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Art. 39. Joscelina: or, the Rewards of Benevolence. A Novel. By Isabella Kelly. 12mo. 2 Vols. 7s. sewed. Longman. 1797.
Dr Johnson somewhere remarks that, from a perusal of the Greek and Roman writers, we may derive many maxims of prudential wisdom, some of justice and fortitude, but very few of humanity. - This observation is certainly expressed in too general terms, and must be received with many limitations and exceptions: - but, even supposing it to be true in the fullest extent, it may well be questioned whether the defect is properly supplied by that effeminate softness dignified with the appellation of compassion and sensibility, which many modern novels inspire. - The performance before us, which is styled a novel, contains many of those wild and extravagant incidents that are peculiar to romance. The story is improbable, and affords little of that instruction which novels ought to convey to the young and inexperienced, for the regulation of their conduct in life. - The writer appears not to have given herself much concern about the preservation of the truth and consistency of her characters. Miss Balandine, who is supposed to be possessed of every female virtue, departs from the delicacy of her sex in assuming the garb and manners of a wild dissipated Irishman; and, if we examine the motive that impelled her to this strange freak, viz. to prevent a young man with whom she was in love, from marrying her rival, it will be difficult to reconcile her conduct to any principles of honor or justice. The character of Lord Trecastle we conceive to be out of nature: it is not perhaps uncommon for a father to be angry with a son for refusing to abandon an amiable young man to poverty and misery, and to be regardless of him and his descendants ever afterward, argues a degree of depravity not easily attainable even by the most profligate and corrupt; - and certainly very inconsistent with that family pride which, we are told, is a ruling passion in his Lordship. Mrs Mortimore's concealment of the real name of the person, to whom she was married privately, may surely be reckoned among the many unaccountable things with which this novel abounds. The jealousy of Errington without any cause, and the mysterious secrecy of the heroine Joscelina, which afterward involves her in so many difficulties, are highly improbable. The characters of Mrs and Miss Ponsonby are such as we too frequently find in the world, and on the whole are well supported. After the death of Major Ponsonby, who had always been a friend to Joscelina, that unfortunate young lady is reviled and caluminated [sic] by his widow and daughter, cheated of her fortune, and turned out of doors. - She soon experiences great distress, and determines, after a violent conflict in her breast between the pride of independence and want of the necessaries of life, to visit her friend Miss Balandine. The account of this interview we shall give in the words of the authoress.
She will not, thought Joscelina, spurn me unheard, nor reject me unpitied. I am lowly now, and will even serve her for the blessing of a bit of bread, wait upon her with humiliation for the privilege of a shelter. Oh Errington, my all! sweet soother of my happier days! are these the scenes you promised, the blessings you pre-[340]pared for Joscelina? No matter now; I shall not suffer long; my broken spirit looks far beyond mortality for peace, and when the melancholy grave becomes my mansion, some kindly one may justify my guiltless ways, and then you may both pity and regret poor Joscelina!
Though depressed and softened by these reflections, she yet persevered in her intention, and with slow trembling steps had reached the park, when a sudden faintness seizing her, she staggered to a tree, and had sunk to the earth but for the timely aid of a humane soldier, who not only supported her, but perceiving her pale and enfeebled, offered to attend her home. Feeling her indisposition encrease, she for the present laid aside her purpose, and as a coach was beyond the limits of her power, she was constrained through weakness to accept the soldier's offered arm.
She had proceeded in this condition but a few paces, when the elegant form of Miss Balandine, with health and happiness glowing in her countenance, approached, leaning on the arm of the ever favored Mr Cary.
The eye of Joscelina was sunk and melancholy, her face pale and dejected, and her elegant figure habited in the remains of second mourning, before declining through illness, now gradually sunk, just as her once partial and admiring friend reached her.
Her altered appearance could not conceal her from the eye of Miss Balandine; but the emaciated form, the mean dress, pallid looks, and above all, the support of so inferior a character, all combining with other circumstances, were sad confirmations of every fear and suspicion. To notice her was improper, to stop impossible; but to refuse her pity was yet more so to her generous feeling soul; only one step she past her, when Mr Cary turned round.
The arms of Joscelina were extended, her bosom heaved with convulsive throbs, and her spirit seemed bursting from its suffering abode. - 'Miss - Miss' - she gasped, - 'I - I' - but could no more.
'Lovely wreck! beautiful ruin!' exclaimed Mr Cary, the tears of manly compassion glistening in his eyes as he threw his purse at her feet. But a crowd was now gathering around, - Miss Balandine was pale and fainting, supporting herself against a tree, and as he pointed to the purse, saying, 'Soldier, be honest to that unhappy one,' hastened to the aid of the agonized Miss Balandine.
The soldier was under the necessity of mounting guard, but still a few minutes remained, and those he employed in attending her to a coach. When perceiving returning life had restored her to recollection, he presented the purse.
'Take it, hide it, young man, for ever,' cried she, bursting into tears, and clasping her hands; 'take it; it was the boon of pity to imagined guilt, and conscious honor scorns it. I can but die, - no more.' Swift as the lightning's flash, she then burst from the coach, and was out of sight in a moment.
It seems to us rather extraordinary that Joscelina, who was so weak that she could not walk without leaning on the soldier's arm, should on a sudden recover her strength, run 'swift as the lightning's [341] flash,' and be out of sight in a moment: but perhaps it is not more surprising than that the same young lady, whose delicacy would not allow her to accept of pecuniary assistance from a friend, should a few days afterward condescend to sing ballads at the door of St. James's coffee-house. - The distress of Mr Errington, on beholding the woman whom he loved in a situation so low and so degrading, must doubtless be very great: but it is to be wished that our novel writers were not so fond of depriving their heroes and heroines of their understanding, when placed in difficult and trying situations. We are almost tempted to think that they fancy there is something very amiable in madness.
The good-natured critic might be inclined to pass over many defects both in the contexture of the fable, and the consistency of the characters, provided the moral were such as he could approve: but what shall we say of the history of St. Isabell, who is guilty of adultery at the time when she receives a considerable remittance, with a most affectionate letter, from a husband who adored her, and yet is represented as a woman of superior understanding and virtue; while we are taught to regard the adulterer as almost a model of perfection? If this does not amount to an apology for a crime of all others the most destructive to the peace and happiness of society, it certainly has a tendency to extenuate the enormity of its guilt. St. Evremond's assassination of Lord Glanarvon is an act which no provocation could justify, and is in its nature so mean and base that no man could be guilty of it, unless he was destitute of every moral and religious principle: yet before this fatal secret is revealed, he appears to the reader clothed with all the dignity of virtue, venerable from his age, and saint-like from his piety. The sad catastrophe of Lord Trecastle, who kills his son by mistake, is one of those events which inspire horror without answering any purpose, except that of enriching the heroine, who wanted no addition of fortune.
The language of the work, though impassioned, and sometimes rising above the style of ordinary novels, is incorrect. We do not remember that we ever before met with the word enfrenzied, which is a favourite with the authoress; and we also find unremembered, unsuffering, and almost as many uns as Martinus Scriblerus used in his dispute with Crambo. Mrs (or Miss) Kelly delights much in description, but her imagination sometimes hurries her beyond the bounds of propriety.
[complete] Provided by Julie A. Shaffer, September 1999.
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