The Books: Further Chronicles of Avonlea: ‘Only a Common Fellow’ (L.M. Montgomery)

Daily Book Excerpt: YA/Children’s books:

Further Chronicles of Avonlea – “Only a Common Fellow” – by L.M. Montgomery

One of Lucy Maud’s beautiful little stories about the sacrifices people make sometimes, when you least expect it. I am strangely moved by this story – even though it’s written in kind of a sentimental tone – and even if I, personally, think that the main love story is based WAY too much on looks to have much of a chance. However, maybe that is part of Lucy Maud’s point (the title kind of hints at that). Mark Foster is not good-looking, or tall, or an appropriate romantic hero. He is “only a common fellow”. And yet – he is a hero. By the end of this story he is revealed as a complete hero who has sacrificed his own happiness for Philippa’s. You don’t even really LIKE Mark Foster – because he is seen through the eyes of the sentimental old aunt who is the narrator, who thinks that her darling niece Philippa shouldn’t be marrying him. Her darling niece Philippa had been in love with a man named Owen Blair – a man who was handsome, strong, good-looking, you know – “your basic nightmare”. And he apparently had been killed on the fields of France “by the Huns”. He never returned. Philippa’s heart has broken. And her evil stepmother (a great character) has basically set Philippa up with Mark Foster, a wealthy man, so that she can get her off her hands. It will be a loveless marriage – and Philippa’s father is too weak to do anything to stop it. But Isabella (the stepmother) is pleased as punch. Mark Foster is wealthy, there’s a mortgage on the farm that Mark said he would take care of for her IF he could marry Philippa, she doesn’t want Philippa around, a reminder of her husband’s first marriage, and so that’s THAT. Philippa has basically been SOLD to Mark Foster. One the morning of the wedding, Philippa lies in her bed crying. Her aunt comes to her. They both weep together. They weep for the memory of Owen Blair. Philippa asks her aunt to talk to her about Owen, almost like a bedtime story. It’s a horrible situation – she’s going to be married to Mark Foster in 2 hours, and here she is, lying in bed, dreaming about another man. Anyway, at the end of the story – with the house full of wedding guests, the ceremony about to take place, a knock comes on the door. The auntie opens the door – and there stands Owen Blair. Who apparently was NOT killed by Huns … he had been injured – and he had written Philiippa many letters – telling her he loved her, he was injured, he would be home as soon as he could. Only Philippa never got those letters. Because the evil Isabella had confiscated them. Philippa stands there, in her wedding dress, torn between her duty – she had said she would marry Mark – and her love for Owen. Isabella is busted in her evil-ness. Philippa, who is a good girl, finally chooses – and she goes and stands by Mark. She said she would marry him and she will not go back on her word. Owen is stunned. But then comes Mark Foster’s shining moment. He is “only a common fellow”, and nobody likes him, but he actually does love Philippa – and he knows he cannot bear to be married to a woman who is in love with someone else. He thought she might come around, once her grief for Owen had subsided … but now that he is alive … everything has changed. Mark suddenly steps out and says, “I cannot be married to anyone who loves someone else. I thought you would learn to love me but that was when we beleived Owen was dead. Please. Go to Owen. Be with him.” Isabella looks horrified – Mark glances at her and says, “Oh. One last thing.” He takes the mortgage papers out of his pocket, and rips them up, right there and then. And walks off, leaving Philippa weeping in Owen’s arms. The story ends with this moving paragraph:

I was glad for my dearie’s sake and Owen’s; but Mark Foster had paid the price of their joy, and I knew it had beggared him of happiness for life.

Here’s an excerpt from the beginning part of the story. I like how Isabella is described when you first meet her. You just get who she is, instantly.

Excerpt from Further Chronicles of Avonlea – “Only a Common Fellow” – by L.M. Montgomery

When she had talked it all out she lay down on her pillow again. I got up and went downstairs to light the fire. I felt terrible old and tired. My feet seemed to drag, and the tears kept coming to my eyes, though I tried to keep them away, for well I knew it was a bad open to be weeping on a wedding day.

Before long Isabella Clark came down; bright and pleased-looking enough, she was. I’d never liked Isabella, from the day Philippa’s father brought her here; and I liked her even less than ever this morning. She was one of your sly, deep women, always smiling smooth, and scheming underneath it. I’ll say it for her, though, she had been good to Phillippa, but it was her doings that my dearie was to marry Mark Foster that day.

“Up betimes, Rachel,” she said, smiling andn speaking me fair, as she always did, and hating me in her heart, as I well knew. “That is right, for we’ll have plenty to do to-day. A wedding makes a lot of work.”

“Not this sort of wedding,” I said, sour-like. “I don’t call it a wedding when two people get married and sneak off as if they were ashamed of it – as well they might be in this case.”

“It was Philippa’s own wish that all should be very quiet,” said Isabella, as smooth as cream. “You know I’d have given her a big wedding, if she’d wanted it.”

“Oh, it’s better quiet,” I said. “The fewer to see Philippa marry a man like Mark Foster the better.”

“Mark Foster is a good man, Rachel.”

“No good man would be content to buy a girl as he’s bought Philippa,” I said, determined to give it in to her. “He’s a common fellow, not fit for my dearie to wipe her feet on. It’s well that her mother didn’t live to see this day; but this day would never have come, if she’d lived.”

“I dare say Philippa’s mother would have remembered that Mark Foster is very well off, quite as readily as worse people,” said Isabella, a little spitefully.

I liked her better when she was spiteful than when she was smooth. I didn’t feel so scared of her then.