rooran (ij.5), "the orchestra”
( l j . 5), and "a box, which is the name given to arched recesses
f that are appropriated for tea-parties" (72), while occasion-
I
al allusions to the "Master of ceremonies" (279), to the
"minuet" (279), and to the "card-table" (281) help, al
though apparently without artistic motive, to suggest at
mosphere.
j
The Pantheon receives similar treatment:
I was struck with the beauty of the building, which
greatly surpassed whatever I could have expected or
imagined. Yet, it has more the appearance of a chapel, j
than of a place of diversion; and, though I was quite j
charmed with the magnificence of the room, . . . there l
is something in it which rather inspires awe and solem- I
nity, than mirth and pleasure. (I3O-I3I) j
Incidental to the narrative is the reference to "the tea-
1 *
j room, which is large, low, and under ground, and serves 1
1
merely as a foil to the apartments above" (131). The ref- 1
erences to "a great deal of company" and to "an exceedingly
good concert" spoiled by "too much talking" (131) contribute
76
to atmosphere.
And Vauxhall:
The garden is very pretty, but too formal; I should
have been better pleased, had it consisted less of
straight walks, where "grove nods at grove, each alley
has its brother." The trees, the numerous lights, and
the company in the circle round the orchestra made a most
brilliant and gay appearance, ... a place formed for
animation and pleasure. There was a concert, in the
course of which, a hautbois concerto was so charmingly
played, that I could have thought myself upon enchanted
ground, had I spirits more gentle to associate with. The
haut boy /sic~7 in the open air is heavenly. (2l[.2-2lj.3)
The cascade in Kensington Gardens is pictured as "extremely;
pretty . . . striking and lively" (21+3), while passing men-1
tion of other locales such as "the room" (20f?), "a box" fori
supper parties (2i+4)» "dark walks" (2l±$) f and "long alleys"!
(2^1) tend^to a slight heightening of the realism of the |
i
i
scene.
A few additional public-place settings and locales
I
show meager descriptive treatment. At Arundel Castle Juliet
was too unhappy under the direction of Mrs. Ireton
to look at what remains of the venerable old castle; to
visit its ancient chapel; to climb up to the antique
citadel, and to enjoy the spacious view thence presented
of the sea (The Wanderer. Ill, 377-378);
but she was able to note that the long gallery was "hung
with genealogical tables of the Arundel family, and with
various religious reliques, and historical curiosities, and.
artificial rarities" (119), but the author, ignoring the
77
heroine’s misery, offers an impression of the place:
Figures of the noblest sculpture; busts of historical
interest; alto and basso relievos of antique elegance;
marbles, alabasters, spars, and lavers of all colours,
and in all forms; pictures glowing into life, and statues
appearing to command their beholders. (119)
Such incomplete and generalized representations are
too remote from the requirements of plot and characteriza
tion to have meaning. They suggest a casually observant
l
I
author recording her own appreciation of the fine arts not I
j
from any necessity arising from the narrative itself but j
from an extraneous impulse to edify.
In general, then, the public places of these novels,
though known to the author, are treated as sparingly as |
t
are the private places. The amusement centers of London, !
which receive more consideration than all other public
places, are usually pictured either with the sweeping, over
all appraisal of a sightseer or with such occasional and
incidental reference as the situation or incident of the
moment might require. Ordinarily, the generalized descrip-.
tions do not invoke much detail or atmosphere, and the
2o *
-'Public places used as settings include the Theater of
Tunbridge, the Strand of Brighthelmstone, the bathing house
of Southampton, and the prison at Winchester (Camilla).
The public places mentioned by Mr. Dubster have not been |
identified: Hob’s Pound, the Globe, Exeter Change, the !
White Hart, and Mrs. Hurdle's.
allusions to objects, interior or exterior, are correspond
ingly few and meager.2^- Possibly some artistic justifica
tion for the slight treatment of the amusement places may
be recognized in Miss Burney’s remark: t t I have not pre
tended to show the world what it actually is, but what it
appears to a girl of seventeen" (Diary and Letters, I, 22).
The contents of museums and the exhibitions at public
estates rather than structures engage the interest. No
connection with character or important incident is in these
cases noticeable. The only public locales that show sig
nificant realistic portrayal are thoroughfares; the streets
of Salisbury as watched by Juliet and the Mall as painted
by Evelina show a vibrant attention to the physical and
social realities of the scenes described. The element of
inherent atmosphere, which is clearly discernible in these
pictures, was no doubt unconsciously introduced by the
author.
Current realistic theory in the period of Dr. Johnson
2^Mr. Dobson said of Miss Burney, with the London re
sorts of Evelina in mind: "She gives very little actual
description of these resorts. . . . Sometimes she does not
give us the details which are needful. . . • There is a
certain lack of topographical background in her story"
!C"Introduction" in Diary and Letters, I, 17)•
79
expressed general approval of objective fact, and of truth
as local and contemporary people by empirical means found
it to be. It can therefore be reasonably assumed that, in
so far as Miss Burney's topography and settings were real,
probable, or plausible, they were, on the whole, satisfying
to her critical readers. In the absence of a full set of
critical dicta by which to judge her treatment of these
elements of prose fiction, and in the presence of critical I
thought which emphasized the human side of truth, her j
critics, doubtlessly, were not disturbed by the scantiness
or even by the complete neglect of many of her backgrounds,
whether these were cities, villages, landscapes, parks,
habitations, or the locales within such places.
Although full description of geographical settings was :
not popularly demanded or expected, contemporary readers of
critical bent must have been pleased with the author's :
occasional descriptions of whatever was real and familiar, (
especially when presented (as was not always the case) in
an "easy and natural" manner. Readers experienced the '
thrill of recognition when a description could be associated
readily with contemporary London, the spas, or the seaside
resorts, and gave an approving nod when a glimpse of a
meadow or forest hillock graphically suggested the loved
English countryside in a "reasonably factual" way, or when i
80
a rural or forest scene or city street was so delineated as
to make them feel that they were there beholding it. They
were gratified to find in these narratives the “peculiar
characteristic of the country, of the spot, and of the age.1 '
Yet it may also be postulated that when the treatment of
geographical places veered from the realistic to the roman
tic, even when the romantic had a basis in fact, a disqui-
■ eting effect upon the empirically minded must have ensued.
No empiricist could brook departure from "the natural" or j
the "typical." "Differentness" was anathema. It is possi-
i
ble that irritation was also felt when, in certain land- i
scapes of The Wanderer, the author became so engrossed in i A*** ?
jWckfft .
the pictorial possibilities of a scene that she lost contact
i
with the characters, incidents, and circumstances of her J
story during the depiction. Failure to harmonize setting
with a realistic presentation of incidents and characters
could not be lightly disregarded. ,
Miss Burney's summary impressions of well-known public;
I
amusement places and public gardens (especially in Evelina)I
I
and her occasional descriptions of habitations, which tend J
to throw the traits and circumstances of the occupants into!
i
clearer relief (as in Cecilia), also must have been divert
ing to a following that sought entertainment as well as
knowledge of the human mind and heart. The locales of such!
81
places, too, when touched by descriptive Impulse or the
realistic kind, may have received at least an unconscious
approbation.
Although usually too noticeably segregated or too
fragmentary to blend easily with the incidents and charac
ters associated with them, these diverse but particularized
settings, whether public or private, exhibit their normal
function to make the placement of the characters and their !
activities possible and, at times, to assist by means of |
I
properties in the representation of Incidents and so in the ^
promotion of plot. Public amusement places, being objec- 1
tives of sightseers and lovers of excitement, do not ordi- |
narily display a direct link with characters. More notice
ably, they serve as settings for incidents, although, on
occasion, they offer opportunity to expose taste on the
several social levels. They are often described with no
more detail or care than a general and cursory impression
could make possible. Private place settings, on the other
hand, show the author’s effort to associate the habitations
with character traits, and of course they too are back
grounds for incident. A setting may appear as a backdrop
when presented in a single short paragraph at the outset of
an action; it may appear as a direct but transient refer
ence, or as an indirect statement in which an incident is
82
predominant in the author's mind. It may even appear, in
fragmentary form, in a representation of a social scene in
which human and atmospheric elements take the attention
rather than the physical aspects of the place. As the
author, like her readers, was primarily interested in peo
ple, it is not surprising that the functions of setting are
l
here so limited in scope, the methods for exhibiting it so 1
variable and uncertain, the materials so scanty.
Yet whatever does come to view, as a place setting is
i
described, must have impressed the reader as real; immedi
ate, and contemporary. Such a setting may be a fairly com-*
. plete sketch (Delvile Castle); it may even be built up withj
near-photographic detail (Mr. Dubster's house). More often’
i
it may be a partial sketch or general impression without j
recourse to much physical detail (Vauxhall), or an obscure
and shadowy outline, a mere shell (the Cleves mansion). It
I
may be no more than a name or a designation (Mrs. Charlton's
house). However it may be revealed, its uniformity and
consistency in treatment, per set or in relation to the
i
characters and incidents, is, from the standpoint of late ‘
eighteenth-century critics, without flaw, for the author
t
never deviates from her original conceptions of the places !
she treats. Its propriety and decorum for the immediate
I
i
situation and for the immediate characters and action could j
not have heen called in question, for the places are in
variably suitable and proper according to the prevailing
i
customs and standards of the day as well as according to
the events of the narratives. Its conformity with truth to
objective fact and to nature, however scanty and fragmen-
t
tary the substance, however transient the effect, is con
sistently maintained, and is steadily observable both in
the actual and in the verisimilar representations. Its i
fundamental reality, furthermore, is never submerged, not j
even when romantic or excessively sentimental intrusions
t
appear. So clearly could the ring of truth be heard that
Joseph Warton might have acknowledged that Miss Burney had
used models with which her contemporaries were acquainted,
although he also might have deplored the presence of habita-j
tions of unknown materials and of interiors so devoid of i
!
furnishings and decorations that meals of unmentioned food (
are constantly being consumed on unmentioned tables. Cer- 1
tainly, Hogarth would have called loudly for more substance
and for more detail. It follows that Miss Burney was sen
sitively responsive to current critical standards, but that
as a direct observer of material objects she was frequently;
careless and irregular, unable to display close or extensive
observation consistently. Only on two or three occasions |
did she make an extraordinary effort to get exact and minute'
objective realism for the physical objects that came under
her observation.
It was the immediate English spot where action occurred
rather than the world at large that interested Miss Burney;
but her attention even to immediate settings was curtailed
by her keener interest in the people and social circum
stances about her. This unequal distribution of interest
partly explains the weak, poorly exploited interrelation of
environment, character, and action. It also explains why
her place settings, with few exceptions, failed, in spite |
of their fundamental realistic truth and treatment, to
contribute importantly to the realism of her narratives. j
It must be concluded that Miss Burney did not practice!
adherence to any well-established theory regarding the
realistic handling of topography or setting. She had no
|
theory of her own beyond the belief that she had the right ;
to be experimental and that description in abundance was
undesirable; and her contemporaries, equally uncertain and
inattentive to the problem, proffered nothing substantial
in this kind upon which she could lean. When she did make
a conscious effort to put settings to work, she was neces
sarily experimental and the result was rough and fragmen
tary while at the same time it was diverse. She made an j
attempt to provide suitable foundations for her stories of
85
realistic human experience, hut her inability to develop
a practicable technique for the purpose, her hesitation in
using detail and atmosphere, her fear of excessive descrip
tion— all these deterrents could result only in artistic
abortion.
Miss Burney's contribution to the movement of literary
realism, with respect to topography and setting, is admit
tedly slight, but not entirely negligible. Perhaps her
greatest innovation was her enthusiastic representation of
public amusement places; perhaps it was her linking of
natural landscape with the economic life of a rural district,
or her halting experiments with hues and sounds. Certainly
the evidence of a slow, uneven acceleration of interest
towards a fuller and richer content for settings, with or
without the impetus of romantic mood, is incontrovertible.
CHAPTER III
CHARACTERIZATION: THE PHYSICAL ASPECT j
The contemporary critical demand for probability and
naturalness pertained with particular interest and emphasis ^
to characterization rather than to time, setting, or topog-|
i
raphy. Indeed, the dictum that nature should be the source
of characterization, voiced by Fielding in his preface to
Sarah Fielding’s David Simple,^- was universally upheld among
the empiricists. That characterization should be truthful
was also generally asserted— a precept which Richardson J
demonstrated^ in defending his portrayal of Clarissa and i
which Hurd presented^ in terms of fictional principle:
In those species /of writin/7 which have men and man
ners professedly for their theme, a strict conformity
with human nature is reasonably demanded.
Richardson charged Fielding with basing his characters on
■^Henry Fielding, Works, XII (Westminster and New York,
1899), 10.
p
^Samuel Richardson, Works, ed. Leslie Stephen (London,
1833), VIII, 522-514. 0.
^Hurd’s Letters on Chivalry and Romance, ed. Edith J.
Moriey (London, 1911), p. 139.
8 ? j
people in real life and complained that his rival had ;
“little or no invention**Fielding praised the creation of j
Don Quixote and took to task those "who are contented to |
copy nature instead of forming originals.
Human truth was considered in two aspects: The factual
truth of physical being (actuality, social level, physiog
nomy, and figure) and the truth of psychological being ;
[
(traits, sensibility and the emotions, ideas and language).1
Of the former aspect, it is true, contemporary criticism
had comparatively little to say. Hogarth and Lord Karnes
both desired "a faithful representation of facts"® and
Joseph Warton noted that some of Spenser1s allegorical per-,
sonages were "minutely drawn with so much clearness and j
i
truth that we behold them with our eyes."? ,
Considering social levels, Mrs. Barbauld favored the
representation of common life;® but Fielding, interested in.
variety and number, declared that a good author would not
^The Correspondence of Samuel Richardson (London,
1801|J , IV, 60-61.
^Henry Fielding, Covent-Garden Journal, I, 280.
®See pp. i j . 3—I p t j . .
^Joseph Warton, II, 32.
®Heidler, p. 132.
88
limit his characters to the ”trite, common, or vulgar,” but
would show many persons "which may possibly have never
fallen within the knowledge of /a7 great part of his read
ers."^ This broadening and deepening interest in people is
further reflected in George Campbell’s rejection of type
characters in favor of individuals. Dr. Johnson recognized
universal types in Shakespeare, declaring that ”his charac
ters are not modified by the accidents of transient fashions
or temporary opinions: they are the genuine progeny of
common humanity” but Campbell believed that writers
should heighten the sense of reality by choosing words ”not
only to particularize, but even to individuate /sic/ the
object presented to the mind.”^
Miss Burney1s recorded views on invention, probability,
naturalness, and appearance leave no doubt as to her basic
stand. Thus, in the preface to Evelina. she indicates that
her interest in the probable and the natural did not exact
from her a direct imitation:
^Fielding, Works, IV (Westminster and New York, 1898),
212.
^Dr. Samuel Johnson, Works, ed. A. Chalmers, II, 136.
11
George Campbell, The Philosophy of Rhetoric (New York,
1855), P. 311.
89:
In books . . . /direct/ imitation cannot be shunned
too sedulously, for the very perfection of a model which
is frequently seen, serves but more forcibly to mark the
inferiority of the copy. (Evelina, p. x)
However, she considered verisimilitude to be indispensable.'
She believed that to achieve the best realistic effect, a i
writer must be able to employ inventive skill, tapping his
i
knowledge of life without using actual persons or inci- 1
dents*^ In a letter to Mr. Crisp, she firmly insisted
that she reserved "fact" for her journalizing: "I never
mix truth and fiction” (Diary and Letters, I, 312).
Miss Burney’s averseness to direct imitation of life,
lest the ’ ’copies” be mere ’ ’humdrum matter of fact” (37) ,
accounts for her insistence upon invention of characters.
When King George inquired as to the source of the charac
ters of her first novel, she replied, ’ ’ None . . . from life”
(V, 289). On another occasion she indicated that characters
need not be drawn from life, since in fiction ’ ’one cannot
ordinarily tell whether characters are drawn from life or
not" (II, 182). In her invention, however, she would shun
"what is common" while avoiding the "unnatural” (Evelina,
p. x).
Her preference for types, implying an interest in
TO
R. Brimley Johnson (The Women Novelists) remarked
that Miss Burney "idealized from life, not from the imagina
tion” (50).______ __________
90
universal traits, may be noted in another reply to the King.
Speaking of her characters, she remarked: ”As far as gen
eral nature goes, or as characters belong to classes, I
have certainly tried to take them. But no individuals!"
(Diary and Letters, V, 289). Yet, nothwithstending her
reluctance to undertake the representation of living per- j
sons, she developed the belief that characters, though in
vented, should be fully realized in the author's imagina
tion. While engaged upon her third novel, Camilla, she
wrote:
The work is so far advanced that the personages are
all, to me, as so many actual acquaintances, whose mem
ories and opinions I am committing to paper. (V, 265)
Apparently, she was not troubled in this period by the loss
of emphasis upon universal types in her search for individu
alistic portrayal.
In the treatment of characters, whether as types or
individuals, the questions of particularity and minuteness
had to be considered, but comment by Miss Burney on these
topics is limited to the appreciation of "minute, heartfelt
writing” (Early Diary, I, lif). With regard to physiognomy
and figure no theoretical statement appears.
In the preceding chapters it has been shown that Miss
Burney was aware of the importance of time arrangements,
and, to a lesser extent, of the need for topography and
setting as aids to realistic impressions of the characters.
In the present chapter the physical aspect of the author’s
characterizations will be examined to discover the portrayal
of actual persons, the kinds of characters depicted, the
treatment of occupations, the methods used in introducing
and developing the characters, and the means used to give
an appearance of reality to them.
Although Miss Burney was unwilling, theoretically, to
take her characters directly from life, her four heroines
are, in varying degree, modeled, perhaps unconsciously,
upon herself. Dr. A. A. Overman (An Investigation into the
Character of Fanny Burney), quoting Dr. Burney, a-tafees that
the author, like Evelina, "had an excellent heart, and a
natural simplicity and probity that wanted no teaching."^3
An outstanding feature in her character, Dr. Overman adds,
was her "great sensitivity" (lh)« She also exhibited "emo
tionality" and "vivacity" as well as "shyness" and "a sense
of the ridiculous" (28). Like Cecilia and Juliet, Miss
Burney was endowed with "sense," "sensibility," and "sin
cerity" (18-21). Annie Raine Ellis, in her preface to
13(Amsterdam, 1933), P* 33* Dr. Overman is quoting
from a memorandum book of Dr. Burney's.
92
Cecilia,1^- states:
Miss Burney wrote from herself. Cecilia, like Miss
Burney, is sensitive. She shrinks from the blame of
others. She fears the reproaches of her own tender con
science. Her self-respect, and the esteem of the es
teemed, make up what is called her , , dign±ty., ,
The artlessness and naivete of the sensitive Camilla suggest
early childhood characteristics of the author. Mr. R. B.
Johnson (Fanny Burney and the Burneys) saw in Camilla "the
most complete expression of sensibility, the prevailing
impulse of her ^fiss Burney’s/ own nature, she ever pro
duced" (108).^
Attempts have been made to discover other actual per
sons as models for some of Miss Burney’s characters. Nor-
bury Phillips for a time believed Mrs. Tyrold to be modeled
on Mrs. Locke. Miss Ellis cautiously suggests that "some
traits of the Delvile pride may have been gleaned from the
character of Fulke Greville, an exacting patron of Dr.
Burney" (Cecilia, 1890, I, x). Percy A. Scholes (The Great
Doctor Burney) states that ^/william Th.oma.g7 Lowndes’ grand
father, also a bookseller, is supposed to be the original
■^(London, 1390), X, ix.
15 ( Hew York, 1926), p. 108.
-^r. Brimley Johnson, ed. Fanny Burney and the Burneys,
p. 298.
93
of the miserly Briggs in Cecilia.-^7 Miss Ellis comments
briefly on the theory that Lowndes himself was the original
of Briggs but shows partiality for the view that Nollekens1 -®
should have the distinction:
Trait for trait he is here— with his good-humour, his
simplicity, his utter want of respect for persons of rank,
with his open meanness, the candour of his stinginess,
and his elaborate and minute plans to save and amass
money. (Cecilia, 1890, I, xi)
Miss Ellis also discusses Dr. Johnson as the source of
traits in Ma pedant, in 'Camilla,1,1 doubtless Dr. Orkborne,
and considers the poetaster Percival Stockdale as Mthe in
spiration for the versatile, impulsive Mr. Belfield. tt^-9
Such speculation nets nothing conclusive beyond the supposi
tion that some of Miss Burney’s personages are at least par
tially drawn from individuals known to her.
The characters who most interested Miss Burney were
young people. Those who had her particular love and sym
pathy were laudable young ladies, and sometimes their
friends, who had to make their way through difficulties of
various kinds in various circumstances. She also took an
17(London, 191+8), II, 27-
- i O
See John Thomas Smith, Nollekens and His Times (Lon
don, 191+9).
•^Cecilia (London, 1890), I, x.
9^
admiring interest in excellent young men, some of whom
became the husbands of the heroines. Other young people
became targets for her ridicule and condemnstion--persons
held up as foils to the worthy and noble, if they were men;
to the sensitive and delicate, if they were women. A num
ber of adults, closely associated as a rule with the young
people as relatives, friends, or acquaintances, also re
ceived sympathetic if not greatly extended treatment. Like
the young people, they are laudable, if not strictly ideal;
or objectionable, if not thoroughly wicked. A few titled
people, fashionable persons, people of the countryside,
doctors, merchants, shopgirls, creditors, petitioners, serv
ants, and certain background personages must be classified
as minor.
The various characters are representative of different
social classes known to the author--the nobility, the
wealthy and fashionable, middle-class persons of modest
means, and the poor and lowly. Primarily interested in
types of individuals, Miss Burney does not attempt to leave
single, clear-cut impressions of these classes, which she
appears to regard chiefly as sources for contrasts in char
acter traits and manners. What she notes as laudable or
objectionable she associates with type rather than with
class.
95
The vocations of the many characters are usually indi
cated, the principal exceptions being unemployed young peo
ple, men about town, and ladies of social sets. In a few
instances, the vocations named serve to illuminate contem
porary working conditions; whether in the shop of a mil
liner (The Wanderer, III, lOlj. ff) , a raantua maker (168 ff) ,
or a haberdasher (IV, l i j l j . ff)* Most of them, however,
rarely receive more than passing mention and contribute
little or nothing to setting or atmosphere. They serve
chiefly as a simple introductory means of explaining and
justifying the characterizations. Thus, the clerical func
tions of the Reverend Mr. Villars are never displayed, but
the knowledge that he is a minister lends credence to the
thought, the language, and the behavior ascribed to him.
Similarly, the information that Mme. Duval had been "a wait
ing girl at a tavern” (Evelina, 16) or Mr. MIrvan a "Cap
tain" (26) explains or appears to explain the coarse man
ners of those personages; and the knowledge that certain
characters are nurses, servants, or farmers stimulates
associations that tend to heighten the impression of real
ity, which the author largely creates with language and
incident. On the other hand, awareness of the fact that
Mr. Morrice is a young lawyer (10), Mr. Branghton a silver
smith (85), Mr. Brown a haberdasher (213), or Mr. Lovel a
96
member of Parliament (363) supports nothing at all, for in
these instances the characterizations reflect little or no
trace of vocational background.
Miss Burney employed various devices for the realistic
exposition and development of her characters. The intro
ductory portrayals of Evelina, Cecilia, Camilla, and Juliet
display most of these devices. Evelina is first given pass
ing mention by Mrs. Howard in her opening letter to the
Reverend Mr. Villars, where she is described as an "amiable
girl" in the protection of the minister (Evelina, p. II4 .).
Additional interspersed comment occurs when Mr. Villars, in
subsequent letters, refers to Evelina’s "natural vivacity"
(15) and "worth" (18); he calls his charge an "artless young
creature, with too much beauty to escape notice"--a girl
with "much sensibility" (22). She is "quite a little rus
tic," he adds, "and knows nothing of the world" (23)• A
few pages later, Evelina having gone to Howard Grove for a
visit, Lady Howard sends Mr. Villars her impression of her
guest in a summary statement that blends physical and psy
chological characteristics somewhat in the manner of a
caract&re:
She is a little angeli her face and person answer my
most refined ideas of complete beauty: and this, though
a subject of praise less important to you, or to me, than
any other, is yet so striking, it is not possible to pass
it unnoticed. . . .
97
She has the same gentleness in her manners, the same
natural grace in her motions, that X formerly so much
admired in her mother. Her character seems truly ingenu
ous and simple; and, at the same time that nature has
blessed her with an excellent understanding, and great
quickness of parts, she has a certain air of inexperience
and imocency that is extremely interesting.
You have no reason to regret the retirement in which
she has lived; since that politeness which is acquired by
an acquaintance with high life, is in her so well supplied
by a natural desire of obliging, joined to a deportment
infinitely engaging. (25-26)
The reader has his first direct encounter with the per
sonality and character of Evelina when the heroine reveals
something of herself in her first letter to Mr. Villars.
As the Mirvans urge her to go to London with them, Evelina
shows dutiful consideration of her guardian’s wishes in
conflict with the natural eagerness of youth:
I believe I am bewitched’ . I made a resolution when I
began, that I would not be urgent; but my pen— or rather
my thoughts, will not suffer me to keep it— for I acknowl
edge, I cannot help wishing for your permission.
1 almost repent already that I have made this confes
sion; pray forget that you have read it, if this journey
is displeasing to you. But I will not write any longer;
for the more I think of this affair, the less indifferent
to it I find myself. (29)
Cecilia is first observed in a self-revealing prayer as
she prepares to leave the residence of her youth. The
language is too heavy and literary for a clear, realistic
impression; but Cecilia's reverence and her yearning for
spiritual perfection are definitely felt:
98
Peace to the spirits of my honoured parents, respected
be their remains, and immortalized their virtues! may
time, while it moulders their frail relicks to dust, com
mit to tradition the record of their goodness; and Oh,
may their orphan-desCendant be influenced through life by
the remembrance of their purity, and be solaced in death,
that by her it was unsullied! (Cecilia, I, /T7)
Presently the omniscient author, still too much hampered by
a sentimental spirit of idealization to be convincingly
realistic, offers a brief description:
Her form was elegant, her heart was liberal; her coun
tenance announced the intelligence of her mind, her com
plexion varied with every emotion of her soul, and her
eyes, the heralds of her speech, now beamed with under
standing and now glistened with sensibility. (Ax7)
A few interspersed descriptive comments by the author fol
low this account of Cecilia as reference is made to her
“serenity,” to the “affectionate gratitude of her disposi
tion,” and again to her disposition, in which "sweetness
was tempered with dignity, and gentleness with fortitude"
(5). Confirmational comments by characters other than
Cecilia point to the heroine as "divinely handsome" (18),
"young, fair, and affluent" (19)• Cecilia's personal con
duct as reported by the author gives rise to additional
impressions. The reluctance with which she quitted Bury
and her early companions (5)$ her courtesy to the unfriend
ly and irascible Lady Margaret (18), her display of modesty,
intelligence, and poise when complimented or flattered (13,
l i j . , 18-19)--all contribute to the initial portrait.
99
Miss Burney introduces Camilla at the age of nine
(Camilla, I, 26) with a general reference to her family and
their financial circumstances. The language of omniscience
again tends to be heavy:
In the bosom of her respectable family resided Camilla.
Nature, with a bounty the most profuse, had been lavish
to her of attractions; Fortune, with a moderation yet
kinder, had placed her between luxury and indigence. (I,
3-4)
It is Sir Hugh who, in language befitting his character,
first undertakes analysis of the heroine's personality. He
observes that ’ ’she is not ... so pretty as her little
sister Eugenia, nor much better than t'other sister La-
vinia.” He adds:
I can't well make out what it is that's so catching in
her; but there's something in her little mouth that quite
wins me; though she looks as if she was half laughing at
me too: which can't very well be, neither; for I suppose,
as yet, at least, she knows no more books and studying
than her uncle* (I, 12)
Four pages later, in a direct statement, the author again
adopts a literary style that carries the reader beyond
realism, despite the realistic reference to ’ ’ light blue
veins”:
The tide of youthful glee flowed jocund from her heart,
and the transparency of her fine blue veins almost showed
the velocity of its current. Every look was a smile,
every thought was a hope, every feeling was joyl and the
early felicity of her mind was without allay /sic/. 0
blissful state of innocence, purity, and delight, why
must it fleet so fast? (16)
100
At one point the author reveals Camilla as she impresses
and affects her uncle:
He found in Camilla a variety that was captivation.
Her form and her mind were of equal elasticity. Her
playful countenance rekindled his spirits, the cheerful
ness of her animated voice awakened him to his own joy.
. . . She supplied him with ideas . . . his eye followed
her light-springing figure, or his ear vibrated with her
sportive sounds; catching, as it listened, in successive
rotation, the spontaneous laugh, the unconscious bound,
the genuine glee of childhood's fearless happiness, un
curbed by severity, untamed by misfortune. (22)
More penetratingly realistic touches are supplied when
Camilla displays something of her own personality in her
reactions to certain situations and incidents. When Lavinia
suddenly recollects with grief and alarm a promise to keep
Eugenia in Cleves, Camilla tries to set things right:
“Don't vex yourself about that,1 * cried Camilla, kindly
kissing the tears off her cheeks, "for I will stay behind,
and play with Eugenia myself** (37)* • * • Jumping into
the carriage, ^Camilla/ threw her arms around the neck of
her uncle, and whispered to him all that had passed. (38)
Later, Camilla shows her love for Sir Hugh when she weeps
outside his door, stunned by his refusal to see her (61);
she also shows her generosity and unselfishness when she
learns from Edgar that Eugenia is to supplant her as heir
ess :
Camilla, the moment she understood him, passionately
clasped her hands, and exclaimed: * * 0h if that is all!
If my uncle indeed loves me as well as before all this; I
am sure I can never, never be so wicked, as to envy poor
little Eugenia." (63-64)
Juliet, known early in The Wanderer as Miss Ellis, or
101
(K f
the Incognito, is introduced melodramatically in an atmos
phere of mystery. Uncertainty envelops both her personality
and her circumstances, for, during her passage in a small
boat from Prance to England, she says very little and keeps
her identity secret. The truth touching her physical ap
pearance and character traits, accordingly, is revealed
piecemeal. The author first refers to Juliet as “a female
in the most ordinary attire” (I, 3)* In the course of con
versation, the elderly Admiral Powel describes her as a
"poor, outlandish gentlewoman” (10). The more intently
observant Mr. Harleigh, however, notices that the stranger’ s
voice is "singularly pleasing" (17). The author hints dis
guise in reporting that the stranger, taking off her gloves,
exhibited "hands and arms of so dark a colour, that they
might rather be styled black than brown" and that "a large
black patch . . . covered half her left cheek"; while Mr.
Harleigh, interested in the more pleasing aspects, notes
her "very fine eyes" (21-22). Later, the author mentions
a smile that "displayed a row of beautifully white and
polished teeth" (22).
More of Juliet's character is revealed in her speech
and manners. During the Channel crossing she begs that she
might not incommode anyone; and draws back when one of the
passengers shows an unwillingness to sit near her (6).
102
After her arrival in Dover, she reflects her good breeding
in a cultured speech: "If any lady of this party . . .
would permit me to say a few words to her not quite in pub
lic, I should thankfully acknowledge such a condescension1 1
(39)* It is also in Dover that she reveals her inability
to lie about her name (53) and her reluctance to receive
money from one who suspects her morality (65). Mr. Harleigh
concludes that she was "not • . • without probity, since
she prefers any risk and any suspicion, to falsehood" ( 5 1 } - ) •
More certainty regarding Juliet’s true appearance and
character, though not of her background circumstances, is
established as the heroine accepts employment of Mrs. Ire-
ton. That lady is the first to note the change after Juliet
has removed much of her physical disguise:
T’was but an hour or two since, that you were the
blackest, dirtiest, raggedest wretch I ever beheld; and
now— you are turned into an amazing beautyl (80)
The author states that the irascibility of Mrs. Ireton could
not prevent that lady from perceiving, by the time London
was reached, that the stranger was "young and beautiful" and
that "her air and manner were strikingly distinguished from
the common class" (88). Juliet confirms her high-class
connections by her indifference to the spaciousness of Mrs.
, Ireton1s mansion and to the rich liveries of the servants
(89) and by an "air of calm dignity" displayed as she
103
refuses money for her services and prepares to leave the
house: ”1 am more than paid already, Madame, * . . if my
little services may be accepted as cancelling my obligation
for the journey*’ (90). The true loveliness of Juliet is
confirmed when Mr. Harleigh views her after the restoration
of her true appearance: *'He took a chair, but, in passing
by the young woman, her sex, her beauty, her modest air,
gave him a sensation that repelled his using it” (97)•
The piecemeal technique of this exposition of Juliet
is unique in Miss Burney’s fiction. Here we find the author
shunning solid and comprehensive descriptions for reliance
upon passing comment, verbal self-revelation, and revelation
through incident and circumstance.
One other device, which is not illustrated in the
foregoing introductions of characters, should be noted. It
occurs when the author presents Mr. Morrice by means of a
caract&re-like description which sums up a few qualities
selected for a limited portrait. The subsequent behavior
of Mr. Morrice fulfills the expectations to which this
description gives rise and reveals few additional traits or
characteristics:
The next who by forwardness the most officious took
care to be noticed, was Mr. Morrice, a young lawyer, who,
though rising in his profession, owed his success neither
to distinguished abilities, nor to ski11-supplying indus
try, but to the art of uniting suppleness to others with
10 I f .
confidence in himself. To a reverence of rank, talents,
and fortune the most profound, he joined an assurance
in his own merit, which no superiority could depress;
and with a presumption which encouraged him to aim at
all things, he blended a good-humour that no mortifica
tion could lessen. And while by the pliability of his
disposition he avoided making enemies, by his readiness
to oblige, he learned the surest way of making friends
by becoming useful to them. (Cecilia, I, 10-11)
In this instance, confirmation of the characterization
appears not only in a series of incidents but also in sum
mary statements (I, 52, 54; II, 1 + . 6 ) offered, with some
superfluity, by the author. The following passage is a
typical summary:
The character of Morrice was, indeed, particularly
adapted for the entertainment of a large house in the
country; eager for sport, and always ready for enter-
prize; willing to oblige, yet tormented with no delicacy
about offending; the first to promote mischief for any
other, and the last to be offended when exposed to it
himself; gay, thoughtless, and volatile,--a happy com
position of levity and good humour. (II, 273)
The description of Mrs. Beaumont also utilizes the
caractfere, but it is presented not by the omniscient author
but by the satirical Mrs. Selwyn, who is quoted by Evelina.
The description, too long to reproduce here, is interest
ing in that it is slanted to the caustic lady's own person
ality.20
20Evelina, p. 355
105
Passing and interspersed references, brief descrip
tions, caractbres, summary statements, and revelation
through action— these, then, are the principal technical
elements for characterization at the disposal of the author.
Miss Burney uses them from the point of view of the omnis
cient author or causes them to be used by her characters.
She uses them separately and in combination, selecting and
modifying according to the artistic need or impulse of the
moment. With the exception of the caractbres, they appear
in the development of the personages as well as in their
exposition. In varying degree, all of them contribute to
realistic portrayals of the personages created. The most
potent force for realism, however, resides in the devices
of revelation (particularly in the development technique).
The failure of Miss Burney to provide fully satisfying
realistic physiognomies and figures -©f most of her charac
ters has been deplored by twentieth-century critics.^-*-
21
Austin Dobson states: "Neither in her Novels nor
her Diary . . . does she /Rlss Burney;7 describe, except in
the most general way, the outward appearance of her charac
ters" (Diary and Letters, VI, xii). Edith Morley: "We
seldom hear anything in detail of their appearance, and
practically never anything of their dress. . . . Though we
become very well acquainted with many of her characters, it
is almost always impossible to describe how they actually
, looked" ("Fanny Burney," The English Association, Pamphlet
No. 60, April, 1925, p. ljT.
106
Usually, If these aspects are treated at all, the author
gives only scattered hints, some of which amount to hut
vague generalizations found, for the most part, early in
the introductions. All that can be learned of Evelina*s
face and person is that they suggest ‘ ‘complete beauty** to
Mrs. Howard, who remarks: “Had I not known from whom she
received her education, I should, at first sight of so per
fect a facb, have been in pain for her understanding**
(Evelina. p. 25). Less ideal and more graphic is an inci
dental reference to “a great cushion” of hair assembled by
Evelina's hairdresser (33)*^
Of Camilla, the heroine with a “playful countenance”
(Camilla, I, 22), it is initially asserted that “Nature
op
Miss Burney's practice of generalization is further
illustrated in the description of Indiana Lynmere. She had
"fine eyes” (97)» a “beautiful underlip" (II, 131), a “per
fect form" and "faultless face" (IV, 356). “Indiana was a
beauty of so regular a cast, that her face had no feature,
no look to which criticism could point as susceptible of
improvement, or on which admiration could dwell with more
delight than on the rest. No statuary could have modelled
her form with more exquisite symmetry; no painter have
harmonised her complexion with greater brilliancy of
colouring” (I, 19lp-195)• Here realism suffers a total
rebuff in the interest of idealization--and of the moral
which follows the depiction of Indiana's selfishness,
vanity, and ignorance; namely, that beauty is not indica
tive of character or intelligence.
107
. . . had been lavish to her of attractions*' (I, i j . ) , an
observation later supplemented by a comment intended to sug
gest a particular element of charm in Camilla’s personality:
"The beauty of Camilla, though neither perfect nor regular,
had an influence so peculiar on the beholder, it was hard
to catch its fault" (I, 195>).
Probably the description of Mrs. Delvile is the most
impressive of the vague female portraits that contain hints
of underlying physical reality:
She was not more than fifty years of age; her complec-
tion /sic7, though faded, kept the traces of its former
loveliness, her eyes, though they had lost their youthful
fire, retained a lustre that evinced their primeval bril
liancy, and the fine symmetry of her features, still un
injured by the siege of time, not only indicated the per
fection of her juvenile beauty, but still laid claim to
admiration in every beholder. (Cecilia, I, 179)
Male characters, as a rule, fare no better. Dr. March-
mont had a "graceful exterior" (Camilla, I, 303)* Mr.
Bellamy was "eminently distinguished by personal beauty" (I,
154). The fop Mr. Lovel had "a set smile on his face . . .
and yet he was very uglj/' (Evelina, p. 3lj.). Lord Orville
"seemed about six-and-twenty years old . . . and /was/
indeed extremely handsome. . . . His countenance, the most
animated and expressive I have ever seen" (35-3^)* The
"strikingly elegant" Mortimer Delvile (Cecilia, I, 161) was
"tall and finely formed, his features, though not handsome,
were full of expression" (177)• Mr. Belfield was "a tall,
108
thin young man, whose face was all animation, and whose eyes
sparkled with intelligence*' (11). Of Clermont Lynmere, to
whose features Miss Burney gave unusually detailed atten
tion, it is reported that
the brilliant fairness of his forehead, the transparent
pink of his cheeks, the pouting vermillion of his lips,
the liquid lustre of his languishing blue eyes, the minute
form of his almost infantile mouth, and the snowy white
ness of his small hands and taper fingers . . . made him
considered by his own sex as an unmanly fop. (Camilla,
IV, 122)
Here the reality of the physiognomy is clouded by the trite
ness of the adjectives and the rhetorical effect of the
parallels, but the sense impressions are easily associated
with character traits.
Stronger realistic touches, however, do appear. Cap
tain Mirvan speaks of his daughter Maria in a way that
reveals his own character as well as the appearance of the
girl: she is "a tall, ill-formed thing" (Evelina, p. i+6),
a girl with a "pug nose" (ll+O). Mr. Macartney, in keeping
with his circumstances, is described as a thin-faced man
whose "eyes sunk almost hollow in his head" (268). Lavinia,
a somewhat retiring but dutiful daughter, had a "polished
complexion" that was "fair, clear, and transparent; her
features were of the extremest delicacy, her eyes of the
softest blue, and her smile displayed internal serenity"
(Camilla, II, l^lp-ljpj?) • The studious Eugenia, whose "ugli
ness" (I,_ 126) _is_in_contras_t with _the_beauty of her older
109
and more fortunate sisters, grew up with "one leg shorter
than the other, and her whole figure diminutive and de
formed" (I, 66). Mr. Briggs is depicted, in terms easily
associated with his character, as "a short, thick, sturdy
man, with very small keen black eyes, a square face, a dark
complexion, and a snub nose" (Cecilia, I, 108). A graphic
quality, rendered forceful by substantives with which the
descriptive adjectives may be associated, arrests the atten
tion in the latter description, but its effectiveness de
pends upon its harmonization with the language and behavior
of the character.
Although in these novels no physical description of
face or figure is oomplete, the treatment of the appearance
of a few characters results in marked suggestions of real
ity. Mme. Duval, though sketched briefly, takes the read
er's imagination as a real individual— with the aid, admit
tedly, of appropriate language and behavior. The physical
description accords with the characterization. Once a
"beauty" (Evelina, p. 16), this Frenchwoman, as Evelina
reports, is "a tall elderly woman" who has "something for
eign in her accent" (61). She appears to be "less than
fifty." She "paints very high, and the traces of former
beauty are still very visible in her face" (66). In anger,
"her face was the colour of scarlet, and her eyes sparkled
110
with fury” (106).
Less readily associated with character but more sugges
tive of class are the somewhat idealized portraits of Ce
cilia and Juliet. The "divinely handsome" Cecilia (C ecilia,
I, 12), first appearing as a person of elegant form, intel
ligent countenance, varying complexion, and expressive
e y e s , is later described in a newspaper advertisement as
a "young lady, tall, fair complexioned, with blue eyes and
light hair" (III, 332). In the early depiction of the
"young and beautiful" Juliet (The Wanderer, I, 28), refer
ence is made to her "fine form" (I, 202), to her skin of
"the brightest, whitest, and most dazzling fairness" (I,
78), and to her
beautiful features, and animated complexion, which were
set off to their utmost lustre, by the waving feathers,
and artificial flowers, which were woven into her soft,
glossy, luxuriant brown hair. (I, 202)
Much later, also in an advertisement, Juliet is described,
with indications of the author's classical taste, as
a young woman, tall, fair, blue-eyes; her face oval; her
nose Grecian; her mouth small; her cheeks high coloured;
her chin dimpled; and her hair of a glossy light brown.
(Ill, 332)
While some descriptions may be associated with charac
ter or social level, most of them only haphazardly bring
^See p. 98.
Ill
physiognomy and figure into appreciable semi-relief. It
may be seen that Miss Burney leans to general description
r touching the ”countenance,” ’ ’features,” or ’ ’complexion,”
but she moves more conspicuously towards the graphic when
she states the age and describes the height and form, the
eyes, nose, and hair of her characters. Mention of the
forehead, cheeks, lips, mouth, chin, hands, fingers, and
skin occurs only in exceptional instances. Sounds of the
voice and colors of the features, apart from blushing
cheeks, are also infrequently provided. Auditory and visual
effects proceeding from the several features are sometimes
associated with character, sometimes with social level.
Expressive eyes and reddening cheeks are much in evidence.
Smiles and laughter are seldom employed.
Miss Burney ordinarily refers to clothing in a general
way, failing to make any striking contribution to realistic
impression. The information that Mr. Lovel1s dress was
’ ’foppish” (Evelina, p. 3i±), or that Mrs. Arlbery appeared at
a public gathering ”in complete but becoming undress, with
a work-bag hanging on her arm” (Camilla, I, 168) may provide
suggestions for the characterizations but hardly for photo
graphic pictures.
On rare occasions, descriptions of dress, including the
112
costumes of Mr. Harrel's masquerade,^- present unexpected
detail, not without reference to color* The "constant
dress" of Mr. Briggs, certainly in keeping with his person
ality and character, was
a snuff-coloured suit of clothes, blue and white speckled
worsted stockings, a plain shirt, and a bob wig. He was
seldom without a stick in his hand, which he usually held
to his forehead when not speaking. (Cecilia, I, 108}
Camilla's lovely party dress, worn at Mrs. Berlinton's ball,
was "everywhere edged with the finest Valencienne lace" and
her lilac shoes, sash, and gloves, were richly spangled
with silver, and finished with silver fringe; her ear
rings and necklace were brilliant with lilac foil, and
her bouquet of artificial lilac flowers, and her plumes
of lilac feathers, were here and there tipt with the most
tiny transparent beads, to give them the effect of being
glittering with the dress. (Camilla, V, 69-70)
Mr. Belfield as the Don Quixote of Mr. Harrel's ball
was accoutered with tolerable exactness according to the
description of the admirable Cervantes; his armour was
rusty, his helmet was a barber's basin, his shield, a
pewter dish, and his lance, an old sword fastened to a
slim cane. His figure, tall and thin, was well adapted
to the character he represented, and his mask, which de
pictured a lean and haggard face, worn with care, yet
fiery with crazy passions, exhibited, with propriety the
most striking, the Knight of the doleful countenance.
(Cecilia, I, 125)
Although the last two descriptions are relatively well
developed, the realistic treatment of dress in Miss Burney's
2ifSee Cecilia, I, 131, 135-136, etc
113
novels is frequently weak and disappointing. The author
may have recognized that dress, like physiognomy and
figure, has importance as a means of accentuating character
or social status or condition, but, regularly relying upon
general indications of the nature of apparel, she often
neglected the possibilities of full exploitation for real
istic effects*^ She developed no special technique for
her observation of physical objects, but when she had a
special incentive to offer a rather full picture, she could
be keenly observant and satisfying.
While contemporary criticism was urgent that charac
terization be natural and true to human nature, it was not
adamantly insistent upon strict imitation. Invention, en
tailing the creation of original personages, was acceptable
if the fundamental principles of probability, plausibility,
and contemporaneity were duly respected. Although this
critical position was generally related, empirically, to
^Wilbur L. Cross (The Development of the English
Novel) maintained that in MissBurney’s fiction "feminine
dress is described in painstaking minutiae” (95). Muriel
' Masefield, ed. Diary and Letters of Mme. D’Arblay (New
York, 1931)> on the other hand, noted "very few details as
to dress" (13) • The latter opinion pertains to Miss Burney’ s
habitual, the former to her exceptional, practice.
134
the inner life, it implied a comparable demand for reason
able and therefore realistic representation of exterior
appearances. There is little in the critical record of the
time that tends to a theory expressly for the treatment of
physiognomy and figure, but the debate on the use of actual
persons, the trend away from types towards individuals, the
calls of Hogarth and Lord Karnes for facts, and Joseph
Warton's delight in fictional characters that he could
behold with his eyes, support the view that verisimilitude
applied to physical portraiture was desirable.
With this critical standard, which embraces the physi
cal aspect of characterization, Miss Burney, theoretically,
was in full accord. In practice, she relied, almost abso
lutely, upon her inventive skill, as the failure to identic
any actual person by means of her physical drawings seems
to indicate. Yet, these portraits, though sketchy and gen
erally incomplete, suggest a kind of piecemeal reality in
so far as their details permit;*^ an(i although the drawings
rarely get into focus, they must have met the current
2 6
It is doubtful whether Miss Burney sought, even sub
consciously, that union of physical and spiritual values
that contributes to total reality. She was aware of the
several elements of total reality, however, and vividly
portrayed them whenever it occurred to her to do so.
115
critical expectation, which in this consideration had not
reached an advanced development.
Miss Burney was not disposed to provide physical por
traits for all her characters; "but when she did undertake
to represent features, form, or dress, she used what she
had observed as sources for her materials. In so doing,
she often sought to be reasonably factual, although just as
frequently she was too restrained and too encumbered with
the habit of generalization to be realistically effective.
On occasion, she could forsake her classical reserve and
regale her reader with an unexpected shower of minutiae
that would do justice to a later realist.^
In the course of her characterizations, she sought to
observe the principles of decorum and propriety. The re
fined and cultured Juliet had blue eyes and a Grecian nose,
suggestive of intellectual if not of aristocratic taste;
coarse and parsimonious Mr. Briggs wore "a snuff-coloured
^Rowland E. Prothero (The Light Reading of Our Ances
tors , New York, was of the opinion that Miss Burney,
as an observer, was ’"'quick and superficial, rather than
close and penetrating" (265); whereas Walter Raleigh (The
English Novel, London, l89l|.) asserted that her observation
was wc 1 os e" - - " unrna t c he d in her own time" (260). The former
view might be applied to many of the author’s physical de
lineations, the latter to her psychological portraiture.
116
suit of clothes” and "a plain shirt"; even Mr. Belfield,
"tall and thin," with a face "lean and haggard" and a coun
tenance that was "doleful," could play the part of Don
Quixote at the masquerade with propriety. The occasional
' attempts to harmonize certain facial features or bodily
forms with social type or class, with age or sex, or with
character and psychological experience, must have been par
ticularly gratifying to contemporaries who watched for pro
priety, conformity, and consistency when they contemplated
characterization. It cannot be said, however, that Miss
Burney made any conscious effort to develop her characters
in accordance with their portraits. Only exceptionally,
especially in the employment of expressive eyes, blushing
cheeks, and smiles, does she permit physical features to
reveal inner experience. It is patent that the application
of the two principles was somewhat limited. As in her
treatment of setting, the author lacked adequate realistic
technique and was apprehensive lest the detail of descrip
tion should accumulate and become wearisome. In consequence,
her physical descriptions ordinarily fail to achieve a full
harmonization with the psychological character or to form
a clear and lasting picture in the reader’s mind. As con
tributions to the representation of total personality, they
are found wanting.
117
If scantiness of contemporary comment regarding physi
ognomy and figure is an indication, it is unlikely that
Miss Burney’s physical portraits, as such, made any consid
erable Impression upon her contemporaries. However, they
have a certain historical interest In that they appear to
illustrate a stage in the rough transition from classical
generalization to realistic individuality in this aspect of
characterization. The author’s methods of revealing the
physical appearance of her characters may also have some
significance in the realistic movement--particularly the
piecemeal technique used in the introduction of Juliet.
Here realism gains in that personality and character traits
are unfolded in extended time— in the patience-demanding
tempo characteristic of average daily experience.
CHAPTER IV
CHARACTERIZATION: THE PSYCHOLOGICAL ASPECT
It was the truth of the inner man that enlisted the
keenest interest of the critics of Miss Burney’s period.
Mrs. Thrale liked Evelina because "it reflects back all our
own ideas and observations’ *;1 Blair praised the ’ ’appearance
of truth” in Robinson Crusoe;^ a critic in an article of the
Monthly Review applauded the sentiments of Sarah Fielding’s
The Cry because they were ” just” ;3 and Beattie acclaimed
Richardson for his careful exposition of the passions: "He
delineates the operation of the passions with a picturesque
accuracy, which discovers great knowledge of human nature.’ ^-
What Johnson upheld as Richardson’s "knowledge of the
heart"-^ was of particular critical concern. Fielding
1
See p. 11.
2
Hugh Blair, Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres
(London, 1820), III, 77*
3"The Cry" (anon, rev.), Monthly Review, 10:282, April
^Beattie, p. 568.
^Boswell’s Life of Johnson, II, 17lj.»
119
thought that a novelist should have "a good heart, and be
capable of feeling.”^ The German critic Wieland, well known
to his English contemporaries, gave specifications for a
realistic treatment of the emotions
The dispositions of the human heart ^rlust be/ laid
open, the nature of each particular passion delineated,
with its several lights and shades, when displayed in any
particular character, or under the accidental circum
stances in which any person happens to be placed.
Sentiments and emotions may in themselves be real human ex
periences, but, overdrawn, they may strain belief and so
damage realistic effect. Distaste for unrealistic displays
of emotions brought forth critical warnings. For instance,
Hurd speaks of wthose cautious rules of credibility so nec
essary to be followed by him, who would touch the affections
and interest the heart.'*^
Manners, suggestive of mentality and "soul," realisti
cally depicted, also interested the critics. Johnson
praised Shakespeare as “the poet that holds up to his read
ers a faithful mirror of manners and of life, f 9 and Beattie
^Fielding, Works, IV (Westminster and New York, 1898) ,
"^Wieland, I, xviii.
^Hurd's Letters on Chivalry and Romance, p. 139.
^Samuel Johnson, Works, ed. A. Chalmers (London, 1806) ,
II, 136.
120
admired the ’ ’natural descriptions of present manners."^
With regard to linguistic expression, John Moore compli
mented Richardson for ’ ’adapting the style of the letters
£5* his novels/ to the characters of the supposed writ
ers, whereas the writer of a critical article in the
Monthly Review, reacting to Sir Charles Grandison, censured
the’ ’ affectation of the language” and the "extreme verbos- >
ity.”12
Other critical views affecting realistic characteriza
tion are similarly derivative and incidental. Most of them
were based on considerations of morality. With reference
to moral effect, Richardson wished to avoid the sordid and
base: "Is not vice crowned with success, triumphant and
rewarded and, perhaps set off with wit and spirit, a danger
ous representation?"-^ Johnson too wanted virtue in charac
ter portrayal^ so far as probability permitted:
I cannot discover why there should not be exhibited
the most perfect idea of virtue; of virtue not angelical,
nor above probability, for what we cannot credit, we
shall never imitate.
10See p, 9.
i:LMoore, V, 58.
• * - 2See "The History of Sir Charles Grandison"(anon,
rev.), Monthly Review. 10:71, January 1752+.
-^Richardson, Novels, ed. Dobson and Phelps, XIX, 295*
•^•Johnson, Works, ed. A. Chalmers.,_IV, 25-26.
121
Meanwhile, Fielding frowned on the unnaturally perfect
character for the reason that "we have not . . . ever hap
pened to meet with any such person";^ and Smollett defend
ed the introduction of an objectionable character, such as
Ferdinand Count Fathom, on the grounds that he might serve
"as a beacon for the benefit of the unexperienced and un
wary. 1 1
The realistic ideal of being true to nature in fiction
al depiction of character did not, in the opinion of the
critics, imply an author's right to ignore matters of cor
rectness, suitability, and consistency. Richardson, quot
ing an unnamed critic, upheld the principle that the char
acters of a novel should be “well distinguished and uni
formly supported and maintained. ”- * - 7 Fielding showed his
appreciation of consistency as he commented on David Simple?
even an indifferent reader of this novel, he states, "can
seldom fail of applying every sentiment to the person who
utters it.”-^ Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, impatient with
id
^Fielding, Works, V (Westminster and New York, 1898),
l6Smollett, Works (New York, 1911), VIII, 3-4.
^Richardson, Works, ed. Leslie Stephen (London, 1883),
VIII, £ij.O.
-^Fielding, Works, XII (Westminster and New York,
1898), 11.________________________________
122
portrayals-1 - 9 that were out of* character, complained:
Richardson has no idea or the manners of high life:
his old Lord M. talks in the style of a country justice,
and his virtuous young ladies romp like the wenches round
a may pole /sic7«
Many similar statements testify to the current demand that
contemporary concepts of decorum and propriety he respected.
Miss Burney1s basic theory, applicable to the psycho
logical aspect of her characterizations as well as to the
physical aspect, has been noted in the preceding chapter.^3
Additional theory is scanty, but a few opinions may be
gleaned from incidental statements of a critical nature.
In the Early Diary the author expresses her delight in the
"exaltation of ideas” (I, 7)» In the same work, she indi
cates her belief that "sentiments” and "sensations" are
major aspects of real human experience (326), but "sensi
bility” is perhaps her primary concern. She suggests her
intense interest in sensibility in the remark that "insensi
bility, of all kinds, and on all occasions, most moves my
imperial displeasure” (22); and again in a tabulation of
Mme. de Sevigne's character traits, in which she expresses
•^The Letters and Works of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu,
ed. Lord Wharncliffe (London, 1893)$ II, 291.
20see III, p. 89.
123
particular admiration for 1 1 the exquisite refinement of her
quick sensibility” (Diary and Letters , II* 266).
In her dedication of Camilla to Queen Caroline, Miss
Burney, as an “investigator of the human heart in its feel
ings and its changes” (Camilla, I, 1), displays her interest
in the truth of human nature. She recognizes the difficulty
of finding it, despairs of revealing all of it, but attempts
"fairly, however faintly, to delineate some of its features."
In so doing she declares her intention to "trace nature,
yet blot out personality” (2). On one occasion, she argues
against the unnaturally perfect character:
I meant in Mrs. Delvile to draw a great, but not a
perfect character; I meant, on the contrary, to blend
upon paper, as I have frequently seen blended in life,
noble and rare qualities with striking and incurable
defects. (Diary and Letters, II, 72)
Miss Burney stated little touching manners, although
she asserted that she need not invent manners of the ridic
ulous sort:
The world, and especially the great world, is so filled
with absurdity of various sorts, now bursting forth in
impertinence, now in pomposity, now giggling in silliness,
and now yawning in dulnass, that there is no occasion for
invention to draw what is striking in every species of
the ridiculous. (Diary and Letters, I, 312)
With respect to language, she indicated her readiness "to
recapitulate vulgar conversation" (Early Diary, I, 7) and
declared that she liked the Vicar of Wakefield because the
12k
style was "so unassumingly rational” (13)J but her belief
that linguistic style should be adapted to the individual
characters must be inferred largely from the narratives.
Her concern with plausibility, inherent in the contemporary
concepts of decorum and propriety, is apparent in her de
fense of the portrayal of Mr* Delvile:
I never meant to vindicate old Delvile, whom I detested
and made detestable; but I always asserted that, his
character and situation considered, he did nothing that
such a man would hesitate in doing. (Diary and Letters,
II, 125)
Miss Burney's materials for creating the appearance of
psychological reality are more abundant and more skilfully
handled than are her materials for physical representation.
They are embodied in the devices examined in the preceding
chapter as elements in the author's introduction and devel
opment techniques.^ With some risk of overlapping, these
devices must in some measure be reviewed as means to the
effects of the psychological realism of these novels. For
it is in the passing references, generalized descriptions,
and summaries that the selected personality traits, or
"qualities," are openly if indirectly stated; and it is
through revelation by action that these traits, in whatever
P i
See III, p. 96.
125
degree* are primarily confirmed and developed. In this
chapter, then, the several devices and the elements of
action will be considered as means to the credibility of
Miss Burney*s psychological representations.
It is in passing references that the well-drawn Evelina
is introduced to the reader by the Reverend Mr. Villars as
"amiable" (Evelina, p. II4 . ) , "vivacious" (l5)> and "artless"
— a girl of "much sensibility" (22). He also mentions her
"native loveliness" (68) and "gaiety of heart" (69). In
generalized remarks, additional qualities are pointed out
by Lady Howard; Evelina is "ingenuous" and "simple"; she
has "gentleness in her manners," "natural grace in her mo
tions," "excellent understanding," "great quickness of
parts," and an "air of inexperience and innocency" (25-26).
These basic traits, presented abstractly and without benefit
of realistic support, are later confirmed by the action,
which also brings out additional traits.
The first situation in which the seventeen-year-old
Evelina appears directly before the reader shows her observ
ing preparations for the holiday of Mrs. Mirvan and her
daughter in London. Writing to her guardian with charming
urgency for permission to accompany her friends, Evelina
reflects her eagerness for the experience of seeing the
great city but also her concurrent readiness to accommodate
126
herself dutifully and amiably to Mr. Villar’s decision (29).
Her enthusiasm and vivacity reappear in her manner of writ
ing her "raptures" after seeing the actor Garrick: "Such
easel such vivacity in his manner! such grace in his mo
tions! such fire and meaning in his eyesl" (31). Her "na
tive liveliness" and innocent "gaiety” are suggested (with
the author's own satiric spirit shining through) in her
remark that the salesmen of the London shops "recommended
caps and ribbands with an air of so much importance" that
she wished to ask them "how long they had left off wearing
them." It is at the time of these experiences that she
refers to herself as "dutiful and affectionate, though un
polished" (3 3).
At Mrs. Stanley's private ball, Evelina, who is "not
faultless" (39)* commits social blunders as almost any
modest and inexperienced girl might. Pears and embarrass
ments assail her as she discovers her error in dancing with
Lord Orville after turning down a fop's Invitation to dance.
Although Lord Orville graciously assures her that the fop,
Mr. Lovel, is a coxcomb, Evelina, revealing her simplicity,
remains tongue-tied, "ready to die of shame" ( l f . O - i ^ . 1) ; and
when adverse criticism of her manners reaches her ears,
she impulsively makes a resolution, not long kept, that she
will "never again be tempted to go to an assembly" (i + i + . ) •
127
When she visited Ranelagh, where "all looked like
magic," Evelina "courtesied" and "coloured" ( i j . 5 ) upon again
beholding Lord Orville, but, her sensibility running high,
she felt "hurt" by his failure to approach her and concluded
that he harbored an ill opinion of her. At the ridotto,
she committed her second blunder by excusing herself from
dancing with Sir Clement Willoughby upon the pretext that
she was already engaged (i+9). When the importunate fellow
annoyed her with questions and called the unknown partner
a "despicable puppy," she erred yet again in hinting with a
glance that Lord Orville, who was standing elsewhere in the
assembly, was the gentleman she awaited;
I know not what bewitched me--but my pride was hurt,
and my spirits were tired, and— in short— I had the folly,
looking at Lord Orville, to repeat, "Despicable, you
think?" (55)
To sensitive Evelina's great "shame and confusion" (57)»
Sir Clement familiarly approached Lord Orville to expose
her, and she "burst into tears." She gained relief only
when the young gentleman, perceiving her distress, gallant
ly reassured her that he was not offended that she used his
name. Whereupon, "too much ashamed" to make apologies,
Evelina begged Mrs. Mirvan to take her home (58). In the
letter in which she reported these happenings, Evelina con
fided to Mr. Villars the lesson she had learned; "False
hood is not more unjustifiable than unsafe" (57); and
128
declared her wish to return immediately to Berry Hill, con
vinced that she was f,too inexperienced and ignorant'* to
conduct herself with propriety in the city (60). These
final reactions to her unhappy experiences testify to her
sensibility, her artlessness, her sincerity, even her rus
ticity.
Abstractions may be less numerous, but none the less
pertinent, in the depiction of the traits of the lesser
personages, particularly of types or caricatures. Sir
Robert Floyer, with a face that expressed "invincible assur
ance," is characterized by the omniscient author as a play
boy whose prevailing "humour" is his insufferable conceit:
His manners, haughty and supercilious, marked the high
opinion he cherished of his own importance; and his air
and address, at once bold and negligent, announced his
happy perfection in the character at which he aimed, that
of an accomplished man of the town. (Cecilia, I, 37)
The fop Sir Sedley Clarendel, "dressed so completely in the
extreme of fashion," is drawn with attention to his fre
quently indulged affectation of indolence, but not, perhaps,
without an individualistic touch:
The ease and negligence of his air denoted a self-
settled superiority to all about him; yet from time to
time, there was an archness in the glance of his eye,
that promised, under a deep and wilful veil of conceit
and affectation, a secret disposition to deride the very
follies he was practicing. (Camilla, I, l l j. 6 )
In characters such as these the surface of psychological
realism is scratched, but the whole inner being, the "soul,"
129
is barely visible.
Mr. Monokton, somewhat more individualized than many
of the author's secondary characters, is described as "a
man of parts, information, and sagacity.” Thinking of this
person's “ruling passion”; namely, to win Cecilia and her
inheritance, the author elaborates:
To great native strength of mind he added a penetrating
knowledge of the world, and to faculties the most skilful
of investigating the character of every other, a dissimu
lation the most profound in concealing his own. (Cecilia,
I, 6) -------
The haughty manner of Sir Robert Ployer is demonstrated
when he places himself opposite Cecilia and stares "full in
her face" (Cecilia, I, 39-I|-0) , and when, "rudely stalking
up to Mr. Belfield," he motions with his hand for room to
pass him and says, "Make way, Sirl" (1.59). Sir Sedley
Clarendel shows his conceit and affectation, for the most
part, in his speech. When Mrs. Arlbery pictures Camilla in
love with Edgar Mandelbert, the indolent, casual-mannered
fop declares:
Poor little tender dovel . . . 'Twould be odious to
cure her. Unfeeling to excess. What in nature can be
half so mellifluously interesting? I shall now look at
her with most prodigious softness. Ought one not to sigh
as she approaches? (Camilla, III, 85)
His true attitude towards his follies may be noted when,
during his convalescence after an accident, he "set his
foppery and conceit apart" and surprised Camilla by his
130
"power of being so pleasantly natural" (l8ip). The "dis
simulation" of Mr. Monckton, more conspicuous than his
"strength of mind," is abundantly in evidence as he covert
ly attempts to divert Cecilia's interest from Mortimer Del
vile, whom he conceives to be his most formidable rival.
"Forcing a smile," he remarks:
Have you yet observed the family compact in which thoss
people are bound to besiege you, and draw you into their
snares? . . . They will grasp ^your wealth^ with all the
greediness of avarice. . . . The son, I believe, is at
least the chief incentive to insolence and ostentation in
the parents, since it is for his sake they covet with
such avidity honours and riches. (Cecilia, I, 301-304)
It may be added that all Miss Burney's abstract character
izations are thus duly confirmed in the course of the sub
sequent developments. The action, in each case, regularly
accords so well with the initially reported traits that the
events and incidents appear to have been fully determined,
if not narrated, before the traits were selected and pre
sented.
The mere naming of traits, though of use to psycholog
ical realism, does not, per se, contribute greatly to it.
The confirming of traits, on the other hand, is a distinct
aid. The bulk of psychological truth, however, stems from
the combined effect of all the elements in the action,
embracing physical behavior, emotion, and language. If
action in its three aspects is credible when considered in
131
relation to the traits of a given character, the attendant
circumstances, and the occurring incidents, if it is plaus
ible because in accord with commonly known human nature and
experience, then the characterization may be termed psycho
logically realistic# This criterion may be maintained
whether the characterization is satisfyingly complete or
exasperatingly partial, as it is when the author so focused
her attention upon certain prevailing whims or moods (*’hu
mours”) or upon certain prevailing interests or fetishes
(“ruling passions") that she failed to perceive the total
personality.
The element of physical behavior as a means to psycho
logical realism was of considerable interest to Miss Burney,
whether in the form of natural behavior or in the form of
artificial manners as exhibited by certain members of the
upper class by the caricatures, and by characters given to
ridiculous affectation. Verbal expression, when associated
with any form of behavior, is involved.
Particularly impressive is the natural behavior of Sir
Hugh Tyrold, the uneducated, rather simple, but good-hearted
country gentleman of Camilla. ^ Sir Hugh made a happy host
22
Natural as opposed to affected behavior is exhibited
in such varied characters as Evelina, Mr. Villars, Mrs.
Mirvan (Evelina); Cecilia, Henrietta Belfield, Mrs. Hill
132
among the children at Camilla's birthday party. He "entered
into all their plays*" "He forgot all his pains, he laughed
because they laughed, and suffered his darling little girl
^tTamilla7 to govern and direct him at her pleasure." He
even permitted her to dress him up and to convert him into
a nurse for Eugenia’s doll, until, "stretching himself his
full length," he cried, "with a prodigious yawn, ’Heigh hoi
. . . Camilla, my dear, do take away poor Doll for fear I
u~
should let it slip’" (I, 29-30). Sir Hugh’s interest in the
children, his particular affection for Camilla, and his
characteristic simplicity and rusticity render his behavior
credible. Further, the prevailing spirit of the birthday
celebration, Camilla's unlimited command as "fairy mistress
of the ceremonies" and all the little incidents of those
ceremonies (the indulging in "fruits, sweetmeats, and cakes;
cards, trinkets, and blind fiddlers") are in harmony with
Sir Hugh’s actions, which are therefore appropriate and
plausible (28).
Similarly, Sir Hugh is convincing, psychologically,
when, after Eugenia's fall from a plank, he "shut himself
I
(Cecilia); Camilla, Eugenia, Lionel, Reverend and Mrs.
Tyrold (Camilla); Juliet, Flora Pierson, Mr. Giles Arbe,
Margery Fairchild (The Wanderer).
133
up in his room, without power to issue a command, or listen
to a question” (53) J and when, upon learning that the child
was expected to recover,
he proceeded to the family chapel, and approaching with
eager steps to the altar, knelt down, and bidding every
one hear and witness what he said, made a solemn vow,
”That if he might be cleared of the crime of murder, by
the recovery of Eugenia, he would atone for the ill he
had done her, by bequeathing to her every thing he pos
sessed in the world." (58-59)
In this illustration, Sir Hugh's behavior proceeds logical
ly from his innate sense of justice and of personal respon
sibility. His acts, motivated by the attendant circum
stances, support the reality both of his character and of
his mental state.
Less fully conceived than Sir Hugh and more suggestive
of type is the spendthrift Mr. Harrel (Cecilia), whose
ruling passion for a pretentious social display far beyond
his means creates the persistent problem of obtaining money
and avoiding creditors.23 Selfish, tricky, and irresponsi
ble, this person's unredeemed behavior is of an unethical,
worldly order that leads at last to a suicide's grave.
Mother characters exhibiting a ruling passion include
Mr. and Mrs. Delvile, Mr. and Mrs. Harrel, Mrs. Belfield
(Cecilia).
13k
When Cecilia informs Mr. Harrel that she cannot satisfy the
ac
creditors then gathering in his house, he straight^reveals
his desperation:
Then, fiercely passing her, he was himself leaving the
room; but Cecilia, alarmed by the fury of his manner,
called out, , f What is it you mean? . . . Whither are you
going ?**
MTo helll" cried he, and rushed out of the apartment.
Cecilia screamed aloud, and conjuring him to hear her,
ran after him; he paid her no regard, but, flying faster
than she had power to pursue, reached his own dressing-
room, shut himself into it with violence, and, just as
she arrived at the door, turned the key, and bolted it.
Her terror was now inexpressible; she believed him in
the very act of suicide. . . . She called out with all
the vehemence of agony to beg he would open the door, and
eagerly promised . . .to save him.
At these words he opened it; his face was totally with
out color, and he grasped a razor in his hand. (I, 31-3)
Ignoring the melodramatic effect, the reader accepts the
actions of Mr. Harrel as plausible. They are in accord
with the recognized temperamental nature of the man and
also with the concurrent incidents and circumstances. They
testify, therefore, to the dangerous psychology of selfish
pleasure from which the gambler and spendthrift made no
effort to free himself and by which, in consequence, his
destiny was controlled.
The artificially aloof manner of the incompletely
drawn Mr. Delvile (Cecilia), deriving from an all-pervasive
pride in name and pedigree, strains the credulity of any
135
reader -who has not known such behavior. However, in so far
as it supports the psychology of upper class pride as repre
sented in Mr. Delvile, it has realistic value.When
Cecilia asks Mr. Delvile to intercede in her effort to gain
Mr* Briggs' consent to her use of a portion of the money
held in trust for her, the insufferably haughty gentleman
walked up and down the room, exclaiming, 1 1 /T7 an agent!
and to Mr Briggs!--This is an affront I could never have
expected! why did I degrade myself by accepting this
humiliating office /of guardian7? 1 ought to have known
better!” Then, turning to Cecilia, "Child," he added,
"for whom is it you take me, and for what?"
Cecilia again, though affronted in her turn, began
some protestations of respect; but haughtily interrupting
her, he said, "If of me, and of my rank in life you judge
by Mr Briggs or by Mr Harrel, I may be subject to pro
posals such as these every day; suffer me, therefore,
. . . to hint to you, that the head of an ancient and
honourable house, is apt to think himself somewhat superi
or to people but just rising from dust and obscurity."
(I, 219-220)
Perhaps Mr. Delvile's behavior is most effective as
evidence of his controlling psychology when his pride is
hurt. Hearing Mr. Briggs* opposition to Cecilia's going
with the Delviles into the country where, according to the
miserly guardian, she will "hear of nothing but dead dukes,"
Mr. Delvile "felt himself insulted in a manner he could
2^0ther characters exhibiting an artificial manner
associated with the upper class include Mrs. Beaumont and
occasionally Lord Orville (Evelina).
136
least support4 1 (II, 173)* He tried to get his party to go
to the waiting carriage, but Mr. Briggs, refusing to be
brushed aside, demanded consideration in language that Mr.
Delvile found at once insulting and unintelligible:
This is language, Sir, . . . so utterly incomprehen
sible, that I presume you do not even intend it should
be understood: otherwise, I should very little scruple
to inform you, that no man of the name of Delville brooks
the smallest insinuation of dishonour.” (173-174)
Unruffled, Mr. Briggs speaks contemptuously, asking if
"the old grandees /will.7 jump up out of their graves to
frighten us"; whereupon Mr. Delvile, "with a very stately
air" (174)> seeks to quit the room, only to hear additional
insult as Mr. Briggs calls him "Don Puffendorff" (175). The
miser’s merciless tirade ends when Mr. Delvile, "feeling
more enraged than he thought suited his dignity, restrained
himself from making any further answer, but going up to the
bell, rang it with great violence" (176).
The credibility of Mr. Briggs’ open and very expressive
vindictiveness may be questioned, but not the behavior of
Mr. Delvile as pictured here at bay. His nervous faltering
convincingly suggests his total inability to cope with the
situation, while at the same time it demonstrates the com
plete domination of his ruling passion.
It is regularly recognized that caricatures are arti
ficial' rather than true representations of people; yet so
137
much that is realistic appears in some of Miss Burney’s
caricatures, particularly in their language and behavior,
that the reader tends to accept them as bona fide portray
als in many if not in all the situations in which they
appear. Mme. Duval, examining the damage done to her
clothes as the result of an encounter with the merciless
prankster Captain Mirvan, bemoans her misfortune in a man
ner unmistakably feminine:
Here’s a sight! . . . Come here, child,--only look—
Fardi, so long as I’ve lived, I never see so much before I
Why, all my things are spoilt, and, what’s worse, my
sacque was as good as new. Here’s the second negligee
I’ve had used in this manner!— I’m sure I was a fool to
put it on, in such a lonesome place as this. . . . But
look here, now, here’s a cloak! Mon Dieu! why, it looks
like a dish-clout ! of all the unluckinesses that ever I
met, this is the worst! for, do you know, I bought it but
the day before I left Paris?— Besides, into the bargain,
my cap’s quite gone; where the villain twitched it, I
don't know, but I never see no more of it, from that time
to this. Now you must know this was the becomingest cap
I had in the world, for I've never another with pink
ribbon in it; and, to tell you the truth, if I hadn’t
thought to have seen M. Du Bois, I'd no more have put it
on than I’d have flown. (Evelina, 192-193)
Lord David Cecil said with some truth that the author’s
caricatures were "real people, only one-half or one-third
revealed";2^ and Charles E. Vaughn, also impressed, wrote
25>«panny Burney," Poets and Story Tellers (London,
Zl9^97), P. 91.
138
of her “amazing power of giving flesh and blood to carica
ture."26
It is possible, however, to overestimate the realism
of these caricatures. When the French-hating Captain rude
ly invites Mrae. Duval to leave London, she rejoins, "And so
I shall; for, I promise you, I think the English a parcel
of brutes" (62). The quarrel becomes alarming when the
Captain, furious, compares her with a "wash-woman" and in
sinuates that she is a "pauper," and when she in turn calls
her tormentor "a low, dirty fellow" (63). When the Captain
seizes both her wrists and threatens violence, she shouts:
Let me go, villain that you are, or I’ll promise you
I’ll get you put to prison for this usage; I'm no common
person, I assure you, and, ma foi, I'll go to justice
Fielding about you; for I'm a person of fashion, and I'll
’ ou know it, or my name i'n't Duval.' (Evelina,
Mme. Duval is shown here in a bitter, nearly incred
ible quarrel with Captain Mirvan, although her behavior,
based on a psychology of international hatred, may assume
some degree of credibility when it is considered that she
was "uneducated and unprincipled; ungentle in her temper,
and unamiable in her manners" (lf?-l6). The coarse provoca-
26"Sterne, and the Novel of His Times," The Cambridge
History of English Literature, X (New York, 19I3), 71*
139
tions of the Captain strain credulity.
Many of Miss Burney’s portrayals of youth types embody
similar elements of artificiality. Such types, whether
defined as fops, beaux, dandies, fade macaronis, or members
of the current bon ton, are usually built upon one prominent
kind of affectation or "humour”— not, therefore, with an
intent to reveal a total personality but to expose the
objectionable in contemporary m a n n e r s .28
Mr. Lovel, wishing to dance with Evelina, "advanced on
tiptoe"; then,
bowing almost to the ground, with a sort of swing, and
waving his hand with the greatest conceit, after a short
and silly pause, he said, "Madam— may I presume?"--and
stopt, offering to take my hand. . . . "Allow me, Madam,"
(continued he, affectedly breaking off every half moment)
"the honour and happiness--if I am not so unhappy as to
address you too late--to have the happiness and honour--"
27
Other adult caricatures whose realistic behavior and
manner in varying degree suggest real people include Cap
tain Mirvan (Evelina); Mr. Briggs (Cecilia); Miss Margland,
Dr. Orkborne (Camilla); Mrs. Ireton, Mrs. Maples, Mrs.
Howel (The Wanderer).
28l,ord David Cecil has observed that Miss Burney worked
in "the tradition of realistic humorous portraiture which
she learned from Fielding and Smollett, and which in turn
had inherited from the comic drama--’character parts’ . . .
made up of one or two strongly marked idiosyncracies; drawn
in a convention of slight caricature, and revealing them
selves directly in dialogue"(Poets and Story Tellers,
pp. 83—8ip).
1 4 0
Upon Evelina’s refusal, the fop made ’ ’some ridiculous
speeches of sorrow and disappointment, though his face still
wore the same invariable smile” and then withdrew (Evelina,
34-35).29
i
I
The reality of such persons as the incompletely drawn '
Mr# Lovel may be questioned; nevertheless, like Mme. Duval
and other rather fully treated caricatures, the behavior of
such youth, in so far as it is in accord with well-known or
plausible experience, invites realistic acceptance and the
psychology of affectation is demonstrated and confirmed.3®
Miss Burney’s interest in human capacity to feel (’ ’sen
sibility”) and in human emotions (’ ’sensations”) was more
intense and more analytical than her concern with physical
2^Ueorge E. B. Saintsbury has presented the broad view
that life in Miss Burney’s fiction is ”a true mimesis or
artistic creation of actual types and individuals” ( The
Peace of the Augustans, London, 1916, pp. 162-163). ~Con
sideration of some of the artificial youth types, however,
urges some modification of the word true if not of the word
actual.
30other juvenile caricatures whose realistic behavior
and manner in varying degree suggest real persons include
Mr. Smith, Mr. Brown, the Branghton children (Evelina); Mr.
Morrice, Mr. Meadows, Captain Aresby, Miss Larolles, Miss
Leeson (Cecilia); Clermont Lynmere, Sir Sedley Clarendel
(Camilla); Sir Lyell Sycamore, T^he Crowley sisters (The
Wanderer) •
li+ l
behavior.31 Her direct references to sensibility are numer
ous, and the range of her treatment of emotions, which are
abundantly explored in her major characters, stretches from
the light and comic to the serious and tragic. Evelina’s
emotional experiences, scanned with relatively close atten
tion, exhibit an exceptionally marked variety. They include
amusement (Evelina, p. 28), delight (31), envy (31)» excite
ment (30), ecstasy (30), love (I63), chagrin (111), vexa
tion (56), shame ( i f . 0), aversion (if.6), indignation (53)» dis
gust (2lf.l), anger (65), apprehension (33), anxiety (I63),
embarrassment (if.9), humiliation (6if.), grief (if-5), fear (68),
terror (65). Cecilia, Camilla, Juliet, and a few others
are also emotionally responsive. The "sensations1 * of the
lesser and incompletely developed characters are not, of
course, so minutely analyzed.
That Miss Burney regarded sensibility as capacity to
feel, hence as a "power" that is basic to emotional experi
ence, is evidenced somewhat in her obscure definition of
33-Miss Burney’s own sensibility was so marked that Mrs.
Thrale once advised "hardening" (Diary and Letters, I, 127).
The author had long loved sensibility and abhorred its op
posite (Early Diary, I, 22). In her fiction she showed her
reaction against the ton when it "laughed out of use" both
sentiment and sensations (326); she sought to ridicule and
shame insensibility by contrasting it with the refinements
of "excelling" behavior (9).
142
the term: "that delicate, but irregular power, which now
impels to all that is most disinterested Tor others, now
forgets all mankind, to watch the pulsations of its own
fancies'1 (Camilla, IV, 399) • The concept may gain slightly
in clarity when Cecilia notices that Pacchierotti "sighed
so deeply” during his songs and so is "struck by his uncom
mon sensibility to the power of music" (Cecilia, I, 73)*
R. Briraley Johnson, who regarded Miss Burney as "intent
upon the revelation of sensibility," defined the term as
"a perception of the fine shades, and instant responsive
ness to them" (The Women Novelists, pp. 18-21), and as
"fastidiousness . . . that is, refinement of mind and heart?’
(Fanny Burney and the Burneys, pp. If?-l6).
The author’s noticeable preoccupation with basic sen
sibility does not lead her to any systematic study of all
resultant sensations; love, joy, gratitude, sympathy, pride
and its mortification, grief, and terror are among the emo
tions that most regularly engage her attention. Thus, Mrs.
Delvile’s sensibility enables her to express joy and grati
tude when Cecilia subordinates herself to the elder lady’s
wishes:
She ^Mrs. Delvile/^ flew to her the moment she appeared,
and throwing her arms around her, warmly exclaimed "Oh
charming girl! Saver of our family! preserver of our
honour! How poor are words to express my admiration! how
inadequate are thanks in return for such obligations as I
owe you! (Cecilia, III, 32-34)
143
And Juliet, richly endowed with sensibility, shows great
sympathy for her friend,Gabriella, whose beloved child had
recently died:
The fond embraces, and fast flowing tears of Ellis
Juliet/, evinced the keen sensibility with which she
participated in the sorrows of this afflicted mother.
(The Wanderer, III, 12-13)
The tears in this situation, as in many others, are justifi
able. At times, especially in the last two novels, sensi
bility degenerates into unwarranted sentimentality.32
Miss Burney often briefly designates by name the vari
ous emotions experienced by her characters. The reference
may be to a single, simple feeling, as in Evelina’s exclama
tion, "0 how I envied Clarindal” (Evelina, p. 31), or as in
the omniscient author’s statement that Henrietta’s voice
spoke “tumultuous delight1 1 (Cecilia, ITT, 211). On the
other hand, the reference may be to a very complex emotional
state, as in Camilla's reactions to Miss Margland's demand
that she avoid Edgar Mandlebert:
Camilla with a mind so crowded, a heart so full, she
scarcely breathed. Sensations the most contrary, of
pain, pleasure, hope, and terror, at once assailed her.
(Camilla, II, 3£)
32R. Brimley Johnson (Fanny Burney and the Burneys)
has declared that “the actual eighteenth-century ways and
manners of sensibility are most literally pictured in
Camilla, with all the enthusiasm of extreme youth'* (17).
l i j i f .
Such emotion-naming, like trait-naming, does not contribute
heavily to psychological realism, although explanations
sometimes provide a confirmatory effect.
Revelation of emotional experience in the course of
narrative, without the aid of emotion-naming, may also be
psychologically effective. Mr. Melmond’s words and his
manner of utterance upon beholding the beauty of Indiana
Lynraere, Lionel’s cousin, is a sample of this technique:
Your cousin? have you any affinity with such a creature
as that? 0 Tyroldl I glory in your acquaintance.’ she is
all I ever read ofl all I ever conceived* she is beauty in
its very esseneel she is elegance, delicacy, and sensi
bility personified! (Camilla, I, 2l±Z)
More characteristic of Miss Burney's method and psy
chologically more convincing than such a simple use of dia
logue is the combining of emotion-naming with revelation in
thought, verbal expression, and personal behavior. Thus,
in the climactic scene of The Wanderer, the psychology of a
major frustration is rendered. It is apparent in the au
thor's depiction of Mr. Harleigh's state of mind as with
difficulty he accepts the belief that he may have lost his
beloved one forever. When the Commissary declared the "un
resisting” Juliet to be his wife and treated her abusively,
Mr. Harleigh was bewildered; he "appeared to be lost":
The violence of his agitation, while he concluded her
to be wrongfully claimed, was transformed into the black
est and most indignant despondence, at her unresisting,
1 1 4 - 5
however wretched acquiescence, to commands thus brutal.
. . * She is married! he internally cried . . . and can
never, never,--even in my wishes, now, be mine!
A sudden sensation, kindred to hatred, took possession
of his feelings. . . •
He dragged himself back to his apartment, and resolute
ly shut his door; gloomily bent to nourish every unfavour
able impression, that might sicken regret by resentment.
But no indignation could curb his grief at her loss; nor
his horrour at her situation: and the look that had com
pelled his retreat seemed rivetted to his very brain.
When he saw the chaise which would carry Juliet away,
the transitory calm of smothered, but not crushed emo
tions, was now succeeded by a storm of the most violent
and tragic passions. To lose her for ever, yet irresist
ibly to believe himself beloved! . . . thoughts, reflec
tions, ideas thus dreadful, and sensations thus excruciat
ing, almost deprived him of reason, and he cast himself
upon the ground in wild agony. (The Wanderer, V, if7-50)
The emotions of Mr. Harleigh are in keeping with his known
sensibilities. They are also credible in the light of cir
cumstances such as Juliet’s past silence on questions per
taining to her marital status and her present failure to
oppose the Frenchman’s claim. Harleigh’s casting himself
upon the ground in "wild agony" may be considered a demon
stration somewhat out of character for a person usually
well in command of himself; but, the melodramatic and roman
tic effects set aside, the emotional portrayal lends sub
stantial support to the psychology of frustration as Miss
Burney conceived it.
From the realistic point of view, Miss Burney may
l i j . 6
falter in her handling of the emotions, especially in what
she intended to be her greatest dramatic scenes. The re
union of Evelina with her father, the delirium of Cecilia
in the room above the pawnshop, the agony of Camilla at the
Halfway House, the despair of Harleigh at the Teignmouth
inn--all testify to the author’s shift from sober, factual
realism to an unnatural sentimental and theatrical emphasis.
In the main, however, she retains a general and plausible
harmony between the emotions presented and the character
traits, circumstances, and incidents which give rise to
those emotions. To the last, she clung tenaciously to the
requirements of decorum and propriety.
Miss Burney’s consideration of language as a means to
psychological realism is widely demonstrated in the speeches
and dialogue of her characters. She was well aware that
language, when employed with reference to individual choice
of words and manner of expression, may be associated not
only with age, sex, and social status but also with person
ality and with character.
At times, she employs language with calculated poign
ancy to reveal the inner being or “soul.”33 An instance of
33charles E. Vaughn, too sweepingly, says of Miss
Burney’s attitude towards her characters: “Her heart was
never in them. What really fascinates her is the strange
1 1 4 - 7
this use may be noted when the gentle Henrietta Belfield,
a sixteen-year-old girl of the middle class, not knowing of
Mortimer Delvile's attachment to Cecilia, confides her love
for the high-born gentleman to her friend:
Often and often have I thought so much about this very
gentleman I and sometimes when X have been in his company,
and seen his civility and his sweetness, I have fancied I
was rich and grand myself, and it has quite gone out of
my head that I was nothing but poor Henrietta Belfield*. . . .
I will tell you, madam, every thing*, for my heart has
been bursting to open itself, and nobody have I dared
trust. I have thought, then, I have sometimes thought,--
my true affection, my faithful fondness, my glad obedi
ence, --might make him, if he did but know them, happier
in me than in a greater lady*. (Cecilia, III, 18?)
And the intellectual but emotional Elinor, the young niece
of the wealthy Mrs. Maple, anticipating Juliet's marriage
to Mr. Harleigh and intending suicide, exposes her tragic
position in these terms:
No, Harleigh*. the star of Ellis has prevailed, and I
sink beneath its influence. Else, only sometimes to see
you, to hear of you, to watch you, and to think of you
always, I would still live, nay, feel joy in lifej for
still my imagination would gift you, ultimately, with
sensibility to my regard. But I anticipate the union
medley of characters that she meets by the way" (The Roman
tic Revolt, New York, 1907> P» 10f>). Ernest A. Baker's
comparable remark is also too comprehensive: ’ ’ The inner
world, the deeper life of human beings, the springs, the
hidden machinery, remained invisible" (The History of the
English Novel, X, 160). Those statements cannot be justly
applied to such personages as Evelina, Henrietta Belfield,
Camilla, and Sir Hugh Tyrold.
348
which I see to be inevitable, and I spare my senses the
shock which I feel would demolish them.— Harleigh!— dear
est Harleigh, Adieu!
A paleness like that of death overspread her face.
"What is it," cried Harleigh, inexpressibly alarmed,
"what is it Elinor means?"
"To re-conquer, by the courage of my death, the esteem
I may have forfeited by my jealousy, ray envy, my little
ness in life! You only could have corrected my errours;
you, by your ascendance over my feelings, might have re
fined them into virtues. Oh, Harleigh! weigh not alone
ray imperfections when you recollect my attachment! but
remember that I have loved you so as woman never loved!"
(The Wanderer, I,
In each of the above illustrations, the verbal utterance,
which harmonizes with traits and circumstance, strongly
suggests mentality and inner being. Elinor, more romanti
cally emotional than Henrietta, appears to be rhapsodical,
but, as R. Brimley Johnson has asserted, even the rhapsodies
are "sincere . . . reflections on reality" (The Women Novel
ists , p. 5l). The underlying psychological truth, though
Impeded when the language is unduly heavy, is always per
ceptible and is not easily misinterpreted.
Less penetrating, but still effectively revelatory of
inner being, is the dignified language of the Reverend Mr.
Tyrold. In the following passage, the clergyman manifests
his deep love and concern for his daughter Eugenia, whose
dismay upon finding her features repellent threatens to
drive her into seclusion:
349
Mr. Tyrold, extremely affected, embraced her with the
utmost tenderness: "My dear, deserving, excellent child,”
he cried, ”what would I not endure, what sacrifice not
make, to soothe this cruel disturbance, till time and
your own understanding can exert their powers?” ... He
then required her to relinquish her melancholy scheme of
seclusion from the world: ”The shyness and the fears
which gave birth to it,” said he, "will but grow upon you
if listened to, and they are not worthy the courage I
would instil into your bosom--the courage to pass by, as
if unheard, the insolence of the hard-hearted, and ignor
ance of the vulgar. Happiness is in your power, though
beauty is not; and on that to set too high a value would
be pardonable only in a weak and frivolous mind.” (Camilla,
IT, 361-363)
The simplicity of Dame Fairchild's truthfulness and
loyalty appears in her defense of her husband, who had been
stealing deer:
But the main bleame, it do all lie in Nat Mixon; for
a be as bad a mon as a body might wish to set eyes on.
And a does always say a likes ony thing better than work.
It be he has led my poor husband astray. . . . But I
would no1 ha1 un come to be honged or transported. . . .
I would sooner go with un to prison. . . . I'd do it for
sure and sure, not to forsake un, poor monl in his need;
if so be I could get wherewithal to keep my little dearys."
(The Wanderer, V, 11-12)
The youthful Lionel analyzes his own selfish and irre
sponsible attitude in a lighter vein, as he excuses his
behavior by blaming nature. Camilla, asking her brother if
there is any reason why he should not some day try to re
semble his father, the misguided boy frankly replies:
"0 yes I a little one I nature, nature, nature, my dear,
is in the way. I was born a bit of a buck. I have no
manner of natural taste for study, and poring, and ex
pounding, and black-letter work. I am a light, airy
spark, at your service, not quite so wise as I am merry;
--but let that pass. My father, you know, is firm as a
ISO
rock. He minds neither wind nor weather, nor fleerer nor
sneerer: hut this firmness, look ye, he has kept all to
himself; not a whit of it do I inherit; every wind that
blows veers me about, and makes me look the other way."
(Camilla, II, 202)
The language of the young giddy Flora Pierson reveals
the girl1s naivete and inexperience in affairs of the
heart, hence the psychology of Flora’s early adolescent
interest in sex. Commenting openly to Juliet regarding the
libertine Sir Lyell Sycamore, she declares:
So we walked together by the seaside, and he was as
agreeable as ever; and so was I, too, I believe, if I may
judge without flattery. At least, he said I was, over ard
over; and he’s a pretty good judge, I believe, a man of
his quality. But I sha’n’t tell you what he said to me;
for he said I was as fresh as a violet, and as fair as
jessamy, and as sweet as a pink, and as rosy as a rose;
but one must not over and above believe the gentlemen,
mama says, for what they say is but half a compliment.
However, what do you think, Miss Ellis? Only guess? For
all his being so polite, do you know, he was upon the
point of behaving rude? Only I told him I’d squall out,
if he did. But he spoke so pretty when he saw I was
vexed, that I could not be very angry with him about it;
could I? Besides, men will be rude, naturally, mamma
says. (The Wanderer, III, 120-121)
When the complete or essential self is not of interest
to the author, she may use language to support the psycho
logical truth of a typical "ruling passion" or of a prevail
ing "humour." Thus, young Mrs. Harrel, who lived with the
sole desire to maintain an endless round of social appear
ances and gaiety, careless of cost, reveals her stand in a
stubborn opposition to Cecilia’s wise counsel and effort to
reform her:
i5i
"What can I do?" cried Mrs Harrel, impatiently, "one
must live a little like other people. You would not have
me stared at, I suppose; and I am sure I don't know what
I do that every body else does not do too. . . . Good
Lord, Miss Beverley!" cried Mrs Harrel, starting, "you
talk just as if we were ruined!"
"X mean not that," replied Cecilia, "but I would fain, j
by pointing out your danger, prevail with you to prevent
in time so dreadful a catastrophe."
Mrs. Harrel, more affronted than alarmed, heard this
answer with much displeasure, and after a sullen hesita
tion, peevishly said, "I must own I don’t take it very
kind of you to say such frightful things to me; I am sure
we only live like the rest of the world." (Cecilia, I,
228-229)
The language of the wealthy and imperious Mrs. Ireton,
on the other hand, illustrates the psychology of prevailing
humour as applied to character. In this case, irascibility,
the inclination to tyrannize with the aid of poignant sar
casm, is examined by the author to the almost total exclu
sion of other traits. When Juliet, "fatigued and spirit
less" after acceptance of employment as companion to Mrs.
Ireton, seeks to retire, the disagreeable lady stops her
and compels her to listen to the following tirade:
You mean perhaps to repose yourself?— or, may be, to
pursue your studies?— or, perhaps you may have some visits
upon your hands?— And you may only have done me the
favour to enter my house to find time to follow your
humour?--you may think it sufficient honour for me, that
I may be at the expense of your board, and find you in
lodging, and furniture, and fire, and candles, and serv
ants?— you may hold this ample recompense for such an in
significant person as I am? I ought to be much obliged
to Miss Joddrell, upon my word, for bringing me into such
distinction! I had understood her, indeed, that you
152
would come to me as my humble companion. (The Wanderer,
III, 251^-255)
Eccentric individuality is even more marked in the
language of Albany, a man whose humour of benevolence, also
examined with little or no reference to other interests
that this character might plausibly have had, may be traced
in many of his speeches. The phrasing of his chastisement
of Cecilia and his subsequent plea for financial aid to the
poor is typical:
”1 pointed out to you a method of preserving peace
with your own soul; I came to you in behalf of the poor,
and instructed you how to merit their prayers; you heard
me, you were susceptible, you complied! I meant to have
repeated the lesson, to have tuned your whole heart to
compassion, and to have taught you the sad duties of sym
pathising humanity. For this purpose I called again, but
again I was not admitted! Short was the period of my
absence, yet long enough for the completion of your down
fall!”
“Good heaven,” cried Cecilia, "how dreadful is this
language! when have you called, Sir? I never heard you
had been at the house. Far from refusing you admittance,
I wished to see you.”
"Indeed?” cried he, with some softness, "and are you 3n
truth, not proud? not callous? not hard of heart? Follow
me, then, and visit the humble and the poor, follow me,
and give comfort to the fallen and defected!" (Cecilia,
I, 2i+0)
The language of affected youths who exhibit humours
may be more readily associated with manners than with essen
tial character or mentality. However, such language regu
larly supports the psychology of affectation. Mr. Meadows,
who affects a bored indifference to nearly everything, thus
153
expresses himself in the course of realistic dialogue with
Cecilia *3^-
"Don11 you find this place extremely tiresome, ma’am?"
"Yes, Sir," said she, half laughing, "it is, indeed,
not very entertaining!"
"Nothing is entertaining," answered he, "for two min
utes together. Things are so little different one from
another, that there is no making pleasure out of anything.
We go the same dull round for ever; nothing new, no vari
ety! all the same thing over again! Are you fond of pub
lic places, ma’am?"
"Yes, Sir, soberly, as Lady Grace says."
"Then I envy you extremely, for you have some amuse
ment always in your power. How desirable that is!"
"And have not you the same resources?"
"0 nol I am tired to death! tired of every thing. . ..
When one has seen one thing, one has seen every thing. 0,
’tis heavy work! Don’t you find it so, ma’am?" (Cecilia,
r, 32k)
It is, of course, in an examination of the total action
rather than of isolated elements that the illusion of psy
chological reality can be best achieved. A perusal of the
3^\For her journalistic recordings of what she heard in
social gatherings, the author formulated the realistic in
tent to report actual dialogue: "I shall . . . make the
parties speak for themselves" (Early Diary, I, 28f?). She
developed what Lewis Gibbs called a rema!rkable talent" for
reproducing such dialogue ("Introduction," Diary of Fanny
Burney, London, 19^1, p. ix). This talent, notwithstanding
encroachments of theatricalism, is often used in the dia
logue of the imagined characters with superior realistic
effect. Dobson has well remarked the "calculated disclo
sure" of traits in these dialogues (Diary and Letters, VI,
xx v),--------- .... — — .v-------
following scene, which leads to Cecilia’s near-tragedy,
conveniently demonstrates this view. Fearfully disturbed
lest her jealous husband, Mortimer Delvile, engage Mr. Bel
field in a duel, Cecilia undertakes a search for one or
both of the men which is seriously, almost tragically,
hampered. At one point, the circumlocutory Mr# Simkins
reports to her that one of the men has just left the cof
fee-house and gone down the street:
’ 'Oh. drive then, gallop after himl "--cried Cecilia;
"coachman! go this moment!"
"My horses are tired," said the man, "they have been
out all day, and they will gallop no further, if I don’t
stop and give them a drink."
Cecilia, too full of hope and impatience for this
delay, forced open the door herself, and without saying
another word, jumped out of the carriage, with intention
to run down the street; but the coachman immediately
seizing her, protested she should not stir till he was
paid.
In the utmost agony of mind at an hindrance by which
she imagined Delvile would be lost to her perhaps for
ever, she put her hand in her pocket, in order to give up
her purse for her liberty; but Mr Simkins, who was making
a tiresome expostulation with the coachman, took it him
self, and declaring he would not see the lady cheated,
began a tedious calculation of his fare.
"0 pay him any thing!" cried she, "and let us be gone!
an instant’s delay may be fatal!" . . .
A gentleman, who then came out of the coffee-house,
offered to assist the lady, but the coachman, who still
held her arm, swore he would have his right.
"Let me goJ let me pass!" cried she, with encreasing
eagerness and emotion; "detain me at your peril!— release
me this momentl— only let me run to the end of the street,
--good God! good Heaven! detain me not for mercyl1 1
Mr Simkins, humbly desiring her not to be in haste,
began a formal apology for his conduct; but the inebriety
of the coachman became evident; a mob was collecting;
Cecilia, breathless with vehemence and terror, was en
circled, yet struggled in vain to break away; and the
stranger gentleman, protesting, with sundry compliments,
he would himself take care of her, very freely seized her
hand.
This moment, for the unhappy Cecilia, teemed with
calamity; she was wholly overpowered; terror for herself,
hurry, confusion, heat and fatigue, all assailing her at
once, while all means of repelling them were denied her,
the attack was too strong for her fears, feelings, and
faculties, and her reason suddenly, yet totally failing
her, she madly called out, "He will be gone! he will be
gone! and I must follow him to Nicel" (Cecilia, III,
32i4.-326)
In view of her husband’s unfortunate jealousy and dan
ger, Cecilia's distress is understandable. That her already
shaken nerves should be strained to the breaking point by
the wordy Mr. Simkins, the drunken coachman, and the offi
cious stranger is entirely credible. Her "hope" of over
taking the man who had left the coffee-house, her "impa
tience" of delay, her "encreasing eagerness and emotion,"
and at length her "terror" and "horror"--all are in accord
with the accelerating agitation of her speech and with her
ever more strenuous efforts to get away. Her physical
behavior, her emotions, and her language, each and all, fol
low naturally and progressively from the circumstances that
prompted the search, her known character traits, and the
156
incidents that so seriously delayed and troubled her* Ce
cilia' s loss of reason inevitably reminds one of Miss
Burney's love of such dramatic climaxes, yet it is a plaus
ible culmination for which the author carefully prepared.
The underlying psychology of fear may not be minutely ex
hibited, but it is convincing and realistic as the layman
perceives it.
In all the foregoing examples, realistic individuality
is strongly suggested both with respect to the adaptation
of language to the diverse characters and to the several
psychological states of those characters. Word choice and
the representation of a character's verbal manner may fall
short of expected effects in psychological realism, even
though they fully harmonize with the character's traits and
with the attendant circumstances. As a rule, however, they
are sufficiently plausible and potent to strengthen belief
in the age, sex, and class of a given character and almost
invariably to induce acceptance of the mental state and the
underlying psychological truth, if not the personage, as
real.35
3^Some of Miss Burney's uneven experiments with style
have been deplored by many critics. As Annie Raine Ellis
has observed: "When she aimed at style, /she/ wrote amiss.
When she wrote as Nature bade her, she sometimes fell into
157
The whole-hearted and extensively demonstrated curios
ity of the eighteenth-century empirical critics regarding
the "truth in human nature" was, in essence, an interest
in human psychology approached from the point of view of
reason and the average man’s common sense. In fiction,
these critics, presumably qualified to judge, wished, above
all else, to find natural and typical characters who were
representative of persons they themselves had known. They
sought characters in whom, without fail, they could recog
nize amusing or edifying illustrations of inner experience
which was the common man’s daily lot. In short, they took
keen delight in analyzing the contemporary mind and in
watching its manifestations in behavior, emotion, and lan
guage (entailing thought, sentiment, and manner of expres
sion). They displayed their delight, not in a well-devel
oped theory of characterization, which was not forthcoming,
but in scattered calls for a reliable "knowledge of the
bad grammar, and now and then let slip vulgar words or
phrases" (Cecilia, London, 1911+, p. xiii). She also had a
penchant for 1 1 put ting words out of their natural order,"
"word-making," and occasionally for Gallicizing (xix-xx).
Mrs. Barbauld has testified, however, that such defects do
not ordinarily submerge personality or character: "^he
style/ is so varied, according to the characters introduced,
that without any information from the names, the reader
would readily distinguish /the several personages/ • • •
(Evelina in British Novelists, London, 1820, XVIII, iv).
l£8
heart,1 * for a "mirror of manners and of life," and for
truthful imitation of language. They qualified their demand
chiefly with a moral and artistic insistence that decorum
and propriety should be observed.
Miss Burney fully subscribed to this position. As her
interest in psychological portraiture developed, she drew
freely from her knowledge not only of human traits, motives,
and manners, but also of intellectual and, more emphatical
ly, emotional experiences of human kind. That she had a
genuine and therefore realistic understanding of the prac
tical psychology of her day, an understanding at times as
penetrating as it was comprehensive, is demonstrated in
most of her portraiture, whether in her comparatively
limited treatments of types, caricatures, and certain indi
vidualized persons or in the life-suggesting portrayals of
her heroines. Perhaps she reached her deepest penetration
in Camilla.36
36
Geoge E. B. Saintsbury held derogatory opinions re
garding Miss Burney's mental powers: "She has not a fine
understanding. . . . Her sense was altogether inferior to
her sensibility" (The English Novel, New York, 1913, p. 1^3l
Lord Macaulay, on the other hand, recognized the author's
ability to discern "fine shades of character" and to exhib
it "whims" and "passions" with skill (Alice D. Greenwood,
ed» » Macaulay's Essay on Fanny Burney, London, 1919, p. 4-7).
I Jane Austen causes one of her characters to say that in
Camilla "the greatest powers of mind are displayed . . .
159
With knowledge of contemporary psychology, then, Miss
Burney was well equipped to please the critics. The rela
tively full and complete characterizations, though not
obviously typical, should have been particularly gratifying
to them; for the personages (Juliet, Elinor) are developed
as gradually as acquaintance and familiarity are in real
life, and, on occasion (Sir Hugh Tyrold, Camilla), so warm
ly as to impart an appearance of actual being. On the
other hand, being alert for any amusement or edification
based on the observation of human nature, Miss Burney’s
contemporaries very likely did not object if they were con
fronted with half-developed, typical characters so long as
the author represented them in some familiar guise. Such
characters (Miss Leeson, Lady Honoria Pemberton), many of
which exhibited but a single humour, seem to be without
humanity or soul; but with the aid of realistic manners,
circumstances, and incidents, individuality is conferred
and the psychological state, if not the personage, appears
to be real. Similarly, many of the incomplete drawings,
including the major caricatures (Captain Mirvan, Mr. Briggs),
the most thorough knowledge of human nature . . . (Northanger
Abbey, London, 1934, P* 22). Lord Macaulay’s position be
tween the two extreme views is no doubt nearest the truth.
160
are not fully convincing. They do not reflect a sufficient
number of personality or character facets. Yet, in spite of
incompleteness, underlying psychological truth becomes
apparent in all of them.
Fundamental to Miss Burney1s examination of the inner
life of her characters are their traits. All action per
tinent to psychological states, as she perceived, is depend
ent upon them. Her passing references, descriptions, and
summaries, both in the introductory and development phases
of her work, are rich in allusions to the ’ •character,” the
’ ’disposition," the "temper,” the "air," the "manner," the
"spirits," the "mind," the "intellects," the "qualities,"
the "talents," and the "heart." Usually, these references
appear in the form of revelations of the omniscient author.
They are prerequisite to their later demonstration in a
chronological, hence "natural," progression of circumstances
and incidents. It is of course in the incidents that be
havior (including manners), emotions, and language confirm
or develop these revelations.
The physical behavior exhibited in support of psycho
logical realism may be natural, whether among the naive or
the Intellectual, the poor or the wealthy, the low-born or
the high-born; or it may be artificial, as among certain
proud aristocrats, caricatures, and the affected. The emo
161
tions, which are often shown in sequence, vary from calm to
horror. The range in a given character may be limited, even
unapparent, if the character is but partially developed;
but it becomes considerable if the character is a major
personage. Many of the emotions treated (love, gratitude,
fear, terror) rest on the author’s concept of sensibility.
Language, which is associated with thought, sentiment,
verbal expression, and verbal manner, also appears in vari
ous forms. It may be simple or literary; it may be dialect
or jargon or even a sentimental outpouring. Furthermore,
it may reveal the genuine or the artificial character, the
soul or the surface, a type or an individual, a humour or a
ruling passion. The author was aware that In the manipula
tion of all three of these elements of action she must, to
achieve the greatest approximation to psychological reality,
bear in mind the age, the sex, the temperament, and the
class of her personages as well as their personality. She
also knew the vital importance of gaining credibility
through the harmonization of these elements with character
traits, circumstances, and incidents. That is, she respect
ed the demand for decorum and propriety.
Ideal coordination, of course, she never realized.
Behavior, though usually possible, occasionally appears
162
incredible and at times even smacks of farce. Emotions are
sometimes strained beyond reasonable limits, excessively
described, or insufficiently revealed. Language, especial
ly, may be unconvincing either when it becomes labored and
literary or when dialectical passages appear to be inexact
reproductions. Thoughts and sentiments as expressed by the
characters are usually fitting and adequate, whether in
particular or universal formj but occasionally, while re
vealing an inner attitude, or humour, they are couched in
language suggestive of the omniscient author rather than of
the character. Even attendant circumstances or incidents
not infrequently overtax belief. Notwithstanding such
imperfections, the function of these elements, to reveal
true inner experience, is well fulfilled.
It has been shown.that Miss Burney’s theory of psycho
logical exposition, so far as it is known, harmonized with
that of the realistic critics. Her actual portraiture, as
such, was also in accord. Widely reputed for her under
standing of human nature at a time when extensive and expert
delineation of the inner life was otherwise hardly in evi
dence, Miss Burney probably introduced very little that was
new to the art of revealing mind and soul; but more clearly
and more extensively than any other literary realist of her
period she revealed and interpreted the mind and character
163
of English youth. It was by virtue of her psychological
insight and her power of representing it realistically that
she paved the way for Maria Edgeworth and Jane Austen.
APPENDIX
APPENDIX
THE CRITERIA FOR CLASSICAL AND POPULAR REALISM
IN ENGLISH FICTION BETWEEN 17ifO and 1?89
The Classical Preference
Conservative major writers of the Johnsonian Period,
though not immune to the influences of realistic tendencies
of empirical nature in their own time, tended to rely upon
concepts of reality and realism derived from scientific,
o^lassical, and Deistic sources. They were inclined to
trust rational truth, to accept, in a scientific spirit,
the universality of nature's laws as discoverable by means
of reason and common sense. In their pursuit of the norm,
the universal, they relied strongly upon scientific proba
bility, and this, together with verisimilitude and decorum,
„ they urged critically in prose fiction. Their taste, with
the aid of rationally acceptable rules, leaned to the ele
gant, the precise, the perspicuous, the factual and reason
able, the correct and fitting. The objective was social
and moral competence, as well as literary excellence; the
test was universal acceptance.
Reality
Reality is rational truth inherent in Hunerring"
nature.
Reality is nature, which, in turn, is a complex system
of principles ordained and revealed in the uniformity and
harmony of visible creation, including man.
Reality is nature conceived speculatively as the norm,
the correct, the universal.
Surface reality comprises the actions of particular
men. It is reserved for comedy.
166
Truth, Reason, and Common Sense
Ultimate and rational truth comprises the principles
and meanings of nature, both objective and human, as dis
covered by reason and common sense*
Truth is the natural: the norm, the correct, the uni
versal, the reasonable in human life and experience as per
ceived speculatively through reason and common sense. Rea
son, in such a service, must be free of the influence of
passion, fancy, imagination, and pedantic logic.
Moral truth, perceived by reason and common sense, is
a universal law that specifies the virtuous. Abstract
ideals are involved. Moral truth (in the Aristotelian
sense) is an imitation of life as it ought to be.
Truth is invention according to nature and her just
proportions.
Reason and its derivative, common sense, are identical
in all menJ hence, universal. The greater the degree of
conformity of a belief to such a composite authority, the
greater the likelihood of truth, the "true light of nature."
Ideal truth, incidentally, is nature perfected and
idealized and beautified in accordance with Platonic prin
ciples.
Invention
Invention is discovery of truth (Nature’s principles)
through reason and common sense.
Invention is the imagined and reasonable counterpart
of truth.
Imitation and Verisimilitude
Imitation is the expression and representation of dis
covered truth as universally knownj truth as known to all
ages, races, and temperaments. Balance of reason and emo
tion is implied.
Imitation is the representation of imagined truth;
hence, verisimilitude, vraisemblance.
167
Imitation is the representation of characters, manners,
settings, style, etc., imbued with naturalness as deter
mined with reference to the norm, the approved type.
Imitation is emulation or copying; reclothing of bor
rowed thoughts; borrowed arrangement of incidents, etc.
Imitation, incidentally, is also representation of
nature idealized.
Verisimilitude, vraisemblanee, founded on reason, is
the counterpart of nature. It is invention and imitation
of something which, though not actually existing, is in
strict conformity with the bases of nature and reason,
measured by purely rational standards.
Universality, Uniformity, and Conformity
Permanence and universality of ultimate truth should
be present in characterization (type presentation), behavior,
and message— all involving study of the normal (natural)
workings of the unchanging bases of nature known through
universal reason.
The universal is the source of moral lessons.
Uniformity is the harmonizing of the many in one; na
ture's tendency to eliminate "differentness.”
Uniformity in style involves specific vocabulary for
each specific literary purpose, but chiefly with reference
to speech levels.
Conformity is the harmonizing of man, his manners, and
morals with nature; with the universally true; with the
norm of human experience; hence, conformity is truthful
characterization, especially with reference to age, class,
sex, and temperament.
Conformity is that which derives from just imitation,
which exhibits the link with reason and common sense.
Conformity is also normal usage in diction, with atten
tion to the speaker’s age, class, sex, and temperament, and
to the best practice of the best people.
168
Probability
Probability, associated with reason and common sense,
is that which is credibly true. It is best preserved (that
is, nature is best followed) if in each character a ruling
passion is shown and if the complexity and subtlety of life
is reduced to order. Probability is also necessary in the
representation of plot incidents, settings, etc.
Plausibility is that which reason and common sense
sanction.
Credibility is that which reason and common sense can
accept as true.
Possibility is the point beyond which a writer may not
go.
These essentials to belief, determined in a scientific
spirit, are the equivalent of truth, or are in the service
of truth.
Decorum
Decorum is correctness; probability, uniformity, and
consistency applied, chiefly, to characterization and man
ners. It implies characterization according to a person
typical of his age, class, sex, and temperament. Manners
must be similarly decorous. Characters and manners must
accord with the traditional conception of the character;
they must also be constant to the conception first revealed
in the exposition. Humours or ruling passion can determine
decorum. Decorum brings tidiness and order, abstraction,
even geometrical demonstration. Eccentrics must be barred
as unnatural.
r
Decorum is also correctness in diction, style and its
levels, speech, dialogue, especially with reference to peo
ple of fashion. Various qualities are involved: precision,
clarity, simplicity, purity; elegance which veils impurity;
restraint, economy, balance. Provincialisms, neologisms,
improprieties, tautologies, rusticity, and dialect are
barred.
Propriety is fitness in characterization and manners;
in sentiment; in plot incident.
169
Propriety is fitness in setting, wherein circumstances
must be in appropriate relationship to the events of life.
Propriety is also fitness in diction, style, speech,
dialogue.
Consistency is constant uniformity, agreement of parts;
harmonization in characterization, sentiments, and manners;
also in setting, especially with respect to characteriza
tion; also in plot development, with reference to harmoniza
tion with characters.
Consistency is also uniformity in diction, style,
speech, dialogue.
The Rules
The rules, evaluated as truth, insure decorum, etc.
The Popular Preference
Although less conservative writers and critics of the
Johnsonian period respected and used many of the above cri
teria, they often withdrew from those that required philo
sophical or theological speculation, content to rely upon
empirical rather than upon a priori truth. Interested much
more in everyday life than in ultimate principles, they
tended to veer from the universal to the immediate and the
particular while seeking diversity. They sought to release
themselves from habits of shallow imitation and to exhibit
what they saw about them. The shift to pragmatic values
becomes obvious in the remaining criteria.
Reality
Reality is human life: human nature (physical and psy
chological) ; human experience as understood locally and
empirically with the aid of reason and common sense, par
ticularly the latter; actuality.
Reality is nature conceived empirically as the norm,
the correct, the average, the natural.
Reality is representation of actual or imagined facts
and incidents, whether objective or psychological. Partic-
170
ulars, even minute particularization, may be involved.
Reality is objective fact, external objects as per
ceived by the senses.
Reality is nature conceived as landscape consisting of
material objects.
Surface reality comprises the actions of particular
men.
Truth
Truth may be psychological, revealing facts concerning
mind, emotion, sentiment (moral, romantic, religious, etc.)
as discovered empirically with the aid of reason and common
sense.
Truth is human nature; or (according to Aristotle) the
right conception of the true character of the subject.
Truth is instinct, or a natural faculty of the heart
by which external law can be recognized.
Truth is objective, even detailed (photographic) actu
ality, as observed empirically. (Richardson barred repre
sentation of life on the sordid and base side.)
Truth is correspondence with the facts of life as rec
ognized empirically; hence, "natural” behavior, "natural”
incidents, etc., are desirable.
Truth Is the acquiescence of reasonable men, particu
larly in England. It is founded, empirically, on normal
probability; hence, on the average.
Invention
Invention is the imagined and reasonable counterpart
of objective and psychological truth.
Invention is pictorial representation in a consistently
logical way of imagined everyday natural manners. (Bombast
and imbecility were sometimes ruled out as unnatural; af
fectations were sometimes regarded as comic and realistic
elements in manners.)
171
Imitation and Verisimilitude
Imitation is representation of imagined truth, partic
ularly of imagined everyday, individualized persons and
manners.
Imitation is representation of actual characters, man
ners, settings, incidents, etc., imbued with naturalness.
Imitation is verisimilitude, vraisemblance; it is
correspondence with the facts of life.
Imitation is emulation, copying and reclothing of
thought, borrowed arrangement of incidents.
Verisimilitude is the imitation or counterpart of
na ture.
Immediacy, contemporaneity, and spontaneity are desir
able for realistic portrayal of human nature.
Local Average, Uniformity, and Conformity
The local average should be present in characteriza
tion, behavior, and message— all involving the study of
normal characters and manners as empirically, pragmatically
and locally observed.
Average experience is a source of moral lessons.
Universality of tone and message are desirable.
Uniformity is the harmonizing of the many in one,
especially with reference to the qualities of a person, the
incidents of plot, and the elements of style. It is nature’ s
elimination of ”differentness. ”
Conformity is the harmonizing of man, his manners, and
morals with nature; with the locally true; with the norm or
average of local human experience; with popular expectation
of types; hence, truthful characterization as empirically
and pragmatically observed.
Conformity is also the harmonizing of characters with
normal usage in diction especially with reference to the
speaker’s age, class, sex, and temperament.
172
Probability
Probability is that which is credibly true. It is nec
essary in the representation of characters and manners,
plot incidents, settings, etc.
Plausibility is that which reason and common sense
sanction.
Credibility is that which reason and common sense can
accept as true.
Decorum
Decorum is correctness; probability, uniformity, and
consistency applied to characterization and manners. It is
the proper according to a fixed prevailing standard. It
implies characterization that imitates a person more or less
typical of his age, class, sex, and temperament. Manners
must be similarly decorous; they must also be constant to
the conception first revealed in the exposition. Humours
and ruling passions can determine decorum. Eccentrics are
not barred.
Decorum is also correctness in diction, style, speech,
and dialogue, with particular reference to the individual
expression.
Propriety is fitness, appropriateness, in character
ization and manners; also in sentiment; also in plot inci
dent.
Propriety is fitness in setting, wherein circumstances
must be in appropriate relationship to the events of life.
Propriety is fitness in diction, style, speech, dia
logue.
Consistency is constant uniformity in characterization
and manners; also in sentiment; also in setting, especially
in relation to characterization; also in plot development.
Consistency is also uniformity in diction, style,
speech, dialogue.
173
Miscellaneous
The outer world, as factual experience reveals it, may
be represented; but social interest and purpose remain
imperative* Realistic fiction may be edifying, amusing, or
both.
Elimination or neutralization of the observer, in so
far as he is related to the data he uses, is desirable.
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______________. Fanny Burney. London, 190ij..
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Ellis, Annie Raine, ed. Cecilia. 2 vols. London, 1890.
______________________. Cecilia. 2 vols. New York, 1919.
. The Early Diary. 2 vols. London,
------ ISB9:---------------- ---------- -------
______________________. Evelina. London, 1931*
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182
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the English Novel. Bloomington, Ind., 1916. (Indiana
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^Hazlitt, William/. "The Wanderer," Edinburgh Review, 2 l \ . i
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Hemlow, Joyce. "Courtesy Elements in Fanny Burney," PMLA,
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_____________. "Fanny Burney: Playwright," University of
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. Fanny Burney and the Burneys.
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___________________ . The Women Novelists. London, 1918.
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anglaise. Paris, 1896.
. Le Roman anglais. Paris, 1886.
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0.863. ---------------------
*
Legouis, Emile and Gazamian, Louis. A History of English
Literature. New York, 1930.
Lloyd, Christopher, ed. The Diary of Fanny Burney. London,
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__________________. Fanny Burney. London, 1936.
Lovett, Robert M., and Helen S. Hughes. The History of the
Hovel In England. Boston and New York, /ca. 1932/.
MacCarthy, Bridget G. "The Domestic Novel and the Novel of
Manners." In The Later Women Novelists, I?ijl{.-l8l8.
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McKillop, Alan D. English Literature from Dryden to Burns.
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Masefield, Muriel, ed. The Diary and Letters of Mme.
D*Arblay. New York, 1931.
_________________. The Story of Fanny Burney. . . . Cam-
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_________________. Women Novelists from Fanny Burney to
George Eliot. London, 193AJ-.
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Samuel Johnson, LL.D., by Mrs. Piozzi, et al. . . .)
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Overman, A. A. An Investigation into the Character of
Fanny Burney. Amsterdam, 1933.
Phelps, William Lyon. The Advance of the English Novel.
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Piozzi, Mrs., ed. Johnsoniana. London and New York, 1892.
Prothero, Rowland E. (Lord Ernie). The Light Reading of
Our Ancestors. New York, /192£7«
l8i+
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Rhys, Ernest, ed. The Diary of Frances Burney. 2 vols.
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. Evelina. London and New York, ,/l9097»
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_______________________ . The Peace of the Augustans.
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Scholes, Percy A. The Great Doctor Burney. 2 vols.
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Seeley, L/eonard7 B. , ed. Fanny Burney and Her Friends.
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Smith, John Thomas. Nollekens and His Times. London,
Z i9 W - ------------------------------
Thackeray, William M. The English Humorists of the Eight
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Tinker, Chauncey Brewster, ed. Dr. Johnson and Fanny
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Tomkins, Jane M. S. The Popular Novel in England (1770-
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Tourtellot, Arthur B. Be Loved No More. Boston and New
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B. Nineteenth and Twentieth Century Works Relating to
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Babcock, Robert W. ”The Idea of Taste in the Eighteenth
Century,” PMLA, 50:922-926, September 1935*
Beers, Henry A. A History of English Romanticism in the
Eighteenth Century. New York, 1910.
Beljame, Alexandre. Men of Letters and the English Public
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Birkhead, E^ith. "Sentiment and Sentimentality in the
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Black, F. G. The Technique of Letter Fiction in English
from 17k0 to lBOO. Cambridge, Mas sachusetts, 1933*
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____________. Literary Criticism in the Age of Johnson,
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Brown, Joseph E. The Critical Opinions of Samuel Johnson.
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186
Clark, Alexander P. B. Boileau and the French Classical
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Clough, Wilson 0. "Reason and G-enius— an Eighteenth Century
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lA
_______________ . The Life and Times of Lawrence Sterne.
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Dobson, Austin. Samuel Richardson. London, 1902.
Frye, Prosser Hall. "Dryden and the Critical Canons of the
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Gallaway, Francis. Reason, Rule, and Revolt in English
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Gelson, Sister Mary Aline. An Analysis of the Realistic
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Hadley, Frances W. "The Theory of Milieu in English Criti
cism from 1660 to 1801," Chicago, 1928. (University
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Hagstrum, Jean H. Samuel Johnson^ Literary Criticism.
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Havens, Raymond D# "Changing Taste in the Eighteenth
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Heidler, Joseph B. The History, from 1700 to 1800, of
English Criticism of Prose Fictio"n. Urbana, 1928.
(University of Illinois Studies in Language and Litera
ture, No. 2.)
Hill, Rowland M. Realistic Descriptive Setting in English
Fiction from 1550 through Fielding: Boston, 191+1.
Hooker, Edward N. "The Discussion of Taste from 1750 to
1770 and the New Trends in Literary Criticism," PMLA,
1+9:577-592, June 1931+-
187
Hooker, Edward N. ”The Reviewers and the Hew Criticism,1 1
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Horner, Joyce M. English Women Novelists and Their Con
nection with the Feminist Movement: 1688-1797»
Northampton, Mass*, 1930. (Smith Co11ege Studies in
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Huffman, Charles H. The Eighteenth Century Novel in Theory
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Leonard, Sterling. The Doctrine of Correctness in English
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Melville, Lewis. The Life and Letters of Tobias Smollett.
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Miller, George M. The Historical Point of View in English
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Needham, Harold A. Taste and Criticism in the Eighteenth
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Saintsburv, George E. B. A History of English Criticism.
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___________________. The History of English Thought in the
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v o ^ r’T n T jr" Oxf, orSTT8'8, 8-T92H‘I------- ---
Nichols, John. Literary Anecdotes of the Eighteenth Cen
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Cfnlversfty o f S o u th ern C aiifo rn fa Library

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Asset Metadata

Creator Harris, Harvey Richter (author)

Core Title Realism in the fiction of Frances Burney

School Graduate School

Degree Doctor of Philosophy

Degree Program English

Degree Conferral Date 1956-08

Tag OAI-PMH Harvest

Advisor Crittenden, Walter M. (committee chair), Bellé, René (committee member), Christensen, Francis (committee member), Davenport, William H. (committee member), McElderry, Bruce R., Jr. (committee member)

Permanent Link (DOI) https://doi.org/10.25549/usctheses-oUC11257509

Unique identifier UC11257509

Legacy Identifier DP23012

Document Type Dissertation