Celia in Search of a Husband: By a Modern Antique

Caroline Franklin, Caroline Franklin

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2022
• ISBN:
  9781000589788
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Letteratura
• Subtopic: Critica letteraria moderna

This ground-breaking nineteenth-century volume is of considerable scholarly interest as an example of a femino-centric popular novel. Celia in Search of a Husband is a high-spirited and entertaining example of an anti-Jacobin novel, written at the height of the backlash against female intellectuals during the Napoleonic wars. Despite this hostile climate, the author sought to acknowledge the importance of female education and independence whilst at the same time endorsing the traditional Christian teaching that a wife should be subordinate to her husband. Although second wave feminists prioritized the progressive writers with whom they more readily identified, more recent scholarship has rightly paid close attention to conservative or moralist writers such as Miss Byron and recognized how influential they were. Accompanied by extensive editorial commentary, this edition of Celia in Search of a Husband contributes to this scholarship on the literary history of women's writing, and will be a welcome to those with a particularly interest in women's writing, satiric novels and spoofs, and Jane Austen.

CELIA
IN SEARCH OF A HUSBAND: BY A MODERN ANTIQUE.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003164203-1

“There wanted yet the master-work, the end

Of all yet done; a creature, who not prone

And brute as other creatures, but endued

With sanctity of reason, — —

— — — and from thence

Magnanimous, to correspond with Heaven,

But grateful to acknowledge whence his good

Descends.”¹

IN TWO VOLUMES.

THIRD EDITION.

VOL. I.

LONDON:

PRINTED AT THE

Minerva Press,

FOR A. K. NEWMAN AND CO.

(Successors to Lane, Newman, and Co.)

LEADENHALL-STREET.

1809.

PREFACE.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003164203-2

The title-page prefixed to this book bears a strong appearance of presumption; and the reader of these pages may, in the conclusion, pronounce the author both vain and futile. The only apology she has to offer may probably lead her yet deeper into error; yet she cannot resist saying something of herself, or rather of her motives.

Coelebs had appeared—it would be answered; but it must be answered directly—a long life, even blessed with superior talents, would scarcely produce a work, whose intrinsic worth could class it with that performance.

The reader very naturally asks, why answer it at all?—There are many reasons which induce persons to write. Doctor Johnson has said of this species of writing, “that it requires that experience which can never be attained by solitary diligence, but must arise from general converse, and accurate observation of the living world.”

I believe it possible to glean a little worldly knowledge, without mixing in its haunts; and were such advantages indispensible in a writer,

“How many would starve, who now are fed!”²

Extend your compassion towards this unfortunate class, courteous reader—consider, that what is “sport to you, is death to us.”³

It has, with much justice, been said, that “to tell the public you have written a book in a hurry; that you do not stop to correct,” &c. &c., are impertinences, and not apologies to your readers.

Yet in this case some allowances should be made—The garretteers had taken scent—goose-quills and crow-quills were immersed; but the pen that writes quickest will suit the town best; for expectation is excited, and though it should be disappointed, we all know that

“Anticipation loads the wings of time.”⁴

But I, and with humility I avow it, I anticipate those dart-like quills, dipped in gall—the Reviewers; yes, I feel they will—though I profess myself an antique, they will not spare me. But to the Public I would beg to say, that if I cannot edify by the elevation of my style, I trust I shall not dismay, by pourtraying characters not to be found in this transitory state. The business of life is not transacted in pompous language, nor the speeches of all lovers made in verse. The novel-writer is engaged in portraits, in which every one knows the original, and can detect any deviation from exactness of resemblance—other writings are safe, except from the malice of learning, but these are in danger from every reader.

If I have deviated from Nature, I need say nothing; I shall hear of that, and every other failing of my presumptuous pen—but if the Ladies, for whom I write, if they should give me a patient reading, not put me on the shelf from Sunday to Sunday, I shall be grateful, and in this hope beg to subscribe myself

Their obedient Servant,

A MODERN ANTIQUE.

CELIA.
CHAP. I.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003164203-3

“These are thy glorious works, Parent of good;

Almighty, thine this universal frame!”⁵

“Though each new hour illustrates the bounty of Providence, the spring season seems peculiarly to claim our regard, our gratitude,” said Mrs. Martha Mansfield to Celia Delacour, as they sauntered in the budding garden attached to the demesne of Hadley. “So lately the earth was bare, and now not a path is unadorned; gracious Nature decks

“Her universal face with smiling green.”⁶

Celia was alive to the beauties of Nature; there is but one reference for the creatures of this world, and who that ever sought it, sought in vain? Now, Celia worshipped the source—thus its streams were her delight.

They were yet discoursing on the unsating theme, when Jacob Brown, the butler of Mrs. Mansfield, announced “Sir Harry Townly;” and in the next moment, a fashionable-looking man advanced to receive the sincere congratulations of the ladies.

“You did not come alone?” said Mrs. Mansfield.

“Where is Fanny?” asked Celia.

“Fanny has been ill,” replied Sir Harry.

“And the children?” said Mrs. Mansfield.

“We have lost our boy,” said the Baronet, in a faltering voice; “but Rachel is blooming and healthy as ever.”

“Poor Fanny!” interjoined Celia.—“Are you sure, my dear Townly, that indisposition does not detain her from us now?”

“Quite sure, Celia; she is recovering; she has recovered her spirits wonderfully.”

“Thank God!” said Celia; “it must have been a sad trial.”

“A very sad one as a mother, no doubt, Celia,” said Mrs. Mansfield; “but as a Christian, I trust she is too wise to yield to immoderate grief.”

The Baronet was silent for a moment. Dismissing the “cast of thought” that had stolen over his features, avowing himself fatigued, and disposed to take refreshment, they retired to the house.

“I have a petition to prefer,” said Sir Harry to Mrs. Mansfield; “you will spare Celia to us for a few months—perhaps you will both go under my escort—Fanny is most anxious to see you.”

Mrs. Mansfield hesitated—“At such a time to refuse,” said she, “seems selfish. For myself, unless the health of my niece requires it, I should certainly wish to avoid visiting the metropolis—and, though I cannot withhold my consent, it is a fearful separation, Townly. Celia has never been absent from my sight one day—nay, I must ask of you certain terms for my novice in the ways of society.”

Sir Harry smiled; yet he acceded to the restrictions imposed.

“In all essential matters,” said Mrs. Mansfield, “I leave her to her own judgment; but in those particulars which custom imposes, I must guard her against yielding. Fanny, from education and disposition, was in a manner self-taught, ere she entered on the world in her present character. Let no example,” continued Mrs. Mansfield, addressing our heroine, “induce you to keep late hours; adopt no fashion that your delicacy condemns; add none of those superficial attractions, which the great world term accomplishments, to your present simple hoard of information; to be rational, is to be happy; the wants of the moderate are few—thus their gratitude is ever flowing, for they are awake to the never-slumbering eye of Providence. I know that no material change could be effected in my Celia; but there is a species of acquiescence, that is termed the ‘usage of society,’ from which if a young woman dissents, she must make up her feelings to bear the contumely of the worldly votary; yet you must do this, Celia—late hours will draw you from God; your bodily fatigue will incapacitate you for that humility, and entire devotion, which should accompany your orisons? and when you should return from these nocturnal revels, when the day is dawning on your sight, and you should, with your accustomed piety, look to the orient beam and ask

• “—————————if the night
• Have gathered ought of evil, or conceal’d,
• To
• Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.”⁷

Even though you do this, you have inverted the order of Nature; you will carry the system onwards; next day, ‘the fatal precedent will plead,’⁸ till habit eradicates what your youth, and hitherto blameless life, has so fondly promised.”

Celia wept unrestrainedly: yet they were not the tears of a woman who had fears as to her stability in these points. She might have humbled herself, and asked the illumination that is “promised the ignorant,” had she been told that her moral sense was imperfect, that her gratitude was inefficient. It was the strong conviction she owned, that the advice thus offered, the observances thus recommended, had often, with equal tenderness, been addressed to her sister; they had made no impression; and while our heroine, in few, but emphatic words, declared her intention ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half-Title
• Series
• Title
• Copyright
• Contents
• Series Preface
• Introduction
• CELIA IN SEARCH OF A HUSBAND Vol. I.
• CELIA IN SEARCH OF A HUSBAND Vol. II.
• Editorial Notes