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Review of Fortitude and Frality
    (Review / Fortitude and Frailty: a Novel, by Frances Holcroft)
  Critical Review / JAS, 1817
 
Critical Review s5 5 (1817): 371-9 Art V. Fortitude and Frailty, a Novel: in Four Volumes. Inscribed to the Memory of her lamented Father, by Fanny Holcroft. 12mo. London, Simpkin and Marshall, Stationers' Court, 1817. In one respect Miss Holcroft may consider it a misfortune to have had a father of such eminence in the department of literature to which the work on our table belongs, because it occasions an unfair and disadvantageous comparison. In the law it has almost grown into a proverb, that the son of a judge will never be heard by a jury; for let that son possess as great, or even greater abilities, than his father, he never has justice done him; opinion runs against him; he treads in the steps of his parent, but he is able to follow him but for a short distance: contrasted with this precursor, in the judgement of those whom it is most important for him to please, he appears to possess neither talent nor learning. By some this has been treated as a fatality; and it afflicts authors at least in an equal degree, more especially if the same species of composition be unluckily chosen. On this account, and some others to which it is not necessary now to refer, we think that strict justice has not hitherto been done to Miss Holcroft as a novel-writer; and the present is a fair opportunity for saying so, because the production before us will best bear us out in the opinion. There is no department of literature in which there are so many degrees of good and bad as in works of fancy of this kind: it may be true of poetry (and the high authority for the maxim has perhaps led to its too absolute establishment) that there is nothing good but the best; but it will by no means apply to novels, about which there may be many disputes which are the best; but it will by no means apply to novels, about which there may be many disputes which are the best - some prefer those in which character yields to incident, and others where incident gives place to character - some admire those in which instruction is conveyed by wit and satire, and others, those where grave precept and moral axiom give additional weight to every rounded period; not a few may be found who reject all these, and pronounce a novel excellent that has neither incident, character, satire, nor instruction. There are, in truth, no standards of excellence by which new novels can be measured: a judgement often is regulated by caprice, according to the good or ill humour in which the reader takes up the book; and not unfrequently it is governed by some pre-conceived notions regarding the writer. So it is, we admit, sometimes with poems, but in [371] a much less degree, for they are estimated by certain fixed rules; and though hasty opinions may now and then be formed, they are sure to be corrected in time. Besides, a novel-writer addresses the living public, and must accommodate himself to wavering tastes and idle notions. We should be cautious therefore in condemning, not only on account of the fallibility of the judge, but on account of the many difficulties attending the undertaking. In one respect, the novel under review deserves peculiar praise; we mean for the manner in which the two principal male personages are contrasted. It not unfrequently happens that the hero of a novel - the man who is held up to admiration and imitation - is precisely such a character as in the work before us, represented as an object worthy of contempt and ridicule; and this is effected by contrasting a flimsy, flashy, insinuating barrister, with an individual of solid attainments and sterling virtues. As the incidents are not extremely complicated, we will give the outline for the story, and the reader will perceive the correctness of our observation. Leoline Hargrave is a barrister of good attainments, considerable talents, engaging manners, and no small portion of worldly wisdom: he is acquainted with the family of Mr. Fairfax, a banker, whose niece Eleonor is the heroine of the novel; she is young, beautiful, and unsuspicious, imagining that all the rest of the world is as good as herself. In the same house with Eleonor resides Archibald Campbell, a young Scotchman, who is the ward of Mr. Fairfax; his parents having died in his infancy: the character of Archibald is grave without severity, and learned without pedantry; open-hearted and generous, though devoid of the shining qualities of Leoline Hargrave. Both are in love with Eleonor Fairfax; Hargrave circuitously making his way, with the assistance of a cunning manoevering sister, Mrs. Grafton, while Campbell, diffident of his deserts, allows his rival gradually to supersede him in the affections of the young lady. Hargrave has no property, but, as Mr. Fairfax perceives that the happiness of his niece is at stake, he does not oppose the union, naming a distant day, that either of the parties might have room for repentance. Hargrave, by passionate entreaties, procures the period of probation to be shortened; but before the arrival of the appointed time, he becomes acquainted with Lady Clarissa Follington, daughter of an earl, and ci-devant friend to Eleonor; he likewise unexpectedly comes into the [373] possession of the title and fortune of a rich baronet, his uncle. The ambitious views of Sir Leoline Hargrave are now changed: he discards Eleonor, and marries Lady Clarissa. In the mean time, Campbell had gone abroad, and had formed an intimate friendship with an intelligent and amiable young merchant, named Alexander Lemaire. After the lapse of a sufficient time for the partial recovery of Eleonor from the shock of rejection by Sir Leoline Hargrave, Campbell, who possesses a large estate, makes her an offer, but is rejected: he then proceeds to Germany, where he is made acquainted with Baron Ehrenheim and his beautiful and interesting daughter Sophia: Campbell has the good fortune to save the life of both of them, and he finally marries Sophia. Hargrave and his lady, soon after their union, disagree violently, and she elopes with an old friend of Hargrave of the name of Dashington, who is afterwards shot by the enraged husband: Lady Clarissa soon dies. Sir Leoline goes to Germany, and by intrigue obtains a high appointment in the court of one of the Electors: here he exerts all his influence to injure Campbell, but without avail; and he is finally detected in a treasonable correspondence, and thrown into a dungeon, from whence he is released by the entreaty of the generous Campbell, who also pays his debts, without exciting either gratitude or compunction. Leoline returns to England, launches again into all the follies and vices of fashion, and in the end is shot in a duel, after an intrigue. Campbell also revisits his native country, accompanied by his relatives and friends; and Eleonor, towards the conclusion, is united to Alexander Lemaire, who had previously arrived in London with letters from Campbell to Mr. Fairfax. Thus Fortitude is made to triumph over Frailty. Several characters, besides those we have enumerated, are incidentally made to contribute to the interest and entertainment of the novel: among these is a singular personage named Donald McDonald, an uncle to Campbell, who, after having been educated at the University, retires into solitude in a remote part of Scotland, disgusted at the moral and physical depravity of man in a civilized state, and ultimately resolving to proceed to North America, to spend the remnant of his life among the amiable savages. This person is a little caricatured, but it is not ill supported, and the inconsistency of such beings is well illustrated by a long work written by Mr McDonald to establish his theory, notwithstanding his conviction that letters and authorship [374] have been the ruin of the species. Mrs. Altamont, a proud but amiable woman, the Rev. Mr. Malden, an eccentric clergyman, and others, also aid in the development of the narrative. Although the story upon the whole is interesting, we must confess that one or two of the incidents are a little common, and have been in the daily use of novel writers from the days of Madame Scudery: there is rather too much duelling and saving of lives by land and water. We noticed in the outset the comparison that would be made between Miss Holcroft and her father; she has herself contributed to this inconvenience in more ways than one; for she has inscribed her volumes to the memory of Mr. Holcroft, and in the two first volumes she has afforded several striking imitations of his manner of writing: resemblances are to be found throughout, but towards the end they are not so numerous or remarkable. In the first volume, particularly, in the way in which the fable is opened, we find a sort of boldness of manner; a fearlessness in running from one part of the story to another, and a confidence in the relation of trifling particulars that cannot fail to remind the reader of the stile [sic] of Hugh Trevor. These minute anecdotes are often well related, and the reader is surprized when he comes to the end of the first volume to find that the only incident in it advancing the plot is the removal of the families of Fairfax and Grafton to Baker-street. To have continued in this manner would, however, have spun out the work to forty instead of four volumes. It is not every writer that can be allowed, like Sterne, to occupy twenty or thirty pages in relating what passed between the stepping of Mr. Shandy from one stair to another. It is now our business to furnish a few extracts from different parts of this production, that, having detailed the chief incidents of the story, a judgement may be formed of the ability with which it is related: a few words will make each quotation intelligible. Eleonor has formed an enthusiastic but injudicious friendship with Lady Clarissa Follington. Mrs Altamont, the aunt of the latter, has writted a proud but well-meaning letter to the former, upon the subject which is under discussion in the following scene between Mrs. Grafton (the artful sister of Leoline Hargrave), Eleonor, and Archibald Campbel [sic].
'Mrs Altamont,' replied Campbel, 'I plainly perceive, is no favourite with you, ladies. I have reason, perhaps, to fear you will think me bigot to my opinions, if not rude, for so openly declaring [375] them but, whenever moral character is canvassed, I have been taught to consider it as a serious duty never to be silent, if my thoughts are favourable. I own, the letter of Mrs. Altamont has impressed me with a strong conviction that she is a lady of great discernment, who is acted upon by intentions no less pure than they are firm.' 'Mrs Grafton, with a gracious smile, answered, 'We must not hope to make a convert of you, Mr. Campbel; but, pray be kind and just enough to us to remember we have neither of us said one word against Mrs Altamont: we have only supposed that she does not see correctly, while she supposes she is giving a true portrait of her niece.' 'That certainly is all that either of us can mean,' added Eleonor. 'Campbel rose, and, with a countenance as serious as countenance could be, that wore the smile of kindness upon it, addressing himself to Eleonor, said, 'My dear Miss Fairfax, it is seldom indeed that I am so unfortunate as to differ in opinion with you; but, pardon my frankness, there is one question on which, though the difference at first appears to be slight, follow it far enough, and it becomes essential. Instead of blaming the enthusiasm of friendship I am persuaded it is a virtue that is always found to be the strongest in the purest hearts; but friendship is not a hot-house plant like forest oak, it is solid, but slow of growth, and, when it is mature, majestic. The facility which induces us to believe that all, who make great professions, mean every thing they profess, denoted an innocent and benevolent mind, but often leads to fatal mistakes; it springs from an excess of virtue, but is as pernicious in its effects as though it were the very reverse'. The voice and the manner of Campbel, while he delivered the admonition that meant so much, were as emphatical as the kindness which dictated his words would admit, and, having ended, he respectfully bowed and withdrew. Mrs Grafton was peculiarly careful not to lose that favorable opportunity for forwarding her own designs which the scene afford; she was a great actress, therefore in perfect possession of heart. 'Mr. Campbel,' said she, 'quite surprises one ! he is so clear sighted ! so remarkably sincere ! and his heart is so good!' 'There cannot be a better,' answered Eleonor. 'Oh, impossible! He is thought so by the most discerning and bemeaning people. I know no young gentleman who can be at all compared to him - except one - and very likely I am partial; Leoline. I suppose it is sisterly affection. To be sure, he has one tring [sic] fault, that sometimes makes him appear, to those who don't know him, very different indeed from what he really is; he never stops to recollect himself before he speaks, especially if there be anything whimsical in the thought' ' (p.143-146, vol. i.) [376]
In the opening of the second volume, Hargrave has nearly succeeded in driving the modest Campbel from the field, and even in prejudicing Eleonor against him. We have seldom read in any modern novel an interview much better managed that the following, in which the designing barrister declares what he calls his love, though his purpose is only to make himself master of the large fortune of Eleonor Fairfax.
'When they were gone, as music gave some relief to the oppression of her heart, she took her harp, and accompanied herself to a little ballad, the words of which were applicable to her feelings: tears involuntarily started in her eyes, and her voice was almost choked with emotion. As she was making the finishing close with exquisite expression, the drawing-room door suddenly opened, and Mr. Hargrave was announced. She had not heard the knock, because the family occupied the back rooms in common. Trembling and confused, Eleonor hastily rose, put aside the harp, and for a few seconds had not the power to speak. Making violent effort, however, she recovered, and begged him to be seated. When the first compliments were over, and he had delivered a message from Mrs. Grafton, which served as pretext for his visit, the latter, though scarcely able to suppress the gratification his vanity received at the palpable confusion of Eleonor, assumed a mournful air, and said - 'I fear I intrude, Miss Fairfax! but I cannot be at peace till I learn in what I have been so unfortunate as to incur your displeasure?' 'My displeasure, Sir!' exclaimed Eleonor, with unfeigned surprise. 'Surely, I - you cannot think I am offended!' 'I have too much reason to fear I have given you offence;' answered the elated Hargrave, affecting to speak still more mournfully. 'Indeed, Sir you are mistaken,' said Eleonor, blushing deeply, and in a tone of voice which she vainly flattered herself expressed indifference. 'I hope I am not capricious, or rude, to the friends of my uncle.' 'Your uncle!' exclaimed our hero, in the tone of tender reproach; 'Oh! Miss Fairfax, am I totally unworthy of your esteem?' 'Poor Eleonor, almost sinking, muttered a few words that were equally unintelligible to herself and Hargrave. The latter, approaching her with well-acted timidity, said, in a tremulous voice - 'I would die to obtain a gift so precious! Can a young lady, who is all sweetness, hate the man who adores her? Oh, lovely Eleonor, do not make me wretched by your disdain! Do not reject a heart that is devoted to you!' [377] 'Sir - Mr Hargrave - I beg - I insist - pray leave me! This is ungenerous! If my uncle -' 'Eleonor could not proceed. 'Do not distress yourself, sweet Eleonor,' continued the artful Hargrave, with well-acted respect, 'or imagine I should presume to solicit your favour till I received the sanction of that respectable uncle. He has generously permitted me to throw myself on your mercy! On you my happiness or misery depends. Can you doom me to wretchedness?' 'The eyes of Hargrave, to which he could impart the most hypocritcally tender expression, were even more eloquent than his lips. How could an artless inexperienced girl imagine that such looks may be assumed alike by the impassioned and sincere lover, or the male coquet, who makes love a studied science. The sweetest tears she had ever shed bedewed Eleonor's blushing cheek. Timidity sealed her lips, but she stretched out her hand to her Leoline, who, being well read in romance, dropped on one knee, and pressed it with respectful fervor [sic] to his heart.' (p. 100-103, vol. ii.)
One of the best parts of this work is that in which the author refers to the petty tyranny exerted over, and the ill-humour displayed to Eleonor after Hargrave has so ensnared her affections, that she could not escape from his cruelty. Several chapters are entertainingly and usefully occupied with this topic, and it serves admirably to set in its true light the character of Leoline. We are sorry that our limits will not allow us to make an extract of the length necessary to enable the reader to decide on the justice of our remark. This is in the third volume which in our opinion, is the best of the four. Leoline, now Sir Leoline, having abandoned Eleonor, is married to Lady Clarissa, and a false report being spread that the banking-house of Mr Fairfax had stopped payment, she arrives under pretence of consoling Eleonor, but in truth of insulting and exulting over her. The subsequent is a portion of the dialogue between the amiable heroine and Lady Hargrave.
'Good heavens ! can it be Lady Hargrave I see?' exclaimed Miss Fairfax, utterly thrown off her guard by the appearance of so unexpected a visitor. 'Yes, my dear,' said her ladyship, in tone insolently familiar; seating herself, without ceremony, by the side of Eleanor: 'you seem surprised to see me, child?' 'I am, indeed, madam,' replied Eleonor, with calm dignity; 'nor can I account for the honour of this visit.' 'You must be sensible, my dear,' continued her ladyship, in the same tone, 'that I have always distinguished you - nay, not [378]withstanding your altered situation, I always shall - that is, if you lay aside those romantic flights, which were always ridiculous; and which, in your present circumstances, would be downright insupportable.' 'I really do not understand you, madam,' said Eleonor, with undisguised astonishment. 'I own, it is very convenient only to understand what we like to hear child; but I can make every allowance for your situation. I suppose you will not long remain here: this is a handsome harp, and a patent one, I see. I dare say you will be loth to part with it, but you cannot want it now, and, at a word, I will give you twenty guineas, for I intend to take lessons of the famous professor, who is come over. Sir Leoline is fond of music; and he is foolish enough to prefer my voice to Mara's. By the way, you play prettily enough yourself, and I could very well begin with you: these fashionable masters are so unconscionably dear, that they ruin one. Not that my dear Leoline would mind any expense to give me pleasure; but I have so many calls upon my purse, that really I am forced to economize.' 'Lady Hargrave,' replied Eleonor with increased surprise, aware that she was the object of intentional insult, but at a loss to divine what strange misunderstanding could give rise to conduct so gross and insulting, 'I must beg you will explain yourself; and that you will inform me to what motive or mistake I am to attribute the renewal of an intercourse which could never again have been sought by me.' 'Nor by me either, I assure you, Miss Fairfax,' haughtily retorted Lady Hargrave: 'I am not so destitute of amusement as to seek it at the expense of suffering the familiar intercourse of my inferiors. You cannot be less willing to renew the acquaintance than I am; but I came to oblige a husband who adores me; and who cannot help feeling pity even for those he has reason to dislike.' ' (p. 89-92, vol. iv.)
Miss Holcroft is not destitute of humour, and we have already mentioned one or two characters introduced for the display of it. We omitted among them the name of Sir Cecil Conway, an amateur play-wright of singular manners and dress. We should not be surprised if this portrait were sketched from the life, and intended for an individual, who among play-writers holds the same rank as a certain other amateur among play-actors. Sir C. Conway has however a little too much of the Mr. Puff in his composition, and possesses, perhaps, too much wit to render the resemblance complete: if a portrait were designed it is, at all events, a flattering likeness. Although we are not able to devote more space to the work before us, we think we have said enough to shew [sic] [379] that if the talents of Miss Holcroft will not place her on a level with Miss Edgeworth, or the Miss Porters, she is superior to many other writers of the day in the same kind who enjoy a greater share of popularity. [complete] Provided by Julie A. Shaffer, University of Wisconsin