Acadiensis/Volume 1/Number 4/Charlotte Elizabeth

OW many readers of this generation know anything of the works of Charlotte Elizabeth? Although now but a memory and a name, her voluminous writings were read with avidity by a large circle in the first half of the nineteenth century. Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe, who wrote an introduction to her collected works, spoke of her as "a woman of strong mind, powerful feeling, and of no inconsiderable share of tact;" and referring to her "Personal Recollections," said, "We know of no piece of autobiography in the English language which can compare with this in richness of feeling and description and power of exciting interest."

The great reason for her popularity was that, in many respects, she suited the spirit of the times. She was above all else an anti-Romanist, a most protesting Protestant; her cry was ever "Down with Popery." These few extracts, taken at random from her books, show plainly her attitude toward the Church of Rome. "Anti-Christ bestrode our city, firmly planting there his two cloven hoofs of Popery and Socinianism." "I believe Popery to be the Babylon of the Apocalypse." "All the iniquities of Popery are mysterious; the name 'Mystery' will remain emblazoned on the Harlot's brow, until the fire of God's wrath shall consume its brazen characters." She never missed an opportunity to attack Popery, and her uncompromising warfare appears extreme in these days of religious toleration—or indifference.

​She also used her pen with great eloquence against the abuses of factory life. While she would have been surprised and mystified had she been called a New Woman, she was practically that in the fervor with which she championed the cause of her weaker sisters and the persistency with which she claimed the right of woman to raise her voice in public affairs on the side of religion and justice.

The story of Charlotte Elizabeth's life may be briefly told. She was born on the 1st of October, 1790, at Norwich, England. Her father, the Rev. Michael Browne, rector of St. Giles, and Minor Canon of the cathedral, was descended from the Percies, and Charlotte Elizabeth often playfully alluded to her Hotspur blood, and had a proper pride in her descent from "the stout Earl of Northumberland."

In "Personal Recollections," her most interesting work, she gives minute details of her childhood, passed in an old-fashioned house, surrounded by an immense orchard, shrubbery and flower garden. She was brought up in the society of literary men. Her father, decided in his political views, delighted in surrounding himself with various argumentative friends, and it is little to be wondered at that a child bred in this atmosphere should have proved in after life a reasoner and politician.

Her mother, entirely devoted to household affairs, with every thought occupied in promoting the comfort of her family, left the education of this clever child to the father; only endeavoring to instruct her in household art. This branch of knowledge not being to Charlotte Elizabeth's taste, she evaded her mother's instruction; but when she found herself resident at Annapolis Royal, Nova Scotia, she records: "I repented at leisure, and amended, with no small difficulty and labor, my neglect of those accomplishments to which my dear mother had so often vainly solicited my attention." Mrs. Browne exacted a little literature, for Charlotte Elizabeth says: "I underwent the in​fliction of reading aloud to my mother the seven mortal volumes of Sir Charles Grandison."

Her description of her grandmother bears a resemblance to the style of Elia: "My father's mother was a fine, sprightly, robust old lady, rather small in stature, and already bending a little under the burden of years, at the time I first recollect her as mingling in the visions of my childhood. She was simplicity itself, in manners, her blunt speeches sometimes clashing a little with her son's notions of polish and refinement, as also did her inveterate antipathy to the reigning fashion, whatever that might be. I remember her reading me a lecture upon something novel in the cut of a sleeve, ending by this remark: 'I never wore a gown but of one shape, and because I don't follow the fashion the fashion is forced to come to me sometimes, by way of a change. I can't help that, you know, my dear; but I never was fashionable on purpose.' She added some pious remarks on vanity and folly, which I soon forgot. I dearly loved, and exceedingly respected my grandmother, and used, in my heart, to glory in her smooth, clean locks, half brown, half gray, combed down from under a snowy cap of homely make, when she had successfully resisted alike the entreaties and examples of contemporary dames, who submitted their heads to the curling irons and powder-puff of a frizeur, preparatory to an evening party. I used to stand proudly at her knee, admiring the high color of her cheek, and uncommon brilliancy of her fine, dark hazel eye, while her voice, remarkably rich and clear, involuntarily swelled the chorus parts of our magnificent music."

Charlotte Elizabeth would have had a happy girlhood, skating, drilling with her brothers, nutting and gardening, but for a morbid consciousness which impelled her constantly to scrutinize all her actions. She confesses having early entered upon the pernicious study of nursery tales, "which, although it had the advantage of feeding her ​imagination, misled her into the paths of 'wild, unholy fiction.'" Her terrors of conscience after being led into a lie were insupportable; and having snatched a fearful joy by reading "The Merchant of Venice," she spent hours bewailing the time wasted in that pleasure.

When she was quite young she lost her hearing. At the age of sixteen she was introduced to society, and a few years later married Lieutenant, afterwards Captain George Phelan, of the 60th Rifles, She came out to Nova Scotia with him, and lived in Annapolis and Windsor, where her husband's regiment was stationed. Several of the old residents in the former place remember her as tall and graceful, but not pretty, and of seeing her husband repeat the sermon to her, in church, by means of the finger alphabet. One of them relates the following anecdote of her. Her husband was very unkind, and once, on their way from Annapolis to Windsor, he beat her. A brother officer, overhearing the quarrel, came in to defend her. Like a loyal wife and true woman she stamped her foot and demanded: "How dare you interfere between husband and wife?"

Of her own life and difficulties in Annapolis Royal, she says, "The pencil was profitless; I had long thrown it by; books were no longer an adequate set-off against realities, even could I have conjured up a library in the wilderness of Nova Scotia's inland settlement; but the culinary and confectionery branches were there invaluable, and in them I was wofully deficient. Had I not coaxed the old French soldier who officiated as mess-cook to give me a few lessons, we must have lived on raw meal and salt rations during weeks when the roads were completely snowed up, and no provisions could be brought in. However, I proved an apt scholar to poor Sebastian, and to the kind neighbors who initiated me into the mysteries of preserves and pastry. The woman who cannot dispense with female servants must not travel. I had none for six months—​keen winter months in Annapolis; the only persons who could be found disengaged being of characters wholly inadmissable. The straits to which I was put were anything but laughable at the time, though the recollection now often carries a smile. Indeed no perfection in European housekeeping would avail to guard against the devastations that a Nova Scotia frost will make. How could I anticipate that a fine piece of beef, fresh killed, brought in at noon still warm, would by two o'clock require smart blows with a hatchet to slice of a steak? or that half a dozen plates, perfectly dry, placed at a moderate distance from the fire, preparatory to dinner, would presently separate into half a hundred fragments, through the action of heat on their frosted pores? or that milk drawn from a cow within sight of my breakfast table would be sheeted with ice on its passage thither or that a momentary pause, for the choice of a fitting phrase in writing a letter, would load the nib of my pen with a black icicle? If I did not cry over my numerous breakages and other disasters, it was under the apprehension of tears freezing on my eyelids."

She returned to England and soon afterwards went to Ireland. The state of this unhappy country at once excited her sympathies and she spent the time of her sojourn there in fighting the Scarlet Woman. About this time, Captain Phelan becoming mentally deranged, his cruelty increased and her references to her husband from this date are few and very charitable. She now became chiefly dependent on her own exertions, writing for the Dublin Tract Society books on religious and moral subjects, never without at least a passing shot at Rome. Judge of her surprise when she found her "humble penny books advanced to the high honor of a place in the Papal Index Expurgatorius."

She removed to London, where, in addition to editorial work, she commenced a campaign against starvation and ​Romanism in St. Giles, teaching nursing and relieving the necessities of the poverty stricken in that crowded district.

In 1837 she heard of her husband's death, and in 1841 married Mr. Lewis H. Touna. This union was particularly happy, and compensated in part for the misery she endured with the irresponsible Captain Phelan. The next few years were fall of quiet enjoyment. Her mornings were given to writing and when her pen was laid aside her garden afforded unfailing pleasure. She was a most enthusiastic gardener, performing with her own hands the most laborious work, and knowing the history and growth of every plant.

Towards the end of 1844 it was discovered that she was suffering from a cancer. She kept up her work on the "Christian Ladies' Magazine" until absolutely compelled by pain and weakness to relinquish it. She was taken to Ramsgate for the sea air, and died there in July, 1846, affirming with her latest breath her love for God and her gratitude for His mercies to her.

All Charlotte Elizabeth's works were written with a purpose, and it is extraordinary how she succeeded in keeping that purpose so firmly before the eyes of her readers. Her prose gives a modern reader the feeling of endeavoring to climb a smooth wall, with no projections to hold on by and no holes in which to thrust the feet. Her style is involved, consisting of long sentences with the point much obscured. One of her peculiarities is that her artisans and peasants, most correct of speech and deportment, converse like educated people. In her writings are to be found some pithy sentences. In the introduction to her "Recollections," she writes, "I have long been persuaded that there is no such thing as an honest private journal, even where the entries are punctually made under present impressions." Under the belief that the Prince of Darkness is a gentleman, she says, "Satan seems to be a privileged person." Again, "It is no uncommon case to seek ​direction in prayer and then to act from the impulse of our own choice, without waiting for an answer."

Her principal novels are "The Rockrite," an Irish tale having for its subject the acts of a Roman Catholic Society organized in 1821 under a commander who assumed the title, "Captain Rocbr." "Derry," a story of the defenders of "this very citadel of Protestant faith," in which much emphasis is laid on the stout-heartedness within its walls, who, with the cry of "No Surrender," in the face of starvation, pestilence and a constant rain of shells, held the town against the Roman Catholic besiegers. "Helen Fleetwood," who was brought up by a kindly neighbor but forced through the harshness of the parish authorities to seek her fortune in a large manufacturing town. The purpose of this novel is to place before the public the temptations to which girls were exposed in cotton mills. "The Wrongs of Women " is at win to "Helen Fleetwood" in motive and treatment. In this collection of sketches, Charlotte Elizabeth shows herself most distinctly in the light of a worker for the rights of women. She sets before her readers the privations and abuses to which female workers were subjected. As milliners and dress-workers, as lace-runners, as workers in screw and pin-factories, there is the same story of over-crowding, long hours, no consideration.

Besides her more ambitious works there are "Letters from Ireland," devoted to the state of that country in 1837, the character of its people, and, an opportunity not to be neglected, the evil influences of the Church of Rome upon them. "War with the Saints," the history of the Albigenses in their struggles against Roman Catholicism. "The Flower Garden," stories of different characters, who had come under her notice in her constant work among the poor. "Judea Capta," and "Judah's Lion," as their titles show, treat of Jewish subjects. There are also several essays on religious subjects, or with a devotional tendency. She also left, beside her long poetic tales, "Ingram" and "The Convent Bell," a few poems of no particular merit.

​Charlotte Elizabeth's books sprang from her desire to dedicate her talents to the service of God and her sister women. In spite of what might be considered her prosiness, her goody-goody religious teaching and her lack of Christian charity, we can but honor her fearless speech, her earnest devotion to the needs of the poor and her fervent piety. The interests that prompted her stories have passed away; nothing but gray ashes remains of the burning questions that agitated Ireland and England in the early part of the last century, and with the dying down of the flames of intolerance and oppression, has ceased the absorbing interest in the works of Charlotte Elizabeth.

Annapolis Royal, September 1901.