I was
surprised, when reading Love in Excess,
by many of Haywood's characterizations and representations of Count
D'Elmont, and these observations gave me pause to consider,
admittedly for the first time, some of the unique creative opportunities
available to an author when choosing as her medium the novel. While
reading Love in Excess,
I often observed a dissonance between the narrator's descriptions of
D'Elmont's character and what I would likely have inferred to be the
quality of his character based solely on his actions. I believe this
troubled me throughout my reading of the novel, but it first became
strikingly apparent when D'Elmont, questioned by Frankville regarding
his and Melliora's relationship, and in an effort to pacify the
concerned brother, "entertained him with the whole history of
his adventures . . . disguising nothing of the truth, but some part
of the discourses which had passed between him and Melliora that
night when he surprized her in her bed" (185). The narrator
goes on to offer the following justification of D'Elmont's
significant omission: "[H]e was too tender of Melliora's honour,
to relate any thing of her, which modesty might not acknowledge,
without the expence of a blush" (185). This moment led me to
more closely consider Haywood's choice of the novel as her form for,
had this interaction instead been represented, for instance, on stage
in the form of a dialogue between the two men, D'Elmont's decision to
not relate to Frankville the extent of his and Melliora's dalliances
would certainly have been perceived as an effort to avoid the further
ire of a protective brother. Contributing to this conclusion, too,
is D'Elmont's earlier response to Frankville's accusations of
impropriety: "That I do love your sister is as true, as that you
have wronged me – basely wronged me. But that her virtue suffers
by that love, is false!" (181). As he here conveniently fails
to mention to Frankville that this statement is true only because his
best efforts to the contrary were unsuccessful, it seems quite clear
that it is not, despite the narrator's claims, only Melliora's
interests D'Elmont wishes to protect. I find it interesting that I,
as a reader, doubt the statements of an omniscient narrator;
certainly, though, my doubt renders the character of D'Elmont only
ambiguous in my view. Were he a character in one of Haywood's many
plays, however, and had I only, barring the excessive use of
soliloquy, his dialogue and actions, and not the direct
characterization offered by the narrator, by which to judge his
character, I would likely, by this point in the novel, have denounced
him as thoroughly a scoundrel. I am wondering, then, if Haywood's
use of the novel form allows her to play a bit more liberally with
her characters.
While
I, for the moment, am simply intrigued by the possible conflict
between direct and indirect characterization perhaps more readily
found in the novel than in other literary forms, Manley, in a preface
to The Secret History of Queen Zarah,
takes a firm stance: "['T]is not by Extravagant Expressions, nor
Repeated Praises, that the Reader's Esteem is acquired to the
Character of the Heroe's, their Actions ought to plead for them; 'tis
by that they are made known, and describe themselves" (36-37).
The
validity of this statement is perhaps best evidenced by the
relatively short scene in Love in Excess in
which D'Elmont is represented by the narrator as falling rather
victim to the seduction of Ciamara. While the narrator insists that
"it was impossible for any soul to be capable of a greater, or
more constant passion than he felt for Melliora, tho' no man that
ever lived, was less addicted to loose desires," certainly, had
this scene unfolded on stage, where an audience would bear witness to
D'Elmont's giving "his hands a full enjoyment" of Ciamara's
"charms," the purity of his desires would have been
rendered far more dubious than they are in the novel (225). It is
for moments such as these that Love in Excess leads
me to consider the potential in a novel for significant tension
between what a narrator pleads for his or her characters and what
their actions plead for themselves.
You make some very insightful points here; in particular, when you draw attention to the stage and the novel as different forms which allow (and restrict) narrative device. I had not considered this myself when I was puzzling through the sometimes inconsistent development of D'Elmont, split as he is between the sphere of his action and the internal perspective granted us by our narrator.
ReplyDeleteBut, of course, you are quite right to be doubtful of that omniscient narrator--and, in fact, it is a sign of good criticality that you are so. What are we, as the readers, supposed to put more trust in: the character's actions as related dispassionately through explanation, or the narrator's explanation of the whys and wherefores behind his speech and action? As you rightly point out, in a stage play we would not have Eliza Haywood's voice booming out to us from high atop the stage, sonorously explicating what motivates the characters playing out the drama below.
But this raises a question in my mind: is this a demonstration of Haywood's facility at making use of the novel form to do what she could not otherwise do in a play? Or, is the tension between description and action a sign that she is unable to properly integrate the two, and that we we are seeing as 'motivation' in her description is nothing more than the equivalent of a director's instruction to a playactor. In short: are the internal narratives a sign of authorial prowess, or directorial hamhandedness?
For my part, I have no answer. I am inclined a little in both directions and--perhaps--it is a bit of both, after all.
When I picture the scene on a stage, I cannot help but also imagine how an audience would react to D'elmont's lies. Especially given that his own brother has just accused him of attempting ruin Brillian's chances at love to keep all of Alovysa and Ansellina's money for himself, D'elmont doesn't look good at all. As a reader, my opinion wasn't any better, and it immediately set me to question the narrator's explanations. So I guess I am wondering if the effects either way are all that different. Perhaps, by explaining D'elmont's lies away, Haywood really just manages to draw attention to it.
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