Lady Susan is an epistolary novel, meaning that—apart from its conclusion—the story is told entirely through letters. Characters often reveal their true feelings and intentions to their recipient; for instance, readers are aware of Lady Susan’s lies and schemes due to the cruel letters she sends to her friend Alicia, and readers understand Catherine Vernon’s hatred of Lady Susan because of Catherine’s letters to her mother. However, characters hide these feelings from others, and act outwardly polite in person because social etiquette in 18th-century Britain demanded this. The separation between public and private life grows more problematic as the novella progresses, since no one is able to voice their true feelings, which allows Lady Susan to easily manipulate situations. By demonstrating this failure of communication and its repercussions, the novella suggests that polite society’s strict social code has dire consequences—often, the gulf between people’s public and private lives is what allows lies to fester.
Throughout the novella, few characters can voice their true feelings—the epistolary form is the only reason readers know these feelings at all. Though Catherine doesn’t want to host Lady Susan at the Vernons’ estate, she and her husband, Charles, are obligated to do so. This is, in part, because Lady Susan has made an effort to be outwardly polite to them, even though she once tried to stop Charles from marrying Catherine. At this point in the story, readers are aware of Lady Susan’s cruelty, but the rules of society dictate that because she repented for her actions, Catherine must receive her warmly. Catherine’s letters to her mother, Lady De Courcy, are the only evidence of her continued dislike. After Catherine’s brother, Reginald, grows infatuated with Lady Susan, Catherine wants to force him to leave their estate so that he can’t propose. But “common decency” prevents her from saying this—instead, she asks her mother to help trick Reginald into leaving using “any plausible pretence.” But Catherine’s roundabout method fails: even though Catherine and her parents agree that they should take action to prevent Reginald’s marriage to Catherine, their collective will can’t overpower society’s rules of “common decency.” Even when characters understand one another’s feelings, they’re required to speak in code. At one point, Catherine speaks with Lady Susan’s daughter, Frederica, about Reginald—though both characters have reason to dislike Lady Susan, Catherine must “recollect” herself before saying anything negative about her in front of Frederica. There’s little reason for this—Frederica is powerless, and likely wouldn’t tattle on Catherine—but Catherine’s politeness seems instinctual, suggesting that the society of the novella demands decorum even when it doesn’t make logical sense.
Because characters are required to be outwardly polite, the story’s most significant developments happen through letters and probably couldn’t have happened in person. After Sir James arrives at the Vernons’ estate, Frederica takes action—her mother wants her to marry Sir James, but Frederica despises him. Because Lady Susan doesn’t listen to her, Frederica instead appeals to Reginald to stop the engagement. But although the two are staying in the same house, Frederica does so via letter (she hands him a note as the two walk past each other). Afterward, Frederica tells Catherine that she needed to gather her “courage” just to hand a note to Reginald; more than likely, the rules of polite society would have prevented her from appealing to him in person. At the end of the novella, Reginald breaks up with Lady Susan, having learned of her affair with Mr. Manwaring. This breakup also happens via letter, even though Reginald and Lady Susan are both in London when he writes to her. If Reginald had not relied on letters, the breakup might never have happened—earlier in the story, he attempted to leave Lady Susan after learning of her cruelty to Frederica. But he spoke to her in person before leaving, and after exiting Lady Susan’s “dressing-room,” told Catherine that he had misunderstood the situation. In person, Lady Susan is able to distort the truth by upholding a public persona that’s very different from who she really is; in a letter, however, Reginald can hold his own.
However, letters don’t always reveal the truth—even they can be a vehicle for manipulation, which suggests that lies can and will fester without in-person honesty. When Lady Susan leaves for London, she plans to string Reginald along until his father dies and the two can be financially independent. In order to make this happen, she writes a letter to Reginald that reveals truth to the reader but conceals truth from Reginald. Readers learn for the first time that Lady Susan and Reginald are officially engaged—something that Catherine only suspects. But readers also learn that Lady Susan is lying to Reginald: her reason for the delayed marriage (that their union would upset Reginald’s family) is false. Lady Susan is unable to convince Reginald to stay away from London, but the fact that he comes to see her proves that he believes her performance of selflessness. Because Lady Susan is a skilled manipulator in person, her lies even find their way into the otherwise-truthful letters of others. The most obvious example is Reginald’s letter to his father, which parrots Lady Susan’s falsehoods—but even Catherine, who despises Lady Susan, spreads her lies in letters. For instance, Lady Susan is surprised by Sir James’s arrival at the Vernons’—but in a conversation with Catherine, she makes it seem like Frederica and Sir James are happily engaged, and like she planned his arrival. In a letter to her mother, Catherine doesn’t dismiss Lady Susan’s claim, instead saying that “she cannot help suspecting the truth of everything [Lady Susan] says.” But she also quotes Lady Susan’s dialogue verbatim, meaning that, even if she “suspects” that it’s all lies, she’s still spreading those lies to her mother. Thus, while letters seem to be a space for honesty, honesty can be distorted as long as society demands politeness over truth.
Related Themes from Other Texts
Public Appearance vs. Private Reality ThemeTracker
Public Appearance vs. Private Reality Quotes in Lady Susan
But I was determined to be discreet, to bear in mind my being only four months a widow, and to be as quiet as possible,—and I have been so; my dear creature, I have admitted no one's attentions but Manwaring's, I have avoided all general flirtation whatever, I have distinguished no creature besides of all the numbers resorting hither, except Sir James Martin, on whom I bestowed a little notice in order to detach him from Miss Manwaring. But if the world could know my motive there, they would honour me. I have been called an unkind mother, but it was the sacred impulse of maternal affection, it was the advantage of my daughter that led me on; and if that daughter were not the greatest simpleton on earth, I might have been rewarded for my exertions as I ought.—Sir James did make proposals to me for Frederica—but Frederica, who was born to be the torment of my life, chose to set herself so violently against the match, that I thought it better to lay aside the scheme for the present.
I was certainly not disposed to admire her, though always hearing she was beautiful; but I cannot help feeling that she possesses an uncommon union of symmetry, brilliancy and grace. Her address to me was so gentle, frank and even affectionate, that if I had not known how much she has always disliked me for marrying Mr Vernon, and that we had never met before, I should have imagined her an attached friend. One is apt I believe to connect assurance of manner with coquetry, and to expect that an impudent address will necessarily attend an impudent mind; at least I was myself prepared for an improper degree of confidence in Lady Susan; but her countenance is absolutely sweet, and her voice and manner winningly mild. […] She is clever and agreable, has all that knowledge of the world which makes conversation easy, and talks very well, with a happy command of language, which is too often used I believe to make black appear white.
I wish you could get Reginald home again, under any plausible pretence. He is not at all disposed to leave us, and I have given him as many hints of my father's precarious state of health, as common decency will allow me to do in my own house.
You must be sensible that as an only son, and the representative of an ancient family, your conduct in life is most interesting to your connections. In the very important concern of marriage especially, there is everything at stake; your own happiness, that of your parents, and the credit of your name. I do not suppose that you would deliberately form an absolute engagement of that nature without acquainting your mother and myself, or at least without being convinced that we should approve of your choice; but I cannot help fearing that you may be drawn in, by the lady who has lately attached you, to a marriage, which the whole of your family, far and near, must highly reprobate.
Frederica is too shy, I think, and too much in awe of me, to tell tales; but if the mildness of her uncle should get anything from her, I am not afraid. I trust I shall be able to make my story as good as hers. If I am vain of anything, it is of my eloquence. Consideration and esteem as surely follow command of language, as admiration waits on beauty. And here I have opportunity enough for the exercise of my talent, as the chief of my time is spent in conversation.
‘I am not apt to deal in professions, my dear Mrs Vernon, and I never had the convenient talent of affecting sensations foreign to my heart; and therefore I trust you will believe me when I declare that much as I had heard in your praise before I knew you, I had no idea that I should ever love you as I now do; and must farther say that your friendship towards me is more particularly gratifying, because I have reason to believe that some attempts were made to prejudice you against me. I only wish that They – whoever they are – to whom I am indebted for such kind intentions, could see the terms on which we now are together, and understand the real affection we feel for each other! But I will not detain you any longer. God bless you, for your goodness to me and my girl, and continue to you all your present happiness.’
What can one say of such a woman, my dear mother? –such earnestness, such solemnity of expression! and yet I cannot help suspecting the truth of everything she says.
I hope you will excuse this liberty, I am forced upon it by the greatest distress, or I should be ashamed to trouble you. I am very miserable about Sir James Martin, and have no other way in the world of helping myself but by writing to you, for I am forbidden ever speaking to my uncle or aunt on the subject; and this being the case, I am afraid my applying to you will appear no better than equivocation, and as if I attended only to the letter and not the spirit of Mama's commands, but if you do not take my part, and persuade her to break it off, I shall be half-distracted, for I cannot bear him. No human being but you could have any chance of prevailing with her. […] I do not know how to apologize enough for this letter, I know it is taking so great a liberty, I am aware how dreadfully angry it will make Mama, but I must run the risk.
I have for some time been more particularly resolved on the match, from seeing the rapid increase of her affection for Reginald, and from not feeling perfectly secure that a knowledge of that affection might not in the end awaken a return. Contemptible, as a regard founded only on compassion, must make them both, in my eyes, I felt by no means assured that such might not be the consequence. It is true that Reginald had not in any degree grown cool towards me; but yet he had lately mentioned Frederica spontaneously and unnecessarily, and once said something in praise of her person.
At that moment how great was my astonishment at seeing Reginald come out of Lady Susan's dressing room. My heart misgave me instantly. His confusion on seeing me was very evident. Frederica immediately disappeared. ‘Are you going?’ said I. ‘You will find Mr Vernon in his own room.’ ‘No, Catherine," replied he. ‘I am not going. Will you let me speak to you a moment?’
We went into my room. ‘I find,’ continued he, his confusion increasing as he spoke, ‘that I have been acting with my usual foolish impetuosity. […] Frederica does not know her mother—Lady Susan means nothing but her good—but she will not make a friend of her. Lady Susan therefore does not always know what will make her daughter happy. Besides I could have no right to interfere—Miss Vernon was mistaken in applying to me.’ […] I made no remarks however, for words would have been vain.
Why would you write to me? Why do you require particulars? But since it must be so, I am obliged to declare that all the accounts of your misconduct during the life and since the death of Mr Vernon which had reached me in common with the world in general, and gained my entire belief before I saw you, but which you by the exertion of your perverted abilities had made me resolve to disallow, have been unanswerably proved to me. Nay, more, I am assured that a connection, of which I had never before entertained a thought, has for some time existed, and still continues to exist between you and the man, whose family you robbed of its peace, in return for the hospitality with which you were received into it! That you have corresponded with him ever since your leaving Langford—not with his wife—but with him—and that he now visits you every day. Can you, dare you deny it?
