The Corvey Novels Project at the University of Nebraska
— Studies in British Literature of the Romantic Period —
{
Susannah Gunning
Mrs. Gunning. Memoirs of Mary, a Novel. By Mrs. Gunning
London: J. Bell, 1793.
Contemporary Reviews
Analytical Review, 18 (1794), 101.
(Art. XXXI.) Memoirs of Mary. A Novel. In Five Volumes. By Mrs. Gunning.
12mo. 126 pages. Price 15s. sewed. Bell. 1793.
One of the principal reasons why so many
writers of novels fail of success is, that they attempt to exhibit scenes,
and describe characters, with which they have not been conversant. Not choosing
to confine themselves, in their narrative, to those humble walks, in which
nature has placed them in real life, they take upon them to represent manners,
which they have had no opportunity of observing. Hence their lords and ladies
are often no more like the people of fashion at the west end of town, than
the waxen figures in Fleet-street are like the illustrious personages whom
they are said to represent. Mrs. G., the author of the story before us, has
an advantage over most other novelists, in having been intimately acquainted
with the scenes and characters, from which she professes to draw her materials:
And as far as reviewers can be supposed capable of judging, we give it as
our opinion, that she draws a very natural and lively picture of what passes
in high life. Her design appears to have been, not to astonish by improbable
incidents, or to harrow up the soul by scenes of distress which can barely
be supposed to exist, but to interest and instruct, by representing persons,
manners, and events, as they are exhibited in real life. And she has, we think,
executed this design very successfully. The incidents of the novel are natural;
the characters are marked with that peculiarity of feature, which shows that
they have been drawn from actual observation; and the language possesses the
ease and vivacity, though in some instances the negligence too, of polite
conversation.
Mary, the principal person in the piece,
is not like the heroine of many a novel, all made up of sentiment and passion.
After having been educated under the eye of an excellent grandmother, she
enters into the great world, not only with the simplicity of innocence, but
with the dignity of a mind well instructed; and passes through many trying
situations, with a degree of firmness, which renders her respectable as well
as amiable. The grandmother is an exalted character, with no other foible
than that of being too fond of praising the fine eyes, and the white hands
of her Mary. The lovers of Mary are natural characters, and therefore not
perfect; but the hero, to whom her heart remains unalterably attached, approves
himself worthy of her love. In her intercourse with the great world, she suffers
much from envy and malignity; but at last escapes, and arrives at the full
possession of domestic felicity.
We do not meet with any passage in this
novel, which will be read with advantage detached from the narrative, and
we shall not disgust our readers with an inanimate skeleton of the story.
We shall therefore only remark further, that the piece would have appeared
to more advantage if it had been throughout in the form of letters; without
putting the writer to the aukward necessity of making her appearance to inform
the reader of the contents of certain letters or papers, which had unfortunately
been mislaid.
D. M.
British Critic, 3 (1794), 194-196
(Art. XIV.) Memoirs of Mary, a Novel, by Mrs. Gunning. In Five Volumes.
Bell, Oxford-street.
These Memoirs of Mary, written by a lady
who has long figured with no little eclat among writers of novels,
cantain many portraits of very fine people, which may possible be drawn from
nature; --but as we do not choose too rashly to hazard our credit for knowledge
of the high and fashionable circles, we shall not venture to pronounce upon
their likeness to the originals. With respect, however to one family, supposed
to be particularly alluded to, we can undertake to pronounce that the delineation
is very far from correct. The story, narrative, set of anecdotes, incidents,
or whatever it may be called, is conveyed in the old vehicle of a series of
letters, sometimes sentimental, and sometimes complimentary, sometimes interesting,
and cometimes insignificant. Upon the whole, to those who are fond of this
class of reading, this novel may afford entertainmetn, as the language is
generally easy and unembarrassed.
The following letter will exhibit a sufficient
specimen of the style.
[Excerpt of Letter XLII. Sir Ashton Montague to lord
Auberry. Bath, April 14, 17--.]
"I am sorry to hear
you have parted with your pretty little Marchioness. You was a devilish-I
do not say what, to give her up to another, merely because that other was
her husband, and because she chose to go back to him, rather than continue
with a lover, who is not only lost to her, but to himself, and to every thing
that is dashing, figurative and sublime, in the hemisphere of gallantry.
"What are these the dronish account
that I daily hear of you, my Lord; I thought your good sense had, by this
time, wafted you far above the errors of prejudice: did you not swear, when
I was last in town, that the moment our grand scheme was executed, you should
be yourself again? It is executed; you know it; --and with what neatness it
is put out of hand, you also know-yet all the letters I receive are filled
with your reproaches; one tells me you wear shoe stragps, when all
the rest of the world are in buckles: another, that you go about without
powder in your hair: a third, that you do not wash your face; and all
agree, that you are nothing in the world but a downright sloven.
I am trying, Auberry, to put thee in a
passion; all sorts of stimulatives are good in thy sluggish disease of stubborn
negligence. Now, if thou hast a mind for a tilting bout with any body but
myself, who have been using thy name with more of fond pity than perfect respect,
tell me so, and I shall send thee a list of all my fair correspondents; for
it is only the lovely women that trouble their heads about your reformation;
any, or all of whom, will, I take upon me to say, accept with courage a challenge
from your Lordship, and be always ready to give you honourable satisfaction.
"Do you suspect my Lord, what is
rumoured as the cause that I am nailed down to this place of ease and idleness:
they tell me I am attached to your lively sister: it may be so-and if I have
your consent to try my luck, I shall, without doubt, set about it at
my first moment of leisure; at present, I must leave my tender interest
to be settled by others, for neither Miss Pledell, or I, have
any time to bestow upon it ourselves; as yet, we have only set the wheels
of our machine on the go, and it still calls for our best exertions to keep
them in motion; when the work is completed, I shall think of nothing
but how to obtain that woman as my wife, whose talents are equal
to the government of empires; and that man for my brother, who I have already
the honour to call my friend.
"Possession's the word-we shall soon
come to a division: —I the lands - you the lady;—you
are too generous to a fellow to grumble about a few dirty acres, which is
all that can fall to my share; and the smiles of your charming sister shall
be my security-that I do not envy [196] you, my fair and pastoral cousin-it
will be all amongst us, one way or the other, in the long run.
"Cast off your gloomy habit of vapours,
dear Auberry, and rub the rust from thy manly metal, which is of an excellent
nature, though crusted over by caprice: there is so much folly, ill-humour,
and monster in the composition of a hypochondriac, that I should be ashamed
and afraid of the cursed ideas it engenders.
"Why is it, my Lord, that you give
Mrs. Oxburn so fair a field to torment me with compliments of your neglect;
you know she is our fast friend on a certain occasion: besides which,
of all the lovely sex, she alone I selected as the best fitted for the chere
amie of a disappointed man. If you will dash away the blessing
I presented to you, do it with caution: she must not be mortified—we
are too much in her power for that—flatter her beauty, and you
will be her friend. A few small condescensions will cost you no pains—she
is devillish handsome—you may tell her so, without fearing to crack your
conscience, as a horse does his wind, by running against the hill. —Fairwell;
I shall not see you for three or four weeks to come, because I find I can
carry on our business better in private than public; I expect that the winding
up will be soon, and without trouble from those who are to account with us.
"We have the honour of your name
in the firm; but, after all, you are only a sleeping partner; take care then
that you do not disclose the secrets of our trade in your dreams; and for
the active part I am answerable.
"Remember me to the enchanting Oxburn—tell
her that I say she has charms enough for a Venus de Medicis, and wit
enough for the editor of a British newspaper; however, if you are inclined
to give her something civil, in the same way, on your own account,
it would be better received, and more to the purpose: have you heard of your
own private affairs? Let me know how they go on, and once more farewell!
"Ashton
Montague."
We suppose it would be esteemed harsh to dissect this Letter with strict criticism; we shall, therefore, leave it to speak for itself, and those to be delighted, whom such writing can delight.
Critical Review, ns, v10 (1794), 408-13. [not seen]
-Prepared by Margaret Case Croskery, Ohio Northern University, July 2003