September 3, 1999
From: "Catherine Crean" September 4, 1999
Re: Numbered Letters in The American Senator and Ayala's Angel
and
In response to Catherine:
I have discovered that in a number of his novels Trollope names
a chapter the So-and-so correspondence, and gets the best of
both worlds: omniscient and epistolary narration, interior
monologue and satiric exposure, mirroring of the heart
and commentary thereon. Through these kinds of chapters
Trollope tells his story through letters which offer all kinds of
information like a picture does: implicitly, explicitly, and
psychologically. They are also often ironic in context.
At the same time the narrator talks away and we get dramatic
scenes which shape and guide the reader's response.
Sometimes Trollope also provides us with a character who
is reading the letter, sometimes to another character, so we get to
share their responses and active responses (sometimes in the form
of more letters, sometimes in the form of acts) too.
There are a few cases where he goes so far as to number these
correspondences. One we saw in The American Senator: the
Rufford Correspondence. The reason Trollope numbers the
letters of Rufford and Arabella before they meet at Mistletoe
is these letters are not written as the direct
outpourings of the writers' hearts, but rather in response
to a previous epistle. After the first unwary one, they are
calculated and wary responses to one another. In other words
it matters what order these letters were written
in.
First we get Rufford, and his is careless and spontaneous,
not to say mindless: he writes to complain he is stuck in a
house where the Master of the Hunt, Caneback, has died. What
a nuisance the funeral is. She ought to feel sorry
for him. Arabella Trefoil tries to use his words to further
along a half-plan he and she had that they would meet to hunt
together in another house. Rufford then answers, now wary.
It seems he might not show at said house. Arabella replies
if he doesn't show, she shall just about commit suicide because
since seeing him at Rufford Hall she has worked so hard to get
an invitation; she has altered all her plans. This male fish
seems half-caught because Rufford writes back he will certainly
be at Mistletoe. He will not disappoint Arabella.
Then in the next chapter we are told there was another correspondence
going on at the same time. People who just read the book will
remember that Arabella was engaged to John Morton; at just the
time of Rufford's first letter (No. 1), John Morton wrote
Arabella a serious, long deeply affectionate letter in which he
asked her if it was her intention to become his wife or not.
Now she doesn't reply to this because she has just received
Rufford's first. She is waiting to see how Rufford responds
to hers to him (No 2); after he writes so warily (No 3), she
is careful not to break with Morton. Then Morton
writes again and she must answer, only she now has only
had the letter in which Rufford tries to weasle out of
meeting her. In other words the two sets of letters
are intertwined and the responses of the second set are
the result of the responses of the first.
Why not arrange them as they would be in an epistolary
novel?
I dunno. I think because they are more fun to read with the
narrator intervening. It's more suspenseful this way. We get two different
views of each set of letters. Trollope is getting an enormous
amount of mileage out of each word. He numbers them so we can
follow him.
The letters themselves enable the characters to escape from
Trollope's view: Arabella's later letter to Rufford after he
flees Mistletoe, which she calls playful is pathetic in ways
she and the narrator seem to be unaware of. 'Your going off like
that was, after all, very horrid. My aunt thinks that you
were running away from me ... I don't for a moment think that ...
I know you don't like being bound by any of the conventionalities
... I am so stiff ... everybody cross ... nasty, hard, unpleasant
people'. Her second letter demands that Rufford acknowledge
an engagement, but the one that counts for the reader is the
first. There we see the difference between how people who
have lots of money can behave, and who those who are desperate
to live minimally respectably have to behave.
The numbered letters in Ayala's Angel are also pieces of posing.
Frank Houston to Emmeline, Lady Tringle, is a calculated posing.
Right before it the narrator enables us to enter Frank's mind and
this shows how Frank cares nothing for Gertrude Tringle. (We never
enter Rufford's mind, but then he doesn't sit around considering
things.) The second one of Frank to Gertrude seemed to me filled
with cliched cant of loverly language.
The third one is best of all. There Frank writes to Imogen Docimer
and unwittingly reveals how much he loves Imogen. The irony here
is he affects to despise the Tringles for their materialism,
for their shallowness, and what is he? He indicts himself.
He alludes to Sir Walter Scott's poem Allan-a-dale and boasts
of making Gertrude fall in love with him. Gertrude prefers the
blue vault of heaven with him to the bright spangles offered
her by her parents' money; they wail and cry; Gertrude has fled
to the forest to hear his love cry.
The whole thing is in such bad taste: here he's writing to
Imogen, a girl who loves him, and whom he has affection for;
he preens over the parents whose daughter he has persuaded
to prefer him for the great poetical vibes he supposedly emits;
and he affects to despise them. One result is that
Gertrude emerges as more than something of an ass too.
One could infer that were she to marry Frank, they deserve one
another. Whether Sir Thomas should be wasting his money this
way is another question.
I thought perhaps the reason for numbering them was that the
order counted. It's true that this set of letters is not
followed by another intertwinted set. However, it is followed
(somewhat later) by one from Frank to Imogen describing his
time in Scotland with the Tringles. In this letter he
again exposes himself unwittingly far more than Arabella Trefoil
ever does.
Whatever you may think of Arabella Trefoil, she has a dense presence;
she really means what she tells Rufford when she says she has worked
so hard to wrest an invitation from dense unsympathetic
people. Hunting is an exhausting challenge for her. Everything
she does and feel she does with a terrific intensity. Not so
Frank. Or at least not apparently so.
Did you notice that a good deal of the Frank Houston-Imogen Docimer
plot is told through letters. It proves that letters need not force
a novelist to be prolix. In fact you can swiftly offer a tiny novel
(the story of Frank and Imogen) within a bigger novel (the stories
of Ayala and Lucy) -- if you are Anthony Trollope.
Ellen
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