Essay on the work of Mary Julia Young, by Rachel Hanna, May 2004
Influences and Individuality in the Work of Mary Julia Young
Mary Julia Young produced her work from 1777 to 1810. During this time there were dominant trends emerging in all literary forms, from poetry with the ‘Graveyard’ poets to novel writing and the theatre. Romance was the main genre being explored, but the Gothic was beginning to emerge in conjunction, allowing authors more diversity.
As Fred Botting has written ‘uncertainties about the nature of power, law, society, family and sexuality dominate Gothic fiction … linked to wider threats of disintegration manifested most forcefully in political revolution’… uncertainty about how to visualize the future, veering from excited optimism to profound despair (Stevens 2000: 16).
Moss Cliff Abbey; or, The Sepulchral Harmonist by Young shows this reaction more overtly than most, as her plot revolves around the disappearance of Mr Newton, discovered to have been taken to France under the false pretence of being a French dissident.
… considering Novels as a species of literature sought after with avidity by the younger part of both sexes I have invariably … endeavoured to render the strictest observance of relative duties indispensable to amiable and sensible characters, and to indicate virtues, fortitude and benevolence by the most engaging examples (Archives of the Royal Literary Fund, RLF 216).
The attitude expressed shows how Young was influenced by earlier standards in literature which required an element of moral guidance in their content. Frances Burney was a main example of this with her epistolary novel Evelina (1778), which follows a young girl’s entrance into London society. Some of the subject matter Burney introduced which expressed contemporary issues can be found in Young’s work also:
Part of the subject of Evelina is obviously ‘manners’ in the very extensive meanings of that word, from minute points of etiquette to the codes or mores that govern entire groups … The Plan of the following Letters is to display the Manners of the Times (Burney 1994: xiv).
The deportment of Young’s female characters, like Burney’s, is important within the narrative as, in both novels, the audience has to see them as virtuous and moral. The use of letters plays a large role in the conveyance of information within Moss Cliff Abbey, an idea borrowed from the epistolary novel’s format.
The coarse speech of Mrs Norris had crimsoned the cheeks of Harriot Newton; her fine neck bent over little George on whom her modest looks were fixed; whilst tears, at the recollection of her husband’s tenderness, fell fast (Young 1803: I, 22).
Young develops her character’s maternal role, which makes her a more unusual heroine. Though vulnerable in her femininity, Mrs Newton retains strength through her sense of social correctness and her marital situation. As a result she is able actively to avoid being trapped in improper situations:
‘Give me leave to conduct you to your home.’
Mrs Newton is granted more awareness than other contemporary heroines in appraising situations, especially those which put her virtue in jeopardy. For example, Mrs Newton suspects Mr Ormsley of being involved in the disappearance of her husband after a jealous rage sees him reveal his intentions towards her. As a result, she resolves to move away without informing Ormsley of the location. Most heroines are presented as naïve and innocent, unaware of such dangers, such as Antonia in The Monk:
He resolved, therefore, before she quitted her chamber, to try the extent of his influence over the innocent Antonia … She started, and welcomed him with a look of pleasure: then rising, she would have conducted him to the sitting-room; but Ambrosio, taking her hand, obliged her by gentle violence to resume her place. She complied without difficulty: she knew not that there was more impropriety in conversing with him in one room than another (Lewis 1998: 222).
Mrs Newton takes on a radical heroine role, discarding the expected attitudes of her contemporary fictional counterparts. Young allows Mrs Newton greater decisive powers, adding greater depth to her character. Where other female products of Gothic Romance are placed in two separate camps – passive courageous heroine or transgressive other (Mulvey-Roberts 1998: 116) – Mrs Newton has a more active role.This is something she herself is aware of; in a self-referential moment she says:
… I shall not see him, and will be very circumspect, without being romantic. I shall not fancy myself the heroine of a novel, and live in fear of his running away with me – such desperation may be found in the works of imagination, but not in real life (Young 1803: I, 100-1).
The irony, of course, is that for all her differences from the traditional heroine Mrs Newton is still subject to the same treatment as they. Her attempts to avoid the inevitable fate of a literary heroine are thwarted by the Gothic villain. She assumes the role through her forced situations, abduction and confinement, her need for external help from others and the nature of the environment she finds herself in. Young seems to be reacting against the Gothic traditions from within the genre in her presentation of Mrs Newton, but is unable to break away completed from accepted representations of the moral female.
My dearest madam, do not let any thing which Mr Ormsley has said, give you uneasiness; he is a sly libertine, and if he cannot seduce, he endeavours to calumniate virtue – his house at Epping is like the fabled court of Comus, and the pretended aunt … is the principal Bacchante who presides over the licentious revels (Young 1803: I, 97-98).
Ormsley actively pursues Mrs Newton using deception, disguise and force. His aim, as with most Gothic villains, is sexual gratification. He is portrayed as driven by lust, using women for his own means. His obsession with Mrs Newton is his downfall. In his actions and drives Ormsley is very much a Gothic villain, as ‘the heroine … is pursued across the countryside’ (Young 1803: I, 115) by him and she ‘… suffer[s] imprisonment and cruelty at the hands of her pursuer’ (Young 1803: I, 115). What individualises him is that he is not a hero-villain. His power lies in subversive manipulation and wealth, not in having a title, charisma or physical prowess; he does not evoke an inexplicable attraction in all the women with whom he comes into contact. His dark side comes from his lust and passion, but superficially so. Instead of increasing his masculine image, and with it any attraction he might have, he is de-masculinised by his growing insanity. As he attempts to harm Mrs Newton he systematically becomes more ill and sinks further into all-consuming madness. As Mrs Newton recovers from each attack and becomes more able, Ormsley becomes weaker, until only his obsession sustains him.
‘Though by your cruel arts, he might be doomed to death – he can look up to Heaven, and die happy, in the firm expectation of eternal bliss. Where, in that awful moment will you turn your eyes for consolation! Not to the hapless women whom you have seduced from virtue; not to the wretched men whom you have bribed to deeds of villainy’ (Young 1803: II, 7).
The moral lessons are frequently interjected in the text, represented in both the correspondence exchanged within the novel and directly into the discourse between characters. They contribute to the impression of Mrs Newton as a moral woman and present her as a voice of society, warning against the dangers of transgression. As she expresses an opinion and is drawn into conversation and expansion on the point in question, Young is able to present fully-rounded ideologies, both political and moral:
‘… is it not unjust to reward a wretch who, to crimes of the most atrocious nature, adds the mean selfish one of betraying his accomplices, whose guilt and whose profits he has equally shared … Despicable as informers are, it is absolutely necessary for the good of the community that such self interested beings should exist, for, if rogues were invariably true and honourable to each other, they would become an invulnerable body, too strong for the laws of their country to destroy’ (Young 1803: II, 7)
This particular comment can be read as a reaction to The Terror of the French Revolution, a time of intense violence and fear where informants were relied upon to hunt out dissidents. Young produced Moss Cliff Abbey after the French Revolution, but the effects were still reverberating throughout Europe and can be traced in the literature of the period. As Stevens (2000) writes, ‘gothic fiction was not only about confusion, it was written from confusion’ (16).
‘These flames, what are they? Let them consume my house – a more fatal more destructive fire, rages in my soul – it has destroyed my reason – you have kindled it. You have driven me mad, and I will be revenged – O! Harriot! Harriot! Save me from perdition! You know not to what an extremity of passion I adore you!’ (Young 1803: II, 23).
The theme of uncontrollable passion can be found in other novels of the Gothic genre such as The Monk by Matthew Lewis, whose character Ambrosio allows his passion and sexual desire to control his actions and gradually consume him, much as Ormsley does:
With the direst imprecations he vowed vengeance against her: he swore that, cost what it would, he would still possess Antonia. Starting from the bed, he paced the chamber with disordered steps, howled with impotent fury, dashed himself against the walls, and indulged all the transports of rage and madness (Lewis 1998: II, 27).
This theme is also followed in Donalda, or; The Witches of Glenshiel also by Young, with the character of Roderic drawn sexually to his adopted daughter, Donalda.
Where the mad heroines in these novels pathetically lose their wits, the male villains of Walpole, Beckford, Radcliffe, Lewis and their followers are driven to insanity by vaulting ambition and uncontrollable lust (often incestuous) … In the Gothic moral universe, madness is a fitting punishment for the guilty; but it is the prior cause of evil (Mulvey-Roberts 1998: 153).
Ormsley’s mental instability leads to his suicide, in itself a punishment for his transgressions as his death is long and lingering. He attempts to shoot Mrs Newton in a bid for them to be united in death. In thinking he has succeeded, Ormsley ‘discharged the contents of the other pistol in his mouth’ (Young 1803: IV, 90). His attempt rips his throat out but he lives for hours, unable to speak or repent. This incident is particularly graphic and shocking, and shows the versatility of Young’s writing. The manner of Ormsley’s death may again link the French Revolution to the novel, in that it recalls the fate of Robespierre. An important figure in the execution of The Terror, Robespierre suffered a similar fate after a suspected botched suicide attempt. He, too, is said to have attempted to shoot himself through the mouth and missed, blowing half of his face off without succeeding in killing himself (Children’s Britannica 1985: 17, 283-84). As the death of Robespierre marked the end of The Terror in 1794 so does the death of Ormsley mark the end of Mrs Newton’s suffering.
Anne Radcliffe … should not, strictly speaking be a supernaturalist writer at all. Her enormously popular romances are as much exercises in romantic sensibility as they are tales of mystery and dread … Her use of preternaturalist motifs were designed for aesthetic effect. She makes a useful distinction between the deployment of what she calls ‘glooms of Superstition’ and ‘glooms of Apprehension’ (Cavaliero 1995: 26).
Again, this is an example of the diversity found in Young’s novels: she is able to adopt different forms and stylistics and use them within her work.
When Lubin beheld Mrs Newton extended lifeless upon the floor, her face and neck covered with blood, he faintly uttered,
Swooning or fainting is associated with female characters in Gothic and Romantic literature, so this reversal of roles, with the hero displaying ‘feminine’ traits, is original to Young:
…the way in which they [heroines] react to moments of crisis (for example by fainting, blushing or falling into silence) draws, as Daniel Cottom has pointed out, from a body of language specific to notions of femininity and sensibility current from the mid-18th century (Mulvey-Roberts 1998: 116).
Later on in the genre the feminisation of a male hero can be seen in Dracula, by Bram Stoker, in the character of Jonathan Harker. The closest theme in relation to the feminisation of men often found in Gothic literature is impotence, either physical or in the sense of being unable to consummate their desire. This, too, is traced in the inability of Ormsley to possess Mrs Newton, and in Lubin’s passive acceptance of her unavailability. By the conclusion of the novel the effect of Lubin’s repressed feelings shows itself in his physical form: he becomes ‘pale, thin and melancholy’ (Young 1803: IV, 213). He effectively fades away and dies, but is celebrated as a hero as it is he who sails to France and returns George Newton to his family. Lubin’s devotion to Mrs Newton remains a secret only the reader is privy to.
… [Radcliffe’s] use of the explained supernatural, where apparent mysteries are finally resolved into physical causes, has been taken as evidence of conservative, 18th-century rationalism. Early Gothic writing has traditionally been seen as a dark Romanticism (Mulvey-Roberts 1998: 182-83).
Young does portray a sense of terror alongside the Romantic elements to keep the Gothic sensibilities present. Using Isabella’s songs about her death and loss, an atmosphere of mourning and melancholy permeates the Abbey. Her presence both comforts and terrifies Mrs Newton as she relates to Isabella’s pain, feeling ‘reverential affection’ (Young 1803: II, 170) for Isabella yet also being fearful of seeing ‘a ghastly skeleton beneath the robes’ (IV, 168). Isabella’s form ‘chill[s] … her soul with terror’ (IV, 171).
Dar’st thou approach these sacred walls?
That knell, thou once rejoiced to hear,
It is in the fourth and final volume that Isabella and her child are revealed as being alive. In the guise of the sepulchral harmonist she, it transpires, has secreted herself within the Abbey and retained its reputation for being haunted so as to dissuade the rest of the cruel Selwyn family from venturing there until Henry’s return.
… the gothic revival … provide[d] vivid examples of this combination of descriptive sensationalism on the one hand with an overt moral condemnation of the very matters dwelt on in such detail on the other … In the spiritual context of the gothic, this approach frequently featured Roman Catholicism – or, rather, a collection of popular prejudices (all too widespread in Britain at the time) …(Stevens 2000: 21).
Roderic, the villain, and Donalda, the heroine, both comment on the corrupt nature of the Catholic Church, especially focusing on monks using religion for their own gain and the excessive power they possess over the people. As a passive heroine Donalda, incongruously, gives harsh condemnation of the Church, stressing that true faith is from within:
Monks are but men; too many of them ignorant, narrow minded, wicked men, and shall I trust my soul to them? – can they insure future happiness? Oh, no! it shall ascend in humble prayers to Him who gave it to me, and only on Him alone for pardon and for mercy (Young 1805: II, 70).
By using Donalda in this criticism Young perpetuates contemporary prejudices against the Catholic Church, present in The Monk (Ambrosio‘… looked round him with exultation; and pride told him loudly, that he was superior to the rest of his fellow-creatures’ [Lewis 1998: 38]) and in The Italian with its portrayal of the Holy Inquisition.
To begin with there is the castle which dominates the narrative as both a physical and psychological presence … Few critics have failed to make the point that the gothic castle is the main protagonist of Otranto, and that the story of usurpation, tyranny, and imprisonment could be seen as an extension of the mood evoked by the setting (Walpole 1996: xv).
In Donalda the castle becomes the suppressing force, through the actions of Roderic. As the castle becomes a place of confinement for Donalda, it becomes a psychological prison for Roderic. His state of mind becomes more unstable as his evil deeds return to haunt him in horrifying visitations and dreams:
… his room appeared to be crowded with hideous fiends who kept him alive for their diversion – they flashed their fire brands close to his face … while he seemed compelled to gaze alternatively on their soul-appalling forms, or on the blackened face and glazed eyes of Margaret, which were fixed upon him with a menacing, terrific stare (Young 1805: I, 98).
Though his past actions are judged and punished with these methods, Roderic still harbours incestual desires for his niece, Donalda. The familial relationship between the two is not discovered within the plot until the end of the novel, though Roderic is revealed to have known throughout. Incestuous desire can still be read into the actions of Roderic prior to the revelation, as his role has been paternal towards Donalda since she was adopted as a baby; the death of his wife, however, would seem to have encouraged him to look to Donalda as a replacement for her:
… to himself he appeared in the prime of his health and strength – could Donalda, a fearful, unprotected girl, refuse him for her husband? Such were the reflections of Roderic while he contemplated in silent admiration the lovely blossom which had expanded into such perfect beauty beneath his fostering care (Young 1805: I, 75-76).
The innocent, virginal heroine confined by a powerful aggressor within the castle boundaries, as supernatural forces evoke their disapproval, are elements in both Donalda and The Castle of Otranto. The Marquise Roderic, from the former, and Prince Manfred, from the latter, are comparable in many ways. Both reject their first wives for the charms of a younger member of their household; both of them are obsessed by their intentions and haunted by their actions; both go through periods of insanity brought on by their passions. Also, though unaware at the time, both are responsible for the death of their son.
Roderic, who had looked aghast, and trembled in every joint, at her solemn invocation to the departed spirits, as if he expected them to appear before him, grew flushed with rage and disappointment when he heard her vow, and uttered, in a voice half stifled by passion
At this point Young has not revealed the true relationship of Roderic to Donalda; his outburst is a clue as to his knowledge of her parents and his involvement in their death. This technique is used in The Monk where heritage and parentage are also themes. In this instance incest is committed in the form of rape. The audience is unaware of the relationship except through veiled clues in the aftermath of the atrocity:
He raised her from the ground – her hand trembled as he took it, and he dropped it again as if he had touched a serpent. Nature seemed to recoil at the touch. He felt himself at once repulsed from and attracted towards her, yet could account for neither sentiment (Walpole 1996: III, 331).
Again the heroine is subjected to the unwanted attentions of a dominant villainous figure.
The nature of the plot hinges, in part, on its exaggerated Gothic sensibilities (for example the reactions of Donalda). Young maintains her heroine as an implacably moral and virtuous character, able to pardon Roderic the sin of murder. As an author the moral well-being of Young’s readership was important to her but, by going to the extreme in presenting the virtuous heroine and her capacity to forgive, Young almost parodies earlier Gothic texts:
I do know thy crimes, and therefore will pray for thee with greater energy, while the spirits of my father, of the Marchioness, and of my poor Annie, freed from worldly resentment for thy cruelty will bless my prayers for their – for their destroyer (Young 1805: II, 71).
There are signs that point towards the guilt of Roderic and his deceased wife in murdering Donalda’s parents, most notably the appearance of blood on Roderic’s hand on his wedding day, and the corresponding blood on Donalda’s hand as she mirrors the portrait of Margaret, a doubling effect used to show the culpability of the deceased Marchioness. These signs are provided by the Witches of Glenshiel, used by Young as a functional narrative device. They provide information throughout the novel and are also used to provide much of the Gothic imagery through their role as vengeance Witches, ‘His midnight torments now begin, virtue we aid and punish sin’ (Yougn 1805: II, 89), through their macabre ballads, and through the visions and dreams they send to haunt Roderic:
A wounded heart and a bowl of poisoned blood were brought to Margaret. Roderic knew too well in whose breast that heart had beat, and in whose veins that blood had flowed! Margaret, shrieking at the sight of them, threw herself on the bosom of Roderic, and clasped her chilling arms around him – his blood was congealed – his heart frozen! (Young 1805: II, 53-54).
The Castle of Glenshiel, which Donalda eventually inherits, has the reputation of being the seat of judgement for the Witches, so they connect the sub-plots within the novel and frame the narrative. This shows Young using a popular device in an original way. She uses recognizable characters, in the Weird Sisters, to guide the readers through the narrative. This also achieves the aim of creating a sense of the novel’s enhanced literary merit (through its ‘Shakespeare connection’), while still exploring a different portrayal of Gothic narrative. Another influence represented by the use of the Witches is poetry within the text. Young produced both poetry and prose, and the importance she placed on her poetry can be seen within her novels. The songs of Isabella in Moss Cliff Abbey are one case in point; those of the Witches another. The Witches’ songs allow Young to bring stronger Gothic imagery into the novel, possibly influenced by Shakespeare and by Edward Young, author of Night Thoughts and one of the ‘Graveyard’ poets (Stevens 2000: 14-15) who influenced Young’s work. Through her poetry the images appear more macabre and threatening:
Shriek night ravens – owlets cry,
Through close reading of Mary Julia Young’s novels and comparisons to work before and after the period in which she worked, a clear desire for her to fit in with her contemporaries can be seen. However, the intrinsic nature of the Gothic is to imitate and emulate, borrow styles and themes; it is its eclectic nature. Young assimilates the Gothic style and adds her own unique take on both contemporary issues within the novels, such as the presentation of women in Moss Cliff Abbey and her original interpretation of the heroine figure, as well as attempting an innovative presentation of narrative format with the use of witches as narrative guides in Donalda. There is so much diversity within the work of Young, which pulls together influences from all literary sources yet at the same time stamps the work with her own individual mark. Her use of environments that isolate her characters from the outside world allows her to introduce similar themes in contrasting time settings, from contemporary London society in Moss Cliff Abbey to the feudal regime found in Donalda, while her use of poetry (her own and others’) contributes to her unique style. Social and political issues, which can be traced in Young’s work and in that of her contemporaries, do not detract from the effect of her individuality. She wrote from within a time period, not about it. Hindsight allows us to make comparisons and find similarities with other works, but Young is a voice of her time, albeit one who has been hidden for over a century, and it is a voice which strove to express an individual opinion within a critical literary world where the expectation was for women to conform.
Archives of the Royal Literary Fund, RLF 216
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