Evelina: “absolutely overpowered and stopped by the violence of their mirth”

Good day, folks. I just returned from Switzerland 2 days ago (work trip). 

1/ One good thing about my habit of blogging whilst still reading the book is that I might change my mind and there are thus disagreements and conversations on the blog, even when I’m not getting any comments (I’m looking at all five of you, readers). 

In the previous blog post, I wrote: 

“The prank that Captain Mirvan later plays on Madame Duval especially feels like something in the vein of Joseph Andrews, which traces back to Don Quixote—you obviously don’t get that in Jane Austen but I don’t think you find it in Victorian novels either.”

There’s a slight difference: I don’t think you’re meant to take seriously the violence in Don Quixote and Joseph Andrews, any more than the falls and beatings and explosions in cartoons or Home Alone, but Evelina’s reactions to the prank and Frances Burney’s handling of its aftermath make me think that, even though there is a comical side to it, the violence is real and there is nothing light-hearted about Captain Mirvan’s cruel and despotic nature. 

In a way, what Frances Burney does with Madame Duval is similar to what Shakespeare does with Malvolio and Jane Austen does with Miss Bates: depicting a character as ridiculous than humanising them through humiliation and pain, making us feel complicit and thus ashamed for having forgotten that these ridiculous people also have feelings. 

“M. Du Bois listened to her with a look of the utmost horror, repeatedly lifting up his eyes and hands, and exclaiming, “O ciel! quel barbare!” The young ladies gave her the most earnest attention; but their brother, and the young man, kept a broad grin upon their faces during the whole recital. She was, however, too much engaged to observe them; but, when she mentioned having been tied in a ditch, young Branghton, no longer able to contain himself, burst into a loud laugh, declaring that he had never heard anything so funny in his life! His laugh was heartily re-echoed by his friend; the Miss Branghtons could not resist the example; and poor Madame Duval, to her extreme amazement, was absolutely overpowered and stopped by the violence of their mirth.” (Vol.2, Letter 9) 

Who laughs at Madame Duval’s humiliation? Not Evelina. Not M. Du Bois, whom Evelina describes as “civil and respectful”. But the Branghtons and Mr Smith, people that Evelina sees as rude, ill-bred, and callous.  

One thing I’d like to note, however, is that the humiliation of Malvolio darkens the rest of Twelfth Night and the insult towards Miss Bates makes her appear in a different light for the rest of Emma—I don’t think the same could be said about Madame Duval—not long afterwards, she returns to being an unaware, ridiculous figure. 

2/ Evelina has the 18th century trope of beautiful young women getting chased by, and having to ward off, undesirable men. Compared to Fielding’s Fanny Goodwill, Evelina has a much more vivid existence. Compared to Richardson’s Pamela, she is much more likeable. But the plot sometimes feels rather ludicrous. Wherever she goes, men fall for her. Whenever she appears, she gets all the attention. Poor Maria Mirvan—nobody seems to notice her. Look at Pride and Prejudice: Elizabeth gets two proposals (or three, you may correct me, but two are from Mr Darcy), but her sisters Jane and Lydia also get male attention. Look at War and Peace: Natasha is charming and often the focus of attention, but her friend Sonya also gets some male interest. That’s more realistic. Evelina eclipses everyone else, chased by one man after another who can’t take no for an answer. It is repetitive and, if Frances Burney were not such a funny writer, would be quite tiresome. 

There is a shift when several men “passed [Evelina] without notice, and surrounded the chair of Lady Louisa Larpent”—as “a nobody”, Evelina is neglected by everyone else—“I knew not, till now, how requisite are birth and fortune to the attainment of respect and civility.” But when the men are drunk and forget their own snobbery and hypocrisy—Lord Merton especially—they again chase Evelina, thus insulting Lady Louisa. 

If we compare Jane Austen and her predecessor Frances Burney, both are witty; both are brilliant at portraying vulgarity and lack of self-awareness; Frances Burney depicts a larger world, a more exciting and eventful and dangerous world, full of mysteries and secrets; Jane Austen focuses on a narrower world and writes about more prosaic things, but she eschews and makes fun of all the exaggerations and clichés of Romances and sentimental novels and aims for greater realism. For instance, there’s a scene where Evelina saves a man on the brink of suicide—it’s the kind of “exciting” things you don’t get in Jane Austen. But then you read on and learn about the story of Mr Macartney, the desperate man, and realise that it’s the kind of idealised, exaggerated, Romance-like stories that would fit right in Don Quixote—Evelina is a sentimental novel—Jane Austen marks a clear change. 

Come to think of it, there’s something extraordinary about the way Jane Austen focuses on “mundane” things and deliberately avoids all the “fun” things: in Mansfield Park, for instance, she refuses to go with the elopers—she stays with Fanny Price in Portsmouth—and indeed, that is where the truly interesting thing is. 

3/ It seems that Evelina gives Jane Austen the premise for Pride and Prejudice: what if a rich man is attracted to a poor woman but their obstacle isn’t the wealth difference, but the woman’s embarrassing relatives? 

(In case anyone wants to “well, actually” me: Evelina has obscure birth and Lord Orville doesn’t know her actual circumstances until he has professed his feelings). 

Frances Burney gives Jane Austen the idea, but Austen goes much further—she creates conflict, pride, prejudice, Caroline Bingley’s manipulation, Mr Wickham’s deception, Mr Darcy’s internal struggle, the foolishness of Mrs Bennet and the neglect of Mr Bennet and their consequences, Elizabeth’s self-reflection. There is more incident in Evelina, but more actual conflict in Pride and Prejudice. 

More importantly, in Jane Austen’s novels, things are not always what they seem. In Evelina, Volume 3 is particularly engrossing because of the mystery, deception, and misunderstanding relating to Evelina and her father, so things are always not what they seem, but that whole plot is the stuff of Romances and sentimental novels (even Joseph Andrews has that plot). In Jane Austen’s novels, the difference between appearance and reality is because of deception, manipulation, duplicity of character, or misperception, misunderstanding, prejudice—there is depth and complexity and character development. 

Those with a more pessimistic (or realistic) view of life would say that both Evelina and Pride and Prejudice are a woman’s fantasy—where would you meet Lord Orville? Or Mr Darcy? But in Pride and Prejudice, you can see why Mr Darcy is attracted to Elizabeth—she is one of the most charming, beloved female characters in literature. In Evelina, it’s harder to see why Lord Orville is so drawn to Evelina beyond her looks—as a letter writer, she is very funny, very entertaining—but whenever she encounters Lord Orville, as she describes it herself, she comes across as rather naïve, awkward, tongue-tied, often stammering, and not particularly interesting—it takes time to get to know her, as he says, but why is he so drawn to her in the first place? 

4/ Evelina is an enjoyable read. Is it as great as Jane Austen? Of course not. But it’s captivating, full of wit and humour, full of lively characters, and full of twists and turns, especially in Volume 3. 

Mrs Selwyn for instance is a brilliant character. 

“Soon after, Mrs. Selwyn came up stairs with Lord Merton. The former, advancing hastily to me, said, “Miss Anville, have you an almanack?”

[…] “Egad,” cried Mr. Coverley, “I never bought one in my life; it would make me quite melancholy to have such a time-keeper in my pocket. I would as soon walk all day before an hour-glass.”

“You are in the right,” said Mrs. Selwyn, “not to watch time, lest you should be betrayed, unawares, into reflecting how you employ it.”

[…] I know not if he understood the full severity of her satire, but he only turned off with a laugh: and she then applied to Mr. Lovel, and asked if he had an almanack?

Mr. Lovel, who always looks alarmed when she addresses him, with some hesitation answered, “I assure you, Ma’am, I have no manner of antipathy to an almanack,-none in the least,-I assure you;-I dare say I have four or five.”

“Four or five!-pray, may I ask what use you make of so many?”

“Use!-really, Ma’am, as to that,-I don’t make any particular use of them; but one must have them, to tell one the day of the month:-I’m sure, else I should never keep it in my head.”

“And does your time pass so smoothly unmarked, that, without an almanack, you could not distinguish one day from another?”” (Volume 3, Letter 16)

How delightful. 

And the monkey scene? I did not expect the monkey scene.