Article III April 26, 2007

Jane Austen vs Fanny Burney, Part III

By the editor

In her 74th year Fanny Burney met Sir Walter Scott (she lived to be 87).  He writes in his diary:

“I have been introduced to Madame d’Arblay, the celebrated authoress of ‘Evelina’ and ‘Cecilia,’ an elderly lady with no remains of personal beauty, but with a simple and gentle manner, and pleasing expression of countenance, and apparently quick feelings. She told me she had wished to see two persons-myself, of course, being one, the other, George Canning.

This was really a compliment to be pleased with—a nice little handsome pat of butter made up by a neat-handed Phillis of a dairy-maid, instead of the grease fit only for cartwheels which one is dosed with by the pound. I trust I shall see this lady again.”

The unfortunate thing for Fanny Burney was that at the time he wrote this, she was also more recently the author of Camilla, The Wanderer, and The Memoirs of Dr. Burney.  By omitting mention of these works, I doubt that Sir Walter Scott meant anything more than that they deserved not the same praise as her first two novels, which is generally agreed to. Unfortunately for Fanny Burney, no matter how brilliant our beginnings, we are remembered for the sum of our life and works.  Had Fanny Burney died at age 42 like Jane Austen did, it seems probable she would have been remembered, as Sir Walter said, as the celebrated author of Evelina and Cecilia.

Fanny Burney was 44 when she published Camilla.  I read her books in order, so it was the 3rd I read.  It is not, by any means an unlikeable novel.  Cecilia was long at around 800 pages, but so beautiful and intricate, you could hardly fault it.  Several readings will still reveal things not first noticed or understood.  Camilla is perhaps 150 pages longer than Cecilia, but with not so pardonable a reason.  I cannot at present remember what drove the plot forward.  Like her previous two, Camilla introduced brilliant and memorable characters.  Jane Austen, among others, was duly impressed with the character of Sir Hugh Tyrold and the character of Sir Sedley Clarendel can also be singled out for particular praise.  As always her characters were extremely well drawn, and she was able to control the emotions of her readers in a way that has rarely, if ever, been exceeded.  I recall being deeply affected by the beauty of a part of Camilla.  Its main problems related to the central plot, which by no means justified its Cervantes like length, and the failings of the Hero, Edgar Mandelbert.  The name might perhaps have warned us, but as a main character, Edgar did not much endear the reader.  Camilla herself is more lighthearted than either of her previous heroines, and her mistakes seem less justifiable.

I thought The Wanderer was a better novel than Camilla, but starting with her longer novels, Fanny Burney’s writing style begun to be somewhat laborious.  Her style of writing was always designed to convey dignity and intelligence, but in the beginning there was also an easy unstudied quality to it which made it admirable.  As time went on she wrote in a longer more complex, ‘latinate’ style, which could be both bewildering and annoying.  In both of Camilla and the The Wanderer, the reader has a sense that the events are more contrived than are necessary, and the drama more overwrought than is natural.  Portions of both books, however, contain the same immense genius she exhibited in her previous novels, though the overall inspiration and effect seems to be lacking.

I have never read her last work, The Memoirs of Dr. Burney, but reading portions of it quoted in other works, I found it rather forced and unappealing. Fanny Burney’s fondness for her father was unparalleled, and she was apparently determined to preserve in historical record everything about him which was to his credit, and suppress anything which was not.  I doubt myself there was any reason to so protect him from historical criticism, but the work itself did not reflect well on her abilities, or even likeability. Her decision to refer to herself in the 3rd person as ‘the memorialist’, is somewhat off-putting, especially where she attempts to convey emotion, as when describing a meeting with Dr. Johnson prior to Mrs. Thrale’s marriage:

“It was at this moment that, finding the Memorialist was going one morning to St. Martin’s Street, he desired a cast thither in the carriage, and then to be set down at Bolt Court.

“Aware of his disturbance, and far too well aware how short it was or what it would become when the cause of all that passed should be detected, it was in trembling that the Memorialist accompanied him to the coach, filled with dread of offending him by any reserve, should he force upon her any inquiry; and yet impressed with the utter impossibility of betraying a trusted secret.

“His look was stern, though dejected, as he followed her into the vehicle; but when his eye, which, however short-sighted, was quick to mental perception, saw how ill at ease appeared his companion, all sternness subsided into an undisguised expression of the strongest emotion, that seemed to claim her sympathy, though to revolt from her compassion; while, with a shaking hand, and pointing finger, he directed her looks to the mansion from which they were driving; and, when they faced it from the coach window, as they turned into Streatham Common, tremulously exclaiming: ‘That house … is lost to me—for ever!’

“During a moment he then fixed upon her an interrogative eye, that impetuously demanded: ‘Do you not perceive the change I am experiencing?’

“A sorrowing sigh was her only answer.

“Pride and delicacy then united to make him leave her to her taciturnity.

After Fanny Burney’s death, her Diary and Letters were published, and her lasting legacy proved to be her descriptions of the notable figures of the 18th century, who made up her circle; among them Dr. Johnson, Edmund Burke, David Garrick, Mrs. Thrale, etc… Her diary also provided an intimate look at the Royal Household from the years in which she was keeper of the robes to the queen.  There she had opportunity to witness King George III’s episodes of madness and the Trial of Hastings, among other things.

I could by no means consent: I knew not what was purposed, but I recollected fully my agreement with Dr. John that very morning, that I should decamp if Surprised, and not be named.  My own fears and repugnance, also, after a flight and disobedience like this, were doubled in the thought of not escaping; I knew not to what I might be exposed, should the malady be then high, and take the turn of resentment.  Still, therefore, on I flew; and such was my speed, so almost incredible to relate or recollect, that I fairly believe no one of the whole party could have overtaken me, if these words, from one of the attendants, had not reached me, “Doctor Willis begs you to stop!”

“I cannot! I cannot!” I answered, still flying on, when he called out, “You must, ma’am; it hurts the king to run.”

Then, indeed, I stopped—in a state of fear really amounting to agony.  I turned round, I saw the two doctors had got the king between them, and three attendants of Dr. Willis’s were hovering about.  They all slackened their pace, as they saw me stand still; but such was the excess of my alarm, that I was wholly insensible to the effects of a race which, at any other time, would have required an hour’s recruit.

As they approached, some little presence of mind happily came to my command it occurred to me that, to appease the wrath of my flight, I must now show some confidence: I therefore faced them as undauntedly as I was able, only charging the nearest of the attendants to stand by my side.

When they were within a few yards of me, the king called out, “Why did you run away?”

Her diary includes a firsthand experience of the French Revolution, during the 12 years she and her husband General D’Arblay, were not permitted to leave France.  The diminished quality of her last works and the unquestioned value of her diary and letters combined to make her more remembered as a diarist than a novelist.

In his introduction to her Diary and Letters, Lord MacCauley hypothesizes that four years of confined court life, where she could accept no visitors whatsoever, closed the mind and deadened the intellect of Fanny Burney.  I am not entirely of that opinion.  Her intellect seems never to have waivered, but her formerly impeccable judgment seems somewhat coloured by her views, which became gradually more conservative.  Whatever the case, none of her latter works reached the height of her first two.

Conversly, after the death of Jane Austen, there was nothing to dilute or distract from her accomplishments.  Each of her novels were of a similar length, her style remained even throughout and none of her later novels clouded the estimation of her earlier ones.

The purpose of this broad discussion of the two authors was to delve into how it came to pass that despite her merit, Fanny Burney has been all but forgotten in this century, while Jane Austen, her successor by about 20 years, has been celebrated and admired according to her due.  Though their areas of expertise differed, in my mind they will always share the distinction of being the foremost of female English writers.  The skill, judgment, intellect and talent necessary to write Evelina and Cecilia, was not less that required to produce Pride and Prejudice or Mansfield Park, however circumstances, modern taste and her own later works have served to dim the reputation of the author.

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Previous 2 Ramblings:

• Jane Austen vs Fanny Burney, Part I
• Jane Austen vs Fanny Burney, Part II

See all Ramblings