The Angel and the Demon and other stories by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler (1901)

 This is a very obscure footnote in Fowler's career. These are her first efforts at fiction writing disinterred from oblivion in the pages of the British Workman magazine, which seems to have been a very paternalistic temperance publication, leading the biddable working class to a less debauched life, typical of the late Victorian era. Her breakthrough, Concerning Isabel Carnaby, had occurred in 1898, so was fresh when Partridge, famed purveyors of Godly and improving literature, pulled this volume together. These highly moral stories of the triumph of the good and the just deserts of the evil, complete with hearty advice and admonishments, show her skill with bright plotting - and not a lot else.

Miss Fallowfield's Fortune by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler (1908)

This one marked a change of publisher, and one wonders why. Did she feel dissatisfied with Hutchinson and seek new energies elsewhere? Did Hutchinson reject this? I feel it must be the former, considering how well she continued to do, and Cassell were the lucky recipients. My copy is from the fifth thousand in the first year of publication, so things appear to have gone well in this first instance. This one is not markedly different, in terms of contents, to those which it succeeded, but whether it's my brainscape talking, or whether there is a slight alteration, it feels a little more airy, bright and confident than she has for a while. The story is of a young woman mid-century who loses her lover before their marriage, but is nominated by him to receive the enormous fortune his uncle has just bestowed upon him. Thus Charlotte Fallowfield becomes a wealthy woman on her own in the world. We skip forward in time to her very well-established in the manor house at Dinglewood in the midlands (Fowler's favourite territory, re-dubbed, as she always does, Mershire), which is a fairly small village. There is with her her niece, the daughter of her dead sister Phoebe, to whom we had been introduced earlier. Dagmar is young and beautiful, of course, and quite forthright, like her mother. It is at this point that the really enjoyable humour of this piece is introduced, in two forms. One is a chorus of women of the village who meet to knit, sew and read improving books, and gossip like hell. Thelma Barlow, Pam Ferris, Deborah Findlay and other actresses perfectly calibrated for these roles immediately come to mind. The other is in some subsidiary characters who have puffed up opinions of themselves, particularly a young journalist with the improbable name of Octavius Rainbrow, and a persistently disappointed young cleric with snooty tendencies whose savage mother is part of the sewing circle, Theophilus Sprott. The push and shove comes when a new vicar is touted for the parish and, as usual, Theophilus misses out, disgracing himself with hopelessly propounded self-congratulatory views and no 'people-sense' whatsoever. The man who is offered the job comes from a little further north, has lost his wife, and has a son in his early twenties with him who spikes the local female interest. Dagmar also takes an interest in Claude, but they are doomed to a lot of misunderstanding in their primary, opinionated and varyingly idealistic natures. However, as they are more mature, the affinity between Charlotte and Luke Forrester, the new vicar, is quickly developed. They marry and head off to Australia on a very extended honeymoon. But, on the way their ship strikes a reef in the Indian Ocean, and all aboard perish, bar one, Octavius Rainbrow, who has accompanied them. Before this is known, though, the probate court operate on the interesting assumption that Forrester would have been likely to have survived his wife, being a stronger male, and that therefore the fortune should go to his son Claude rather than Dagmar. Once Rainbrow returns to Mershire, and explains that Forrester went down in the ship quite quickly, but Charlotte was with him in one of the boats and survived a few days, it becomes clear to the probate court that the fortune should go to Dagmar instead. This means that an architecturally beautiful retreat-style religious house that Claude has started building will no longer be funded. Dagmar asks him once she's re-inherited to continue building it, but instead to dedicate it to her favourite passion, an orphanage. Claude is pretty devastated by the loss of his dream, but complies. Through these testing monetary times, when absolute enmity could have eventuated, he and Dagmar have managed to remain not only civil, but connected as friends. Dagmar is more aware than he is (he is lost in his dreams of the helping of humankind) and sees eventually that the dream which he has embraced is not a slap in her face, but rather something quite separate, and part of his soul. She makes a deep sacrifice to her own dreams, and foregoes the beloved idea of her orphanage so that Claude can have his 'monastery' (an Anglican institution of retreat and religious education, rather than anything "Popish"!). Even the love that she shows him by this act doesn't quite get through Claude's dreaming miasma. He still doesn't register that she cares for him enormously. Then, in an enormous surprise, Luke Forrester himself turns up at the manor. He has survived the wreck by clinging to a spar and being picked up by another ship. His memory was temporarily expunged by the deprivations and he lived for some months in Australia not knowing who he really was. So, with all the joy that his 'resurrection' brings also comes yet a third turnaround for the fortunes of Miss Fallowfield's fortune. He tells Claude very tenderly that Charlotte was quite clear about how she wanted her fortune used should she die, and that his 'monastery' will need to be turned this time into almshouses for older single women! Claude is devastated for a second time, and contrarily some very blackly funny dialogue is perpetrated between he and Dagmar about how old women will have no appreciation of the beautiful building, it will be wasted on them, and that people of that age don't care where they live or what they do. In the end, in talking it all over with Dagmar, he is carefully alerted by her to the slightly cryptic Biblical text of the alabaster box of ointment, whose contents was better poured out than sold and the proceeds given to the poor. Claude decides, in a moment of enlightenment, that he needs to simply pour out his contribution and have it used in any way that God wills. The fact that Dagmar alerts him to this finally opens his eyes to her care for him, which is perhaps for me the least believable part of this already stretched tale in the matter of plausibility. But again, what saves it is Fowler's cheerful and robust storytelling. Despite her nonsenses, one wants to spend time in her company.

Commonplace Book

'...Breathes there a man in this modern England of ours with soul so dead but that at some time or another he has not yielded to the almost universal temptation to cut down, in a few fatal minutes, trees which it would take a century to reproduce; and then endeavour to fill their place by dwarfed and squalid shrubs; and - which is stranger still - has counted the same to himself for righteousness? Breathes there a town council, or even a county one, with spirit so unurban and impolitic that it has never once pulled down old and beautiful and well-built houses in order to erect new and vulgar and unsubstantial villas in their stead? If such there be, let me make a friend of that man; and give me a vote for the re-election of that town or county council!'

from Miss Fallowfield's Fortune by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler (Chapter XVII)

Commonplace Book

'The humility of the female passed away with the Victorian era; a modern woman could no more write Mrs. Browning's Sonnets from the Portuguese than she could emulate Ellen in The Wide, Wide World. But the sisterhood of women has a far stronger claim upon her than it had upon her grandmothers; and she would do far more for her fellow-women than her great-aunts would ever have done. The proverbial spite of women against each other is a played-out bogey, as dead as many another doornail of the past. Nowadays women admire one another's beauty and talents quite as much as men admire them, and are quite as ready to do justice to and appreciate the same. Moreover, there has sprung up a spirit of camaraderie and loyalty among womankind which was almost unknown in past generations. Except in particular and exceptional instances, women have ceased to be rivals and have become friends.'

from Miss Fallowfield's Fortune by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler (Chapter XII)

Commonplace Book

'...one of the results of great wealth - as of great poverty - is the early death of romance. The woman who is so poor that nobody wants to marry her, and the woman who is so rich that everybody wants to marry her, are both too clear-sighted to be taken in by Love's assumption of blindness. They know well enough that the bandage across the eyes of the so-called "little blind god" is all humbug; and that he can see as far into a bank-book as most people, and take aim accordingly...'

from Miss Fallowfield's Fortune by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler (Chapter II)

Commonplace Book

'...It is a generally accepted though utterly erroneous article of belief that melancholy people have deeper feelings than cheerful people; and that those who are endowed with a sense of humour have of necessity therefore been denied a sense of pathos. A woman has only to wear a sad expression of countenance and talk in a whining voice, and people give her credit for unfathomable depths of sentiment and emotion; while her sister who goes smiling through life and irradiates cheerfulness wherever she may be, is credited with utter want of heart...'

from Miss Fallowfield's Fortune by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler (Chapter II)

In Subjection by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler (1906)

There are two main considerations in appreciating this novel. One is its look to a reader of this era - its depiction of the place of a woman in marriage and the relations between the sexes is not ours. The other is more the province of the connoisseur - it's about the change coming over Fowler as her career progresses. I've said before that by modern standards Fowler is frankly ludicrous: her idea, which began with her magnificently successful first novel, was that a novel with a strong Christian element could also be engagingly witty. Her works, on the whole, are also something else which modern readers find enormously unpalatable - they're comfortable, and very assured in their own rightness of attitude. This attitude is an echo of the Establishment feeling of her times in its profound conservatism; something interpretable today as Empire smugness. The irritation caused by that tends to obscure what she actually achieves, which is a brilliant even flow, and much pretension-pricking humour - she's not afraid of sending up stuffy nonsense (as seen from the perspective of her times), and in the process gives us a taste of her independence of mind. This book takes the story of the main character of Concerning Isabel Carnaby, that first novel, forward a good few years. Isabel is married happily to Paul Seaton, aware of his deficiencies, but loving him absolutely. This is an interesting trope in fiction of this time, and echoes the tolerance displayed by Edith Ottley toward her husband Bruce in Ada Leverson's trilogy, though Paul is nowhere near as mortifyingly stupid as Bruce Ottley. Isabel and Paul welcome a 'project' from India, a wealthy young Anglo-Indian woman, Fabia Vipart, who needs to find a husband. She's not a cipher, rather a headstrong character, easily bored by British reserve. Fowler's treatment of Fabia illustrates her middle-position in terms of enlightenment on racial subjects. Fabia's breadth of character testifies well, her typification as elemental and slightly godless not so well. We follow as Isabel and Fabia cross swords, and forge into new arrangements and liaisons, surrounded by a cast of some humour. There is an inexplicable disappearance, an initially disastrous marriage, an unexpected impersonation, and a revelation, when the disappearance is solved, which stretches credibility enormously. There is also much philosophic talk about the right subjection of the female in the marriage contract, with Fowler saying that the compensations as she sees them are more than adequate for the loss of personal power. But Fowler's sang froid keeps the nonsense humming. In thinking about this book, one other conclusion is inescapable: it is that the author's epigrammatic power is waning - it's impossible not to feel, I think, how "comfy" she is becoming, and how much less we are treated to caustic and sharp observations, compared to prior works. They are not absent - they are diminished. Despite her disadvantages, and the lack of hope for modern readers to bother with her, I would wish her the regaining of that cut- through.

Commonplace Book

'...it is the things which we cannot do that we are called upon to do in this life - not the things which we can. How often we notice that sickness is sent to those who lay unnecessary stress upon the advantage of bodily health, and poverty to those who set undue store upon the possession of riches; while such as exaggerate the happiness of human companionship are doomed to a solitary life, and such as crave inordinately for fame and distinction are condemned to ineffective obscurity.'

from In Subjection by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler (Chapter XXIV)

Commonplace Book

'"Modern complaints always end in itis," continued Mrs Gaythorne. "I disapprove of diseases that end in itis."

"Still, you must admit they might end in something worse," said Carr.

Mrs Gaythorne majestically ignored such ill-timed levity. "When I was young, the complaints that people suffered from did not end in itis, they ended in ache; and nobody talked about them."'

from In Subjection by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler (Chapter VIII)

Commonplace Book

'Paul smiled fondly at his wife. "Even if you succeed in convincing us that every man is a coward, nothing will induce me to accept the dogma that every woman is a shrew."

"Now for my part," remarked Greenstreet, "I considered that by far the more plausible of the two tenets of Mrs Seaton's creed."

Isabel laughed gaily. "Therefore you must see that when a woman behaves like an angel it is all the more credit to her."

"Doubtless it would be; but personally I have never come across an instance," replied the author.'

from In Subjection by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler (Chapter VI)

Commonplace Book

'"I shall be glad of my tea," remarked Mrs Gaythorne, when the commotion had subsided; "I am thirsty." She spoke as impressively as if she were announcing some great scientific truth. "I have just been taking the chair at the annual meeting of the Society for the Propagation of the Church Hymnal among the inhabitants of the Antarctic Circle, and am now on my way to preside at the annual meeting of the Anti-Tomato League, for the suppression of tomatoes as an article of diet; and consequently I require a little refreshment."

Mrs Gaythorne was guilty of one human frailty, namely, an inordinate affection for presiding over public meetings. On this matter she knew neither temperance nor restraint. As some women take stimulants and others sedatives, so Mrs Gaythorne took chairs.'

from In Subjection by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler (Chapter IV)

Kate of Kate Hall by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler and Alfred Laurence Felkin (1904)

This novel is a progression in two ways: it is written by Fowler with a collaborator (her new husband) for the first time; it is also her first novel not to have overtly Christian themes. The sense I get is that it was Felkin's idea and possibly also his first draft, which Fowler then 'improved' with her professional skills, particularly her sparkling wit. If so, it's seamless and a great success. Certainly its lack of overt Christianity would be an inducement toward reprinting nowadays, and I would say that this may even have applied back then. Were Hutchinson salivating at the idea that their 'hampered' author would finally break free of her beliefs and gain even more popularity than the significant reputation and sales she already had? The story is a tale of a fiery and difficult young aristocrat, Kate, whose father, the dufferish Lord Claverley, is rapidly losing control of their beloved family castle and estates. When a wealthy Scots relative dies, leaving Kate her estate, they wonder if all can be saved. But there is a catch: in order to inherit Kate must marry within six months. She isn't exactly amenable to the idea! Men have driven her mad in almost all instances. If she doesn't marry the money goes to other relatives, the Pettigrews, who are nasty unpleasant grasping people. Thereafter several suitors try their luck, encouraged by her parents in various stages of desperation. Living with them is Sapphira Lestrange, Lord Claverley's niece, whose father had been a louche reprobate who is not mentioned unless absolutely necessary. When he sneaks back onto the scene, Sapphira is entangled in a game of cat and mouse. Kate has finally, at the eleventh hour, accepted George Despard, a man she thought she hated even more than all the others for his seemingly insulting behaviour. He was the agent and personal assistant of the aunt who has provisionally left her her fortune. Sapphira's father, the wily and evil Aubrey Lestrange, decides that he wants a piece of the action, teams up with the Pettigrews, cons Sapphira into providing him with information, and is successful. The last minute marriage between George and Kate is prevented by foul means. Then comes an extraordinary conclusion. In the misery of the denouement, when the Claverleys believe all is lost, Despard reveals that because of vows made by he and Kate during play-acting in Scotland, vows which included them claiming each other as husband and wife, that under Scots law they are already genuinely married! Apparently as long as either or both want to claim such a state, having voiced these things among company, and been in Scotland more than three weeks, Scots law allows it. No idea whether or not this is true, or a Fowler and Felkin invention; nevertheless it simultaneously stretches credibility and lends theatrical charm to a bright and witty piece.

Commonplace Book

'...He seemed to her as good as a circulating library: with him she would never lack something to interest her - something to instruct. She had not yet learnt that when a man is as good as literature to a woman, that is friendship: but when he is as good as music to her, that is love. It is not when he has the same effect as a library that he is dangerous, but when he has the same effect as an oratorio. Until then he is a luxury rather than a necessity: and it is a mistake for any woman to tie herself for life to a mere luxury...'

from Kate of Kate Hall by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler and Alfred Laurence Felkin (Chapter XXII)

Commonplace Book

'"...I once knew a man who, in a moment of inadvertence, married a woman with convictions."

"And what happened?"

"The poor fellow hesitated for some time between the hangman's rope and a lunatic asylum, and finally decided in favour of the lunatic asylum."

Kate laughed. "I wonder he didn't decide on that at first as the least of two evils."

"He was so afraid of meeting his wife there."'

from Kate of Kate Hall by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler and Alfred Laurence Felkin (Chapter XXII)

Commonplace Book

'"Claverley, I don't know what to make of that young man," she began; "it seems to me that he is very nervous and excitable, and talks a great deal of nonsense."

"Believe me, my dear Henrietta," Lord Claverley replied, "it is the fashion - quite the rage, in fact - nowadays to talk nonsense; and all the clever people of today are nervous, and what is called highly strung."

"They'd be strung still higher if I had my way," said her ladyship grimly.'

from Kate of Kate Hall by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler and Alfred Laurence Felkin (Chapter XXI)

Commonplace Book

'"...To my mind the very expression, 'a happy marriage,' is a contradiction in terms. You might just as well talk about a square circle or a flat mountain or a sensible man."'

from Kate of Kate Hall by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler and Alfred Laurence Felkin (Chapter XIV)

Commonplace Book

'...At this Kate would fiercely remark that she hated men, and she would like to see the man whom she would swear to honour and obey. With a mournful shake of her head, Lady Dunbar agreed with her; men were by no means better than they should be; it was no doubt a ridiculous thing to put such a word as obey in the marriage service; no nice man would ever expect such a thing from his wife; still Kate was no doubt right in thinking that husbands as a rule were queer creatures, and the less a girl had to do with them the better.'

from Kate of Kate Hall by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler and Alfred Laurence Felkin (Chapter XII)

Commonplace Book

'Kate walked to the door, her head in the air. "Nothing will induce me to marry, so I tell you so once for all. I hate men, and I'm not going to have one always dangling from my chatelaine to please anybody."

"Tut, tut, my dear, you are endowed with the capacity of making any man supremely miserable. It is a pity that so much talent should be wasted."'

from Kate of Kate Hall by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler and Alfred Laurence Felkin (Chapter VIII)

Commonplace Book

'...she was not yet old enough to have discovered that a man's eye rather than his tongue points out the way which his heart will probably take. When a man talks to one woman and looks at another, the former need not trouble herself to scintillate: for she may rest assured that her most brilliant remarks are irretrievably foredoomed to oblivion.'

from Kate of Kate Hall by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler and Alfred Laurence Felkin (Chapter VI)

Commonplace Book

'But Sapphira was inclined to argue. "Quite nice men eat walnuts," she said.

"Well, all I can say is, that if they do, they won't be nice for long; for there is nothing so upsetting to the digestion as walnuts, and nothing so upsetting to the temper as the digestion. It is not the slightest use telling a man to love his wife and not be bitter against her, as long as you allow him to eat walnuts: because it isn't in human nature that he can obey you."'

from Kate of Kate Hall by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler and Alfred Laurence Felkin (Chapter II)