INTRODUCTION:
Charlotte Lucum as Geographic, Intellectual, and Literary Rambler
by Stephanie Harper and Danielle Spratt
*****SITE UNDER CONSTRUCTION****
The origins of Charlotte Lucum’s ramblings
As the title page to Sarah Fielding’s The History of the Countess of Dellwyn (1759) suggests, Fielding’s most popular novel was then—and currently remains—the 1744 sentimental novel, The Adventures of David Simple. Yet in her penultimate published novel, we see elements of experimentation—experiments in character, psychic interiority, and narrative—that suggest it is worthy of study and recognition in its own right. Indeed, even the competing plots of the novel indicates Fielding’s interest in experimentation: she subordinates the sentimental story of the typical heroine, Mrs. Bilson, a devout, hard-working, and supremely ethical wife and mother, to that of Charlotte Lucum, later The Countess of Dellwyn. The daughter of an exiled politician whose only interest is using his daughter to barter political power for himself, Charlotte experiences a persistent, if gradual, downward spiral from the start of the novel: her first fall comes early, when her lust for material objects (a pair diamond earrings and a diamond necklace) combines with her unbridled jealousy for her friend, the aptly named Fanny Fashion (later Fanny Chlegen), to coerce her into marrying a feeble and elderly rake, Lord Dellwyn. From there, Charlotte soon grows tired of her marriage, and ultimately commits adultery, only to be divorced publicly and exiled to France.
Although the novel ends with the displaced and dispossessed Charlotte wandering aimlessly among gambling tables back in England and offers an image of generations of ethical Bilsons populating the earth, one of the most extraordinary things about the novel is how Fielding grants Charlotte some semblance of intellectual and perhaps even moral growth, without fully punishing her (with either death or poverty) for her transgressions. As Susan Carlile has observed, one consistent trait among Fielding’s heroines is that they are “quick-witted, independent, aware, and impressively analytical” (REF). Charlotte is no different, being an avid reader; yet as Kate Rumbold argues, Charlotte often demonstrates her ability to misread and misinterpret, as demonstrated in the myriad instances when Charlotte invokes tragic Shakespearean heroines in an effort to compare her experiences to their plights. For Rumbold, Charlotte’s misreading is an opportunity for Fielding the author to establish a strong connection between herself and her audience, who can read with a satirical eye Charlotte’s erroneous comparisons.
Charlotte’s central problem, especially in the second half of the novel, is another form of misreading: her inability to reflect on her actions and, indeed, to understand her own mind. In this way, Charlotte might function as a predecessor to Jane Austen’s Elizabeth Bennet, whose famous exclamation that “until this moment, I never knew myself” suggests both the emotional pain and the uncontrollable internal and external obstacles that arise on any quest to achieve self-knowledge. Yet unlike Elizabeth, Charlotte as the Countess of Dellwyn never resolves the disjuncture between her past behavior and her present remorse. Indeed, Charlotte must become a physical rambler—a person without a geographic, physical home—in order to overcome some (but ultimately not enough) of her intellectual meanderings. For instance, as Fielding begins to close Charlotte’s narrative at the end of Volume 2, she writes that Charlotte
could not congratulate herself on being set on Shore on her native Land, nor have the Pleasure of greeting it with Joy, which
is the general Lot of every common Sailor. All Places were now become irksome to her. She found it impossible to fly from
Infamy, unless she could at the same time fly from herself; there was no stopping the hundred Tongues of Rumour, neither
was there any Possibility of forgetting the criminal Errors of her Conduct. Her Passions were in a continual Alarm; and she
read, or fancied she read, Contempt in every Countenance. . . . And tho' no Day nor Hour passed, but that she had sufficient
Cause, either from the Consequence of her Actions, or from the painful Reflexions on them, to lament the Dupe she had been
to that Passion; yet her Mind was too much disturbed and gone too far in an erroneous Path to suffer her to break thro' the
Chain that held her. . . . She constantly wished to unravel what she had done last; and yet, as if she was infatuated, was as
constant in persisting to act on in a Manner that only gave her fresh Cause to wish she had the Power
To call back Yesterday;
which her Ignorance of herself alone made her imagine she could employ to any better Purpose (II.IV.273-6).
Here, we see Fielding giving us an intensely intimate portrait of a character whose psychic fractures disallow her from ever resolving her interior torment or her precarious place, both her reputation and her geographic location, in society. Yet Charlotte’s very ability to reflect at all, as suggested in the phrase “the painful Reflexions on them [her past actions],” is an improvement from the majority of the novel, in which “all Reflexion . . . [was] banished from her thoughts” (II.III.44). Since Charlotte never learned proper virtue from a young age, she can never fully reflect and reform. Betty Schellenberg has commented on Fielding’s interest in portraying through fiction realistic developments of plot and character by noting that Fielding herself emphasizes the importance of probability in narrative in her preface to the novel, where she observes that it is “the natural Tendency of Virtue towards the Attainment of Happiness, and, on the contrary, that Misery is the unavoidable consequence of vicious Life.” Schellenberg writes, “Resistance to fiction for its own sake is giving way to the notion that life narratives based in probability can, like historical biography, serve as an entertaining vehicle of moral and social truth” (1026). Charlotte’s narrative downfall, juxtaposed with Mrs. Bilson’s family’s slow rise to prosperity, itself serves as an innovation in how the form of the novel was received at the time: rather than serving as the genre most likely to harm its (usually female readers), Fielding’s novel asserts that a fictitious history, grounded in probable plots and character development, could be ameliorative and entertaining to its reader.
Sarah Fielding in Context
- Brief bio of Fielding
- Reception as sentimental writer/The governess
-Reception of CD
New findings from our editors
According to our editors, Fielding makes at least 160 allusions to literary and cultural texts. Rumbold's study has persuasively demonstrated Fielding's overt interest in Shakespeare specifically (by our count, Fielding alludes to Shakespeare at least 60 times across both volumes). Intriguingly, however, with her other 100-plus allusions, we see Fielding demonstrating the true range of her literary knowledge, as she references texts from Proverbs to Pope, from epic poems to recent hit plays of the eighteenth century. In these ways, we can see Fielding using these myriad references both to demonstrate the range of Charlotte's reading (or mis-reading) at the same time that the narrative performance establishes Fielding as a true, learned virtuoso amongst her peers.
As the title page to Sarah Fielding’s The History of the Countess of Dellwyn (1759) suggests, Fielding’s most popular novel was then—and currently remains—the 1744 sentimental novel, The Adventures of David Simple. Yet in her penultimate published novel, we see elements of experimentation—experiments in character, psychic interiority, and narrative—that suggest it is worthy of study and recognition in its own right. Indeed, even the competing plots of the novel indicates Fielding’s interest in experimentation: she subordinates the sentimental story of the typical heroine, Mrs. Bilson, a devout, hard-working, and supremely ethical wife and mother, to that of Charlotte Lucum, later The Countess of Dellwyn. The daughter of an exiled politician whose only interest is using his daughter to barter political power for himself, Charlotte experiences a persistent, if gradual, downward spiral from the start of the novel: her first fall comes early, when her lust for material objects (a pair diamond earrings and a diamond necklace) combines with her unbridled jealousy for her friend, the aptly named Fanny Fashion (later Fanny Chlegen), to coerce her into marrying a feeble and elderly rake, Lord Dellwyn. From there, Charlotte soon grows tired of her marriage, and ultimately commits adultery, only to be divorced publicly and exiled to France.
Although the novel ends with the displaced and dispossessed Charlotte wandering aimlessly among gambling tables back in England and offers an image of generations of ethical Bilsons populating the earth, one of the most extraordinary things about the novel is how Fielding grants Charlotte some semblance of intellectual and perhaps even moral growth, without fully punishing her (with either death or poverty) for her transgressions. As Susan Carlile has observed, one consistent trait among Fielding’s heroines is that they are “quick-witted, independent, aware, and impressively analytical” (REF). Charlotte is no different, being an avid reader; yet as Kate Rumbold argues, Charlotte often demonstrates her ability to misread and misinterpret, as demonstrated in the myriad instances when Charlotte invokes tragic Shakespearean heroines in an effort to compare her experiences to their plights. For Rumbold, Charlotte’s misreading is an opportunity for Fielding the author to establish a strong connection between herself and her audience, who can read with a satirical eye Charlotte’s erroneous comparisons.
Charlotte’s central problem, especially in the second half of the novel, is another form of misreading: her inability to reflect on her actions and, indeed, to understand her own mind. In this way, Charlotte might function as a predecessor to Jane Austen’s Elizabeth Bennet, whose famous exclamation that “until this moment, I never knew myself” suggests both the emotional pain and the uncontrollable internal and external obstacles that arise on any quest to achieve self-knowledge. Yet unlike Elizabeth, Charlotte as the Countess of Dellwyn never resolves the disjuncture between her past behavior and her present remorse. Indeed, Charlotte must become a physical rambler—a person without a geographic, physical home—in order to overcome some (but ultimately not enough) of her intellectual meanderings. For instance, as Fielding begins to close Charlotte’s narrative at the end of Volume 2, she writes that Charlotte
could not congratulate herself on being set on Shore on her native Land, nor have the Pleasure of greeting it with Joy, which
is the general Lot of every common Sailor. All Places were now become irksome to her. She found it impossible to fly from
Infamy, unless she could at the same time fly from herself; there was no stopping the hundred Tongues of Rumour, neither
was there any Possibility of forgetting the criminal Errors of her Conduct. Her Passions were in a continual Alarm; and she
read, or fancied she read, Contempt in every Countenance. . . . And tho' no Day nor Hour passed, but that she had sufficient
Cause, either from the Consequence of her Actions, or from the painful Reflexions on them, to lament the Dupe she had been
to that Passion; yet her Mind was too much disturbed and gone too far in an erroneous Path to suffer her to break thro' the
Chain that held her. . . . She constantly wished to unravel what she had done last; and yet, as if she was infatuated, was as
constant in persisting to act on in a Manner that only gave her fresh Cause to wish she had the Power
To call back Yesterday;
which her Ignorance of herself alone made her imagine she could employ to any better Purpose (II.IV.273-6).
Here, we see Fielding giving us an intensely intimate portrait of a character whose psychic fractures disallow her from ever resolving her interior torment or her precarious place, both her reputation and her geographic location, in society. Yet Charlotte’s very ability to reflect at all, as suggested in the phrase “the painful Reflexions on them [her past actions],” is an improvement from the majority of the novel, in which “all Reflexion . . . [was] banished from her thoughts” (II.III.44). Since Charlotte never learned proper virtue from a young age, she can never fully reflect and reform. Betty Schellenberg has commented on Fielding’s interest in portraying through fiction realistic developments of plot and character by noting that Fielding herself emphasizes the importance of probability in narrative in her preface to the novel, where she observes that it is “the natural Tendency of Virtue towards the Attainment of Happiness, and, on the contrary, that Misery is the unavoidable consequence of vicious Life.” Schellenberg writes, “Resistance to fiction for its own sake is giving way to the notion that life narratives based in probability can, like historical biography, serve as an entertaining vehicle of moral and social truth” (1026). Charlotte’s narrative downfall, juxtaposed with Mrs. Bilson’s family’s slow rise to prosperity, itself serves as an innovation in how the form of the novel was received at the time: rather than serving as the genre most likely to harm its (usually female readers), Fielding’s novel asserts that a fictitious history, grounded in probable plots and character development, could be ameliorative and entertaining to its reader.
Sarah Fielding in Context
- Brief bio of Fielding
- Reception as sentimental writer/The governess
-Reception of CD
New findings from our editors
According to our editors, Fielding makes at least 160 allusions to literary and cultural texts. Rumbold's study has persuasively demonstrated Fielding's overt interest in Shakespeare specifically (by our count, Fielding alludes to Shakespeare at least 60 times across both volumes). Intriguingly, however, with her other 100-plus allusions, we see Fielding demonstrating the true range of her literary knowledge, as she references texts from Proverbs to Pope, from epic poems to recent hit plays of the eighteenth century. In these ways, we can see Fielding using these myriad references both to demonstrate the range of Charlotte's reading (or mis-reading) at the same time that the narrative performance establishes Fielding as a true, learned virtuoso amongst her peers.
Works Cited
Carlile, Susan. Masters of the Marketplace: British Women Novelists of the 1750s. Bethlehem, PA: Lehigh UP, 2010.
Gadaken, Sara. “Managing and Marketing Virtue in Sarah Fielding’s History of the Countess of Dellwyn.” Eighteenth-Century Fiction
15.1 (October 2002): 19-34.
Rumbold, Kate. “Shakespeare’s ‘Propriety’ and the Mid-Eighteenth-Century Novel: Sarah Fielding’s The History of the Countess of
Dellwyn.” Reading 1759: Literary Culture in Mid-Eighteenth-Century Britain and France. ed. Shaun Regan. Lewisburg:
Bucknell, 2013. 187-205.
Schellenberg, Betty A. “Bluestockings and the Genealogy of the Modern Novel.” University of Toronto Quarterly. 79.4 (Fall 2013):
1023-1034.
Gadaken, Sara. “Managing and Marketing Virtue in Sarah Fielding’s History of the Countess of Dellwyn.” Eighteenth-Century Fiction
15.1 (October 2002): 19-34.
Rumbold, Kate. “Shakespeare’s ‘Propriety’ and the Mid-Eighteenth-Century Novel: Sarah Fielding’s The History of the Countess of
Dellwyn.” Reading 1759: Literary Culture in Mid-Eighteenth-Century Britain and France. ed. Shaun Regan. Lewisburg:
Bucknell, 2013. 187-205.
Schellenberg, Betty A. “Bluestockings and the Genealogy of the Modern Novel.” University of Toronto Quarterly. 79.4 (Fall 2013):
1023-1034.
