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THE SHORT OXFORD HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

THE SHORT OXFORD HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE

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importance of the process of learning and judging through which all her heroines pass. Anne Elliot is not only<br />

Austen’s most astute literary critic (she finds it ‘the misfortune of poetry, to be seldom safely enjoyed by those who<br />

enjoyed it completely’), she is also her most discriminating woman character, the one whose intelligence most<br />

effectively balances the merits of conflicting opinions, ideas, impressions, and feelings. It is against Anne’s sunny<br />

‘domestic’ virtues that the world in which she moves so often seems shallow, worldly, petty, and vain. The freedom<br />

which all Austen’s lovers attain is a freedom of action and moral decision worked out, not in a deceptively ‘gracious’<br />

society, but in a post-lapsarian world often unaware that it is in constant need of grace.<br />

Susan Ferrier’s work, which often explores related comic themes, generally lacks Austen’s economy and her<br />

intelligence. Ferrier (1782-1854) is also a distinctively Scottish writer whose novels seem raw and provincial beside<br />

her contemporary's confident urbanity. Marriage (1818) traces the responses to matrimony of two generations of<br />

women, those of Lady Juliana, the rash daughter of an Earl who elopes with a penniless Scots officer, and those of her<br />

twin daughters, the one brought up in London society, the other trained in the rougher, but honester, household of her<br />

Caledonian aunts. Ferrier plays throughout with contradictory attitudes to love, ranging from the old Earl’s dismissal<br />

of the emotion as something ‘now entirely confined to the canaille’, to a final awareness that a woman can indeed be<br />

‘beloved with all the truth and ardour of a noble ingenuous mind, too upright to deceive others, too enlightened to<br />

deceive itself’. Despite the evidence to the contrary — the deceptions, the semblances of affection, the elopements,<br />

and the adulteries — the novel ends with the proclamation of a single ‘happy Marriage’. Deceptions and semblances<br />

also run through the twists and turns of the plot of The Inheritance (1824), a novel which suggests the emotional<br />

dangers of an over-reliance on money as a determiner of the heart.<br />

Ferrier’s modest and often mocking use of the Scots dialect and of Scottish traits is to some extent mirrored in the<br />

work of a more determinedly provincial novelist, John Galt (1779-1839). Galt, well aware of the importance of the<br />

English market for fiction, was not, however, inclined to limit the circulation of his novels to an exclusively Scottish<br />

audience by an excessive use of the vernacular. Scotland, which was beginning to enjoy and exploit the international<br />

celebrity brought to it by the success of the poetry of Burns and Scott, had in 1822 been the object of a state visit by its<br />

new king, George IV (a visit partly stage-managed, tartan and all, by Scott). The King who was not a popular figure<br />

in London, was the first sovereign of the Hanoverian dynasty to visit Edinburgh and this trip to ‘the venerable home<br />

of [his] Royal Ancestors’ proved to be a considerable public-relations success. Galt recalled his own homage to the<br />

King at Holyrood in the somewhat obsequious royal dedication of his most Scottish novel, The Entail (1822). The<br />

Entail is also Galt’s most<br />

[p. 372]<br />

ambitious and carefully shaped work of fiction, darkened as it is by the tragedy which develops from the greed of<br />

Claud Walkinshaw and his determination to keep the estate of Kittlestonheugh together by entailing it on his male<br />

heirs. Galt was himself disinclined to refer to his three slightly earlier and more episodic works — The Ayrshire<br />

Legatees (1820-1), Annals of the Parish (1821),and the secular parallel to the Annals, The Provost (1822) — as<br />

novels, preferring to characterize them as ‘theoretical histories of society, limited ... necessarily to the events of a<br />

circumscribed locality’. This ‘locality’ is, in the case of the last two stories, a small town in western Scotland. In<br />

Annals of the Parish the minister of Dalmailing anecdotally traces the public and private history of his parish from<br />

the time of his induction in 1760 to his resignation in 1810. The second half of the narrative increasingly refers to the<br />

gathering pace of social and political change, from the construction of a cotton mill to the impact of international<br />

events on small-town perceptions. The minister, loyal equally to the Hanoverian throne and to the traditions of the<br />

Presbyterian Church, is troubled by the signs of dissent evident in the establishment of a schismatic chapel and in the<br />

seditious ‘itch of jacobinism’ which irritates the local mill workers. Where the minister accredits both bane and<br />

blessing to the workings of Providence, Provost James Pawkie (whose surname implies that he is ‘sly’) is confident of<br />

his own prowess as a self made man and as the first citizen and chief landowner of Gudetown. As Coleridge, an<br />

admiring early reader of The Provost, acknowledged, the novel is masterly in its evocation of ‘the unconscious,<br />

perfectly natural, Irony of Self delusion’, of a man ‘cheating’ himself into ‘a happy state of constant Self applause’.<br />

Galt’s royalism, and his ready acceptance of the historic fact of the Union with England, is paralleled from a quite<br />

distinct Irish angle in the work of Maria Edgeworth (1767-1849), a writer drawn by circumstance and experience to a<br />

depiction of the cultural divisions inherent in the land settled by her colonizing ancestors. Edgeworth had been born<br />

and educated in England and only returned to her father’s Irish estates in 1782, the year in which the Irish Parliament<br />

won the right to legislate separately from the British Parliament. With her family she had been forced to flee from the<br />

abortive French invasion of 1798, and despite her father’s initially spirited resistance to the Union with Great Britain,<br />

she, like him, acquiesced to its legal enforcement. Maria’s understanding of Ireland was based on a firm, if partisan,<br />

grasp of history, both that of her family and that of the nation. She also possessed a ready enough sympathy with the<br />

oppressed Catholic majority and a complementary, but, to some modern perceptions, contradictory and Spenserian<br />

conviction of the superiority of English manners (Spenser’s View of the Present State of Ireland is one of the works

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