While the two lovers are thus engaged in a pleasant but indecisive daily round of amusement, Bellpine, a false friend, tries to turn Jemmy's affection to the fair musician, Miss Chit, in order to win Jenny for himself, but failing in that, circulates rumors of Jemmy's attachment to Miss Chit in hopes of alienating the lovers' regard. Emboldened by these reports of Jemmy's change of heart, Sir Robert Manley pays his court to Jenny on her way to Bath with her friends Miss Wingman and Lady Speck, but she gently repulses him and will believe nothing to Jemmy's disadvantage. She is saved from the rudeness of Celandine by the intrusion of the gallant's jealous mistress, who faints when foiled in her attempt to stab Jenny, but later relates the story of her ruin. This narrative is enough to disgust Lady Speck with her foppish admirer and to make her sensible of the merits of Mr. Lovegrove. In spite of Bellpine's industrious slander and in spite of seemingly incontrovertible proof of Jemmy's inconstancy, Jenny's faith in her lover remains unshaken. After tedious delays he finally rejoins her in London, but learning the full extent of Bellpine's treachery, he wounds him seriously in a duel and is obliged to seek safety in France. After causing the lovers untold anxiety, the injured man recovers, and Jenny forestalls her lover's return by joining her friends on their wedding journey to Paris. There she finds her adored Jessamy now fully sensible of the merits of his treasure. He does not fail to press for a speedy termination to their delays, and Jenny is not unwilling to crown his love by a "happy catastrophe."
Besides being unwarrantably expanded by a wealth of tedious detail, the novel has little merit as a piece of realism. The society of Lord Humphreys and Lady Specks was not that in which Eliza Haywood commonly moved, but she had lived upon the skirts of gay life long enough to imitate its appearances. Although she exhibits the diamond tassels sparkling in St. James's sun or the musk and amber that perfume the Mall, she never penetrates beyond externalities. The sentiments of her characters are as inflated as those of a Grandison and her picture of refined society as ridiculously stilted as Richardson's own. The scene whether in London, Bath, Oxford, or Paris, is described with more attention to specific detail than appeared in her early romances, but compared with the setting of "Humphrey Clinker" her glittering world appears pale and unreal. Mrs. Haywood had so framed her style to suit the short, rapid tale of passion that she never moved easily in the unwieldy novel form. Consequently her best narrative is to be found in the digressions, a chapter or two long, which are equivalent to little histories upon the old model. In them the progress of the action is unimpeded, compressed, and at times even sprightly.
Recognizing, perhaps, her inability to cope with a plot of any extent, Mrs. Haywood adopted in her next novel a plan that permitted her to include a pot-pourri of short narratives, conversations, letters, reflections, and miscellaneous material without damaging the comprehensive scheme of her story. Except that it lacks the consistent purpose of traducing the fair fame of her contemporaries,[18] "The Invisible Spy" (1755), written under the pseudonym of "Exploralibus," is not essentially different in structure from the "Memoirs of a Certain Island." Love is still the theme of most of the anecdotes, no longer the gross passion that proves every woman at heart a rake, but rather a romantic tenderness that inclines lovely woman to stoop to folly. From the world of Lady Mellasin, Harriot Loveit, Mr. Trueworth, Lord Huntley, Miss Wingman, and other Georgian fashionables that filled the pages of "Betsy Thoughtless" and "Jemmy and Jenny Jessamy" we are transported again to the pale company of Celadon, Alinda, Placentia, Adario, Melanthe. A framework analogous to that in Le Sage's "Le Diable Boiteux" takes the place of a plot. With a belt of invisibility and a recording tablet, Exploralibus is able to collect whatever is affecting, ludicrous, vicious, or otherwise noteworthy in the conversation, actions, and manners of society. But the shadowy nature of the observer fails to give to the necessarily disconnected incidents even the slight unity possible in the adventures of a lap-dog, a cat, a mouse, a flea, or a guinea. The contents of a single section of "The Invisible Spy" is enough to show how little thought the author expended upon the sequence of the narrative.
Book VI. Disguised as her husband, a villain carries off the young Matilda from a masquerade and ruins her. Alexis sends her away to the country and endeavors to forget her in the pleasures of the town. The contents of a lady's pocket:—a catalogue of imaginary books attributed to the initials of well known persons of quality; two letters, the first from Philetes to excuse his attendance, and the other from Damon making an appointment on the spot where the pocket was found. The foppish Miss Loiter is contrasted with the well trained children of Amadea. Narcissa, endeavoring to avoid marriage with the detested Oakly, is entrapped by the brother of her waiting-maid, who though only a common soldier, poses as Captain Pike.
Though the novel exhibits some pictures of life which at the time were considered natural,[19] and some bits of satire rather extravagant than striking, its appearance was a tacit admission of the failing of the author's powers. Much experience of human nature Mrs. Haywood had undoubtedly salvaged from her sixty years of buffeting about in the world, but so rapid and complete had been the development of prose fiction during her literary life that she was unable quite to comprehend the magnitude of the change. Her early training in romance writing had left too indelible a stamp upon her mind. She was never able to apprehend the full possibilities of the newer fiction, and her success as a novelist was only an evidence of her ability to create the image of a literary form without mastering its technique. So at the maturity of her powers she lacked a vessel worthy of holding the stores of her experience, and first and last she never exceeded the permutations of sensationalism possible in the short amatory romance.
Long after Mrs. Haywood's death in 1756 came out the last novel presumably of her composing. "The History of Leonora Meadowson," published in two volumes in 1788, is but a recombination of materials already familiar to the reading public. Leonora rashly yields to the wishes of her first lover, weds another, and makes yet a second experiment in matrimony before she finds her true mate in the faithful Fleetwood, whom she had thought inconstant. Thus she is a near relation of the thoughtless Betsy, and possibly a descendant of the much married heroine of "Cleomelia." Another of Mrs. Haywood's earlier fictions, "The Agreeable Caledonian," had previously been used as the basis of a revision entitled "Clementina" (1768). The reviewer of "Leonora" in the "Critical," though aware of the novel's shortcomings, still laments the passing of "the author of Betsy Thoughtless, our first guide in these delusive walks of fiction and fancy."[20]
"The spirit which dictated Betsy Thoughtless is evaporated; the fire of the author scarcely sparkles. Even two meagre volumes could not be filled, without a little History of Melinda Fairfax;—without the Tale of Cornaro and the Turk,—a tale told twice, in verse and prose,—a tale already often published, and as often read. Alas, poor author! we catch with regret thy parting breath."
FOOTNOTES [1] A rival translation called The Fortunate Countrymaid had already been published in 1740-1, and may be read in the seventh tome of The Novelist's Magazine (Harrison). Clara Reeve speaks of both translations as "well known to the readers of Circulating Libraries." Progress of Romance (1785), I, 130.
[2]
Austin Dobson, Eighteenth Century Vignettes, First Series, 44.
"Captain Coram's Charity."
[3] In one other respect Natura belongs to the new rather than to the old school: he takes genuine delight in the wilder beauties of the landscape. "Whether you climb the craggy mountains or traverse the flowery vale; whether thick woods set limits to the sight, or the wide common yields unbounded prospect; whether the ocean rolls in solemn state before you, or gentle streams run purling by your side, nature in all her different shapes delights…. The stupendous mountains of the Alps, after the plains and soft embowered recesses of Avignon, gave perhaps a no less grateful sensation to the mind of Natura." Such extraordinary appreciation in an age that regarded mountains as frightful excrescences upon the face of nature, makes the connoisseur of the passions a pioneer of the coming age rather than a survival of the last.