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H229 Narrative Fiction 1
Lecture 4 1995
The most important theoretical idea in today's lecture is the idea of intertextuality. Julia Kristeva tells us that intertextuality is '... an insight first introduced into literary theory by Bakhtin: any text is constructed as a mosaic of quotations; any text is the absorption and transformation of another.' [1] I'll return to this important idea in the last part of the lecture—I'm just giving you a preview at present.
The lecture's in four parts. I'll begin with a discussion of plot and narrative structure in the epistolary novel, then I'll move on to the historical and social context of the novel. I'll then share with you my views on some the novel's themes, before concluding by attempting to give you a sense of the meaning of 'intertextuality.'
In coming to discuss Dangerous Liaisons, my real beginning is where I left off last week, with plot and with narrative situation—and with one or two of the theorists I was using then. 2
As the novel is conducted on the basis of letters, it follows that they will be of different types with regard to the forward movement or not of the plot. Some letters, and especially those to and from the Marquise and Valmont, will carry the burden of the action; others, especially those to and from the Présidente and Valmont are almost purely rhetorical, in that they are concerned with attitudes, arguments and states of mind, rather than with events. (This is adapting to a smaller scale the notion of different types of plot, as in R. S. Crane: plots of action and of character [his third type, as I mentioned last week, is the plot of thought].) 3
The use of letters complicates the simple scheme of Franz Stanzel, mentioned last week, [4] in that, at different moments and in different letters, we will be receiving sometimes a first-person account, sometimes a story about someone else, in the third-person, and sometimes an account of the inner states and perceptions of a character other than the letter-writer. Perhaps we should say that the epistolary narrative situation is a fourth type, with enough of its own special characteristics to qualify for this recognition. However, it is possible to use Stanzel's categories (of narrative situation) in micro-analysis, as I've suggested we can use Crane's (categories of plot)—not on the level of the work as a whole but in discrete moments, sections, or (in this particular case) letters. It's probably worth saying that an epistolary novel will tend to produce a weak sense of an overall author, and a greater preponderance of the other main type of narrative situation—the figural—with a greater opportunity for first-person narration than in a non-epistolary novel.
I don't think Franz Stanzel deals specifically with the epistolary novel—the novel written entirely in letters, but whether he does or not, he would have seen it as a special case of the first-person narrative situation, which you will remember was in its turn a special case of the authorial narrative situation. Each of the letter-writers is 'literally' an author, and each of them witnesses what they describe and what they give accounts of, whether it is a case of what we usually think of as the 'authorial' situation, in which the narrator recounts events happening to someone else, or whether it is a case of the 'inward turn of narrative ,' in Erich Kahler's phrase, where the interest in someone's consciousness—in this case the self-observer's. 5
Some letters give an account of some event. In Letter 85, for example, the Marquise de Merteuil writes to the Vicomte de Valmont, telling him of the events leading to the downfall of Prévan.
He cursed his clothes [she writes], which, he said, put him at a disadvantage. He wanted us to fight on equal terms. But my extreme timidity opposed the project, and my tender caresses left him no time to carry it out. He occupied himself with other things. 6
Other letters describe character, as the Valmont describes the Présidente de Tourvel in Letter 6.
She does not know how to disguise an empty phrase … she laughs only when she is amused … frank and simple gaiety … innocent joy and passionate kindness … She is chaste and devout …' 7
In another places a character is allowed to wax philosophical, as in Letter 125, where the Vicomte writes:
So far, my love, you will, I think, have been pleased with the orthodoxy of my method: you will have seen that I have in no respect diverged from the true principles of an art, that is, as we have often observed, very similar to that of warfare. 8
And in yet another other, the letter form is used to convey a state of mind, as in Letter 161, the letter dictated by the Présidente de Tourvel to her maid, in which she first addresses the Vicomte de Valmont as to the real state of affairs, then apostrophises her friends, then Tourvel; and then speaks in (quasi stream-of-consciousness) delirium, to Valmont.
But look! It is he. … There is no mistaking him: it is he I see again. Oh, my beloved! Take me in your arms. Hide me on your breast. Yes, it is you, it is really you! What dreadful delusion made me misunderstand you! How I have suffered in your absence. Let us never be separated again, let us never be separated. Let me breathe again. Feel my heart, how it beats. … 367
So, although at first sight, when you first open Dangerous Liaisons, or Clarissa, or Frankenstein, or some other such epistolary or part-epistolary novel, and your heart sinks at what you expect will be the limitations of the form, you may come to consider that it does have some liberating prospects. It would certainly seem at least to be predisposed to be 'heteroglossic,' in Bakhtin's term, that is, to contain not only one particular voice or form of discourse, but to represent a number of different ways of speaking, a number of different voices (hence the term 'heteroglossia,' from 'etero,' meaning 'different,' 'other'; and 'glossa,' the Greek word for the tongue). (I mentioned heteroglossia last week.) 9
In Dangerous Liaisons there are, for instance, a couple of letters from servants. Roux Azolan, valet to the Vicomte de Valmont writes to him once, in Letter 107—although his style is not completely lacking in polish, but is just a little plain. Slightly higher up the social scale is M. Bertrand who writes to Mme de Rosemonde in Letters 163 and 166 to tell her of the death of Valmont after the duel and the arrangements that he has made. And representing another profession we have Father Anselme who writes to the Vicomte de Valmont one letter: Letter 123.
Incidentally, letters play an important part in other novels on this course. We didn't mention them much last week, re Tom Jones (1749), but if you were interested to follow this up, as an aspect of narrative structure, for example, you might look at their function in the earlier novel, as compared to this one (1782). [9] In my notes on Tom Jones, I find references to fifteen letters—and I wasn't particularly looking for them at the time. Letters are also important, for instance, in Frankenstein, which uses a combination of situations, but which one could argue is basically in epistolary mode. We might look at the way in which Shelley frees herself from the restrictions of the epistolary convention, when we get there.
The letters in Dangerous Liaisons are not so stylistically distinguished from those of the principal writers as are the letters from servants and tradespeople in other novels we have read or shall read. In Tom Jones, for example, you may (but probably won't) remember the style of Samuel Cosgrove in his Letter to Mr Brian Fitzpatrick in 11.5. Much more memorable, however, is the letter from Honour Blackmore, in 15.10.
To bee sur, won shud kepe wons tung within one's teeth, for no boddi nose what may hapen; and too bee sur, if ani boddi ad tolde me yesterday that I shud haf bin in so gud a plase to day, I shud not haf beleeved it … 10
There are also several letters in Caleb Williams. The Elder Hawkins's letter is read by Caleb, in Volume 2, Chapter 2, [11] with unpleasant consequences for that reader in the text, when he confesses in the next chapter 125:
"For God's sake, sir, turn me out of your house [he raves]. Punish me in some way or other, that I may forgive myself. I am a foolish, wicked, despicable wretch. I confess, sir, I did read the letter." 12
This letter, then, functions not only in the information which it supplies to the plot and to the delineation of character, but also functions itself as a device to forward the plot. And it adds one more style of writing to the range of voices which are allowed to be heard.
In this connexion, by the way, I was interested to discover that before Samuel Richardson went on to write his great epistolary novels, Pamela (1740) and Clarissa (1748), that he had previously written a book called 'The Complete Letter Writer, consisting of 173 familiar letters. There are letters for every sort of occasion, and the tone throughout is fictional and quite undistinguished.' [13] And even before this, Richardson had had some very early training in the power of the pen.
As a bashful and not forward boy [he tells us], I was an early favorite with all the young women of taste and reading in the neighborhood … I was not more than thirteen when three of these young women, unknown to each other … revealed to me their secret loves in order to induce me to give them copies to write after, or correct, for answers to their lovers' letters … 14
So even for us shy, bookish types, you see, there is hope. It's just a question of how well you can write. … But I should get back to Pierre-François-Ambroise Choderlos de Laclos and his situation, and his plot.
Taking this question of the narrative situation together with the question of plot: I wonder whether R. S. Crane would see Dangerous Liaisons as containing a plot mainly of action, or character, or of thought. There are some important events in the novel, but are they sufficiently central to the plot to constitute what Crane calls the 'the synthesizing principle'? You will recall that in the plot of action, 'the synthesizing principle is a completed change, in the situation of the protagonist, determined and effected by character and thought'; in the plot of character, 'the principle is a completed process of change in the moral character of the protagonist, precipitated or molded by action, and made manifest both in it and in thought and feeling'; in the plot of thought, 'the principle is a completed process of change in the thought of the protagonist and consequently in his [or her] feelings, conditioned and directed by character and action.' I suppose the most important event in the novel is the rape of Cécile, but this does not seem to bring about a change in the situations of the two central characters to the extent that it can be seen to be a synthesizing principle. What about the possibilities of the plot of thought? Would you say that there is a 'completed process of change in the thought of the protagonist[s]', and that this constitutes the synthesizing principle of the novel? Or would you prefer to think that there it a 'process of change in the moral character' of the Vicomte de Valmont and the Marquise de Merteuil which is central to the plot of this novel? There is some grounds for thinking that this is the case with regard to the Marquise. In Letter 175, the last letter in the main part of the novel, Mme de Volanges writes to Mme de Rosemonde that the Marquise is 'horribly disfigured.' ' '"… the disease has turned her inside out, and … her soul is now visible on her face."' [15] I think there is little doubt that the disease is metonymical for the moral corruption which Laclos now reveals becoming visible in his heroine's actual appearance. The punishment he visits on the male of the pair is arguably less cruel: he is allowed merely to die in the duel with Keanu Reeves … I mean 'with the Chevalier.' The way Malkovich plays this scene in the film allows us to see his death as something like a suicide, required by his code of honour, that is, by moral considerations. So perhaps we can conclude that it is a question of the plot of character, and that the key to structure of the narrative as a whole is the notion of moral change. Let us see how far we can go with that.
I'll return to the questions of the narrative structure of Dangerous Liaisons and the thematisation of letter-writing in a moment, but now I want to briefly to suggest something about the historical and social context of the novel.
Dangerous Liaisons was published in 1782, during in a period of libertarian ideas, in which the Encyclopædists and Diderot were active, and only six years before the French Revolution. The sexually libertarian theme of the novel mirrors the politically libertarian times, perhaps most superficially obviously in the way in which establishment religion is somewhat called into question by the careless, disrespectful way in which it is referred to—as when the Marquise de Merteuil, for example, writes to Valmont: 'You may conquer her love of God [she is referring to the Présidente]: [but] you will never overcome her fear of the devil.' 31 She also shows a certain disrespect for priests: '… I have taken care to raise a few doubts in the girl's mind as to the discretion shown by confessors.' [16] 117 Another example of her disrespect is perhaps to be found in her comparison of Cécile and Mary Magdalene. 'If the Magdalene was at all like this her penitence must have been much more dangerous than her sin.' [17] 136 The Vicomte is also irreverent as in Letter 4: 'Conquest is our destiny: we must follow it. … And if God judges us by our deeds, you will one day be the patron of some great city, while I shall be, at most, a village saint.' [18] 28
Another libertarian—or maybe 'liberationist'—aspect of the novel is evidenced in a certain empowering of women at this time: they had control over the artistic salon, to which men were only admitted as guests. Although this is not presented in this novel, it is in the background, and may be seen in the behaviour in polite society, at cards etc., and also in the Marquise de Merteuil's use of her petite maison (41).
With regard to its literary context: Laclos's book is preceded by Clarissa (Richardson), thirty years before, and La Nouvelle Héloïse (Rousseau), twenty years previously, both important epistolary novels. He refers to both: Clarissa on pages 257, 264; and La Nouvelle Héloïse in his epigraph and through the Marquise who reads from it in Letter 10 (42).
Letters in Laclos's novel are not merely the means of communication of action and character. They are not merely the carriers of the discourse, the metaphors, if you like; they are also the metonyms. That is, they also, in themselves, are actions.
The war in this novel is one of words: the letters both report what is said in the conduct of the battles, but they are also themselves some of the shots exchanged. As are some of the letters in Tom Jones. One of the best examples of the letter as action is referred to in Letter 142: The Vicomte de Valmont tells the Marquise de Merteuil he has sent to the Présidente the letter drafted by the Marquise, referring to it as 'the little specimen of epistolary art.' [19] You'll remember that in the previous, Letter 141, the Marquise de Merteuil, still believing that Vicomte de Valmont is in love with the Présidente sends him the draft of a letter—enclosed in a 'story'—which he can send to the Présidente to break off their relationship. The Marquise sends a letter within a letter to Valmont, who does the same in return, and in each the case the framing letter is an act—rather like a move in a competitive game—enclosing the implication of a successive and consequent act. The Vicomte's move in reply has the same kind of implication of futurity that a chess move has: restricting some possibilities and opening up a range of new ones. 20
As the sending of a letter may be a significant action, so also its return may be. The return of letters signifies the end of an affair and the giving of power back to the person who gave it away in exposing themselves by the sending. See, for example, the Présidente's request in Letter 136 (324-325), in which she asks the Vicomte to return her letters. It's odd, therefore, that the Marquise de Merteuil should be so careless as to write and send incriminating letters to several people, not only Valmont but also Cécile and Danceny. It's odd, but of course it's necessary for Laclos's plot. In the end, the letters themselves are the downfall of the Marquise.
I don't think that there would be much disagreement with my suggestion that Letter 81 is the single most important one in the 'collection.' This is the letter that will later be circulated among Parisian society (together with Letter 85 that narrates the story of the downfall of Prévan), as a proof of the perfidy of the Marquise. It is also the one in which she tells her reader(s) how she has 'created' herself (181); what her destiny is: 'born to revenge my sex and master yours …' (180); her view of sexual politics: 'In this unequal contest we are lucky not to lose, you unlucky when you do not win.' (179); and her opinion of Valmont: 'Your reputation so impressed me that it seemed that only you could bring me glory. I longed to measure words with you. This is the only one of my desires that has ever for a moment gained sway over me.' (186) But by revealing her ruthlessness ('As to Prévan, I want him, and I shall have him …') it will be the engine of her undoing.
I have suggested that the action in Dangerous Liaisons is like a war, or at least a wargame. The battles are fought in words. This leads to a consideration of the importance of rhetoric, as the art and science of persuasion and control in words. The winner in the battle will be she or he who has the best rhetorical skills, the highest degree of control over the verbal expression of ideas. And indeed considerable attention is explicitly paid by the letter-writers to that activity. Look for example at Letter 33—an important letter because concerned with letter-writing (and therefore by implication with the substance, the mode of existence of this epistolary novel). The Marquise writes to the Vicomte: 'Your real mistake is in entering into a correspondence' (78); and: 'It is not a question of using the right words, one does not arrange them in the right way. Or rather, one does arrange them, and that is sufficiently damning' (79). That is: it is one thing to write, another thing to write effectively, and yet another thing altogether to have written. Compare also Letter 106, where the Marquise de Merteuil writes to the Vicomte de Valmont that: 'It is so easy to be a bigot in writing!' [21] (255)
Writing and learning to write effectively is dealt with expressly in some letters, again making its importance in this novel explicit. In letter 105 (252), the Marquise de Merteuil advises Cécile about writing style. In Letter 117 the Vicomte teaches Cécile, even dictating the letter—which also allows for the amusing doubles entendres. The Vicomte has Cécile write to Danceny, her would-be lover: 'Oh, you have a good friend in him, I do assure you! [That is, in Valmont!] He does everything for you that you would do for yourself. [That is, including making love with Cécile!] … I am going to bed [she continues] to make up for lost time.' 282 '. The Vicomte also dictates Letter 156, which gets Danceny to go to her instead of to the Marquise. And in Letter 121 the Marquise de Merteuil tells the Chevalier Danceny how to write.
Considering the writing of letters leads also to thinking about their delivery. You might want to think about the various stratagems employed in the action for the delivery of letters. And consider an analogy from this with the delivery of the narrative to the reader, who must be surprised in some way. See especially Letter 34: from the Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil (81-3). The Vicomte must plot the conveying of his letter to his unwilling reader, Mme de Tourvel, in something like the same way the Laclos must plan the conveying of his narrative to his reader, potentially unwilling unless persuaded by the stratagem (as well as his rhetoric). The letters in the novel reflect in miniature (en abyme) the conduct of the narrative as a whole. As Shoshana Felman writes, on the subject of The Turn of the Screw: 'The letters in the story are not simply metonymical to the manuscript which contains them; they are also metaphorical to it; they are the reflection en abyme of the narrative itself. To read the story is thus to undertake a reading of the letters, to follow the circuitous paths of their changes of address.' 22
Thinking about mode of delivery leads—for me anyway—to thinking about timing, pace, and variety. The epistolary form seems at first sight to be rather static and regular—one letter follows another, and is often a reply to the first. Each unit is roughly of similar size and significance. There is usually basically one topic per letter, and not much variation in correspondents and the order in which their communications succeed each other. In this way a sequence can be rather like a succession of scenes in a film. But also, as in a film, montage can produce surprising juxtapositions. A letter may not be succeeded in the epistolary novel by a reply from its addressee, but by a letter from another person describing instead the way in which the first letter was received, and what the results were of the events precipitated by the writing and delivery of the first letter.
And with regard to pace: one often has to wait for a letter or three to see what the reply will be, as there may an interruption of another discourse between the first message and its reply. However, when the answer is immediate there is an effective structural reason for it, as in the reply to Letter 153. This is the letter in which the Vicomte de Valmont writes—perhaps rather naively—to the Marquise de Merteuil: '… each of us is in possession of all that is necessary to ruin the other … henceforth I shall be either your lover or your enemy. … You see [he writes at the end]: the reply I ask for does not require long and beautiful sentences. A word will suffice.' [23] And the Marquise de Merteuil writes her reply, we are told, at the foot of the same letter, and presumably immediately: "Very well: war."' The break between the two is sudden and cataclysmic, and so, therefore, is its expression.
What the epistolary novel should not allow, by definition, is a stream-of-consciousness effect or continuous thought report. Laclos uses something like this on one or two occasions, nevertheless, and perhaps not very effectively, to convey, as I've already suggested, the agitated state of mind of the Présidente de Tourvel. See Letter 124: 294; Letter 161: 368-9 esp.
To move from the énonciation to the énoncé, or from what Horst Ruthrof calls the 'presentational process' to the 'presented world,' one could begin with the notion of plotting. [24] Plotting is not only an element of the structuring of the action of the book, but also an essential element of its content: of the way in which character. Note that the two key plotters, the Marquise and Valmont, are also the confidants and advisers of the people against whom they are plotting—as the novelist is of his characters. He plots them and also plots against them. I disagree with the interpretation in the 'Introduction' by P. W. K. Stone in the Penguin edition (Stone writes: 'Laclos does not, at the end of his story, dispose of these two frightful and fascinating personages in a suitably damning way') [25] I would suggest that Laclos does finally punish his villains, in terms of what happens to them. Valmont dies, but is allowed enough time finally to do the right thing; the Marquise's punishment is worse: she lives, but is 'horribly disfigured.' '"… the disease has turned her inside out, and … her soul is now visible on her face."' [26] (392) And a final 'editor's' note explicitly suggests that Mme de Merteuil went on to some more 'sinister occurrences which crowned [her] misfortunes and accomplished [her] punishment.' 27
The main element thematised in the novel is the strategy employed in the 'war' between the sexes. See especially Letter 125: The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil, where this homology is made quite explicit, as in: 'So far, my love, you will, I think, have been pleased with the orthodoxy of my method: you will have seen that I have in no respect diverged from the true principles of an art, that is, as we have often observed, very similar to that of warfare.' (302) This is a central theme running throughout the narrative; and this, of course, brings together soldier Laclos's two interests: writing and strategy.
'Love' is perhaps the key term in the analysis of strategy. Consider these examples of its use. Valmont writes: (34) 'I have not yet uttered the word "love", but we have already arrived at "confidence" and "interest".' [28] And then (56): 'I have at last made a declaration of love …' [29] Cécile writes to Danceny—because he wants to hear it: (74) 'I love you with all my heart.' [30] And The Présidente writes that 'For the first time I have written that word, so often demanded and never given …' (240) But it is the Marquise who is the most analytical with regard to the term, in writing: '… I confirmed the truth that love, which we cry up as the source of our pleasures, is nothing more than an excuse for them.'; and '… I foresaw certain success if he [that is, Prévan] should so much as pronounce the word "love"—and, especially if he should make any attempt to obtaining it from me.' (198) [31]
A clear example of the use of strategies in amours is given in the account of the Downfall of Prévan by the Marquise. She lists the various activities in which she engages with him: '… offering embarrassment to give him time to speak; poor arguments to be refuted; fear and distrust to call up his protestations together with that perpetual refrain of "I ask for no more than a word;" silence in reply to the latter, which it seemed would have him wait for what he wanted, only to make him desire it the more; and all the while a hand taken a hundred times, and a hundred times withdrawn, but never refused. One could spend a whole day at this …' 31
Another central theme is the contestation between the honesty of the attitudes expressed by Valmont—and more especially by the Marquise—as against the rhetoric of convention and compliment in the society of the day. (We talked about this a lot last week.) In this regard you might want to consider especially the important Letter 81 from the Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont, in which, as I mentioned earlier, she speaks of 'creating herself.' (181) And you might see also Letter 105: in which the Marquise speaks to Cécile Volanges (who is now 'past 15') in a truthful way about how to conduct an affair. 'Come now [she writes], a little honesty.' (250) In Letter 121, the Marquise wants the Chevalier Danceny to flatter less and be more frank and forthright. 'This is what comes [she writes] of using a language which nowadays is so abused that it means even less than the jargon of compliment. It has become no more than a set of formulas, and one believes in it no more than one believes in "your very humble servant". When you write to me, my friend, let it be to tell me what you think and feel, and not to send me phrases which I can find, without your help, set forth more or less to advantage in the latest novel.' (288) Finally, I draw your attention also to Letter 99 and the Vicomte's remarks about 'the language of convention': 'Mme de Tourvel and I have for some days been in agreement about our feelings; our only dispute now is about words. It had always been, of course, her friendship that answered my love: but the language of convention did not alter the facts …' (231)
On the other hand, with regard to honesty and straightforwardness, you will have noticed that Valmont is not entirely consistent with regard to what he says about seduction and how he actually carries it out in the two cases which are recorded in detail: those of Cécile (222-223) and the Présidente (298-303). In the first case the girl is a fifteen-year-old virgin, who is asleep when he enters her room with a key that he has got by a trick. He first considers having sex with her while she remains asleep, but then wakes her and persuades her not to give the alarm by blackmail, telling her that she will be 'ruined' for ever if she cries out. In the second case the woman faints but he has sex with her anyway. This is not seduction, but rape. Compare this with Letter 110: 264. He writes there that '… It is not enough for me to possess her: I want her to give herself up.'
The 'lecture' notes in the (blue) Study Guide make the connexion between sexuality and writing. Shoshana Felman seems to have had, in the paper I quoted from above, the same interest as John Frow (as shown in the 'lecture' notes which I believe he prepared) in the connexion between writing and sexuality. In that paper she ends up taking the hyperbolic position that 'sexuality is rhetoric,' and she writes this, 'It is thus not rhetoric which disguises and hides sex; sexuality is rhetoric, since it essentially consists of ambiguity: it is the coexistence of dynamically antagonistic meanings. Sexuality is the division and divisiveness of meaning; it is meaning as division, meaning as conflict.' 35
I've mentioned several other literary texts, and in this connexion I'd like you to recall or reread the paragraphs in Vijay Mishra's first 'lecture,' 'Introduction,' on the subject of the level of speech act, in which he deals with the idea of intertextuality, writing, inter alia: 'For example, much discourse in any novel is intertextual, deriving from the conventions of the novel or from the clichés, the commonplaces of everyday life.' Broadening this concept, you might want to think of this course as having a unity deriving from a potential interrelationship of everything in it to everything else, not only the primary texts, but also the critical writing, the 'lectures' in the Study Guide this lecture, your tutorial papers, and whatever else we construct between us in tutorials. So I shall refer both forward and backwards whenever I can, and I hope you will do so too. This may work at any level of discourse and textuality.
As an example of one way in which intertextuality works in Dangerous Liaisons, notice the homology—the correspondence—between the thematisation of the contestation between honesty (250) and dissembling (21) in Dangerous Liaisons—and the thematisation of truth in this work (which is 'not a novel') as against the fiction found in a novel. So note again Letters 107, 110 which contain the references to Clarissa (257, 264), and Letter 121 (288), which I quoted from a moment ago, and where the Marquise de Merteuil tells the Chevalier Danceny 'When you write to me, [do] not … send me phrases which I can find, without your help, set forth more or less to advantage in the latest novel.'—by implication making the point that novels, by their very nature, dissemble; unlike this collection of letters which is (fictionally) therefore supposed to contain reality. In another reference to the contrived nature of novel-writing, Laclos has the Marquise at one point read (42) a letter from Rousseau's La nouvelle Héloïse, in order, she writes, 'to establish in my mind the different nuances of tone I wished to adopt.'
But perhaps the most important element to mention again, under this heading of intertextuality is to refer again to the nature of letters. Letters are usually directed—but they can also go astray, or be re-sent, copied, published, and so on. And there is a model here—a paradigm—for all of literature: which can be seen as being like directed or misdirected letters, paradigmatically sent by an 'author' to a 'reader,' but can arrive in front of any reader, can be misunderstood, used for a purpose other than that originally intended, and so on. Imagine what Laclos might have thought, for example, of the film of his book!
Is a misdirected letter a special case of intertextuality? Certainly Shoshana Felman sees letters as being the essential element of literality—although this is not to state much more than a tautology, given that the word 'literature' comes from the word 'letter.' 38
There are also, by the way, references to the action in terms of other art forms (another form of intertextuality). 'What more has the theatre itself to offer?' asks the Vicomte, in Letter 99 (230). [39] And in Letter 125 he describes himself as playing in a 'scene[…] of despair' with the Présidente—a scene which he is keen to avoid allowing to become a scene of tragedy (300). 40
My final example of intertextuality is, I hope, the most relevant of all to my discussion of this book. In Letter 134, it is fascinating to note that the Marquise does some textual analysis, in scrutinising the letter from the Vicomte which she has just received. She writes: 'While remarking that, out of politeness, you were careful to avoid the words you imagined had offended me, I noticed all the same that, perhaps unconsciously, you expressed the same ideas. In fact it was no longer the adorable, the heavenly Madame de Tourvel, but "an astonishing woman," "a delicate and sensitive woman"—to the exclusion of all others; finally, a "rare woman," one such as is not likely to be met a second time.'—and so on (320). [41] I take comfort from this, in that I feel—not entirely seriously—that my own activities in textual analysis have been 'sanctioned' by this example of the Marquise's. Go thou and do likewise.
1 Intertextuality is '... an insight first introduced into literary theory by Bakhtin: any text is constructed as a mosaic of quotations; any text is the absorption and transformation of another. The notion of intertextuality replaces that of intersubjectivity, and poetic language is read as at least double. Kristeva, Julia 1986 [1969], 'Word, dialogue and novel' (first published in Σημειϖτιχη [Semeiotike]: Recherches pour une sémanalyse, Seuil, Paris) The Kristeva Reader, ed. and introduction Toril Moi, Basil Blackwell, Oxford, 34-61; this quotation: 37. In her footnote at this point Kristeva refers the reader to Kristeva, Julia 1974, La révolution du langage poétique. Seuil, Paris, 59-60.
2 [Pierre-François-Ambroise] Choderlos de Laclos 1989 [1782], Dangerous Liaisons, trs. P. W. K. Stone, from Les liaisons dangereux, Penguin. The original had the subtitle: 'OR Letters collected in one section of society and published for the edification of others.' All pages in these notes refer to the Penguin edition.
3 Crane, R. S. 1952, 'The concept of plot and the plot of Tom Jones', originally in Critics and Criticism: Ancient and Modern, University of Chicago Press, 1952; reprinted in James L. Calderwood & Harold E. Toliver, Perspectives on Fiction, Oxford University Press, New York, London, Toronto, 1968: 303-318; also, as 'The concept of plot,' in Robert Scholes, ed., Approaches to the Novel: Materials for a Poetics, Chandler, Scranton, 1961: 233-243.
4 Stanzel, Franz 1971, Narrative Situations in the Novel, Indiana University Press, Bloomington, trs. from Die Typischen Erzählsituationen im Roman, Braumüller, Vienna, 1955.
5 Kahler, Erich 1987, The Inward Turn of Narrative, tr. Richard & Clara Winston (for Princeton University Press, 1973, from 'Die Verinnerung des Erzählens,' in Untergang und Übergang, Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag, Munich, 1970), Introduction by Joseph Frank, Northwestern University Press, Evanston, Illinois (originally published in Die Neue Rundschau 68, 1957, 70, 1959).
6 Laclos 1989 [1782]: Letter 85: 202. Further references to the novel are by Letter number and page.
7 Letter 6: 33.
8 Letter 125: 302.
9 In Tom Jones, you might look at the letters in these chapters. (Pages are in the Penguin edition, unless 'S' given to indicate the Signet edition also.) Why are letters more frequent as the narrative draws on? Is it just because I didn't note earlier instances?
6.12. Tom's farewell letter to Sophia 289-290. Hers in return 291. She promises never to marry Blifil.
7.2. Sanctimonious letter from Blifil to Tom.
11.5. Letter from Samuel Cosgrove to Mr Brian Fitzpatrick.
15.9. 'Containing Love-Letters of several Sorts.' Three letters from Lady Bellaston to Tom 724-725, then two from him to her with two from her in reply, 727-729. In the last one she breaks off the relationship with him.
15.10. Contains letter from Honour Blackmore, P 732.
15.11. [Mentions 'novels' in passing. P 733, S 709.] Letters: a proposal to Tom from Arabella Hunt 734, and his reply to her 735.
18.2. 'Containing a very tragical Incident.' And a letter from Mrs Waters to Tom, 816.
18.4. Letter from Square to Allworthy in which he confesses the injury of Tom, telling the truth about Tom getting drunk. Letter from Thwackum asking for the living of Aldergrove, and running Tom down in the process.
18.8. Dowling reveals that Bridget Blifil had told him she was the mother of Tom Jones, and that she gave him a letter to give to Allworthy, which Blifil intercepted. Allworthy lets Blifil know that he knows about the letter.
In Caleb Williams, you might note these.
Volume 2, Chapter 2. 118-123: Hawkins's letter.
Volume 2, Chapter 3. 125: '"I confess, sir, I did read the letter."'
Chapter 8. 152-161. 158: Letter of resignation
159-60: '"You shall never quit it [160] with life.'"
166: Forester's letter.
10 Henry Fielding 1985 [1749], Tom Jones, Penguin, Book 15, Chapter 10: 732.
11 Godwin, William 1988 [1794], Things As They Are: or The Adventures of Caleb Williams, ed. with intro. by Maurice Hindle, Penguin: 118-123.
12 Godwin 1988 [1794]: 125.
13 Burrell, John Angus 1950, 'Introduction' to Richardson, Samuel 1950 [1748], Clarissa, Modern Library, New York: vi. The Complete Letter Writer published 1741.
14 Richardson, Samuel 1950 [1748], Clarissa, Modern Library, New York; from the 'Introduction' by John Angus Burrell: vi.
15 Laclos 1989 [1782]: Letter 175: 391-392.
16 Letter 51: The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont.
17 Letter 63: The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont.
18 Letter 4: The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil: 28-30.
19 Letter 142: 336.
20 See Letters 105, 117, 121 (and see below).
21 Letter 106: The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont: 255.
22 Felman, Shoshana 1977, 'Turning the screw of interpretation,' Yale French Studies, 55/56: 94-207; this quotation: 141.
23 Letter 153: The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil: 357, 358.
24 Ruthrof, Horst 1981, The Reader's Construction of Narrative, Routledge, London.
25 P. W. K. Stone, 'Introduction,' to Laclos 1989 [1782], Les liaisons dangereux, Penguin: 8-9.
26 Letter 175 [the last letter]: Mme de Volanges to Mme de Rosemonde: 392.
27 Laclos 1989 [1782]: 393.
28 Letter 6: The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil: 34.
29 Letter 21: The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil: 56.
30 Letter 30: Cécile Volanges to the Chevalier Danceny: 74.
31 Letter 102: The Présidente de Tourvel to Mme de Rosemonde. 'I am in love, yes, I am desperately in love. Alas! For the first time I have written that word, so often demanded and never given, and I should pay with my life for the pleasure of being able just once to let him hear it who has inspired it; yet I must continue to refuse!'
32 Letter 81: The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont: 183.
33 Letter 85: The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont: 199.
34 Letter 110: The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil. Still pursuing the Présidente. Cécile is now coming to his room at night. 'Thus busy the whole night long, I have begun to sleep during a great part of the day …' Reference to Clarissa, 264: 'There would be no difficulty in finding my way into her house, even at night, nor yet again in putting her to sleep and making another Clarissa out of her: but to have recourse after more than two months of toil and trouble to methods which are not my own! … It is not enough for me to possess her: I want her to give herself up.'
35 Felman 1977: 112.
36 Intertextuality is '... an insight first introduced into literary theory by Bakhtin: any text is constructed as a mosaic of quotations; any text is the absorption and transformation of another. The notion of intertextuality replaces that of intersubjectivity, and poetic language is read as at least double. Kristeva, Julia 1986 [1969], 'Word, dialogue and novel' (first published in Σημειϖτιχη [Semeiotike]: Recherches pour une sémanalyse, Seuil, Paris) The Kristeva Reader, ed. and introduction Toril Moi, Basil Blackwell, Oxford, 34-61; this quotation: 37. In her footnote at this point Kristeva refers the reader to Kristeva, Julia 1974, La révolution du langage poétique. Seuil, Paris, 59-60.
37 Letter 10: The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont: 42.
38 Felman 1977.
39 Letter 99: The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil. '… have I not pleasures, privations, hopes, uncertainties? What more has the theatre itself to offer? Spectators? Oh, wait and see. I shall not want those either. If they are not here now to watch me at work, I shall show them my task complete: they will then have only to admire and applaud.' 230
40 *Letter 125: The Vicomte de Valmont to the Marquise de Merteuil. Second seduction: that of the Présidente de Tourvel: 298-303.
'I did nothing to restrain her, since I have several times remarked that scenes of despair, when conducted with too much enthusiasm, lapse after any length of time into ludicrousness, from which they can only be saved by real tragedy, and tragedy I was very far from wishing to play. 300
41 Letter 134: The Marquise de Merteuil to the Vicomte de Valmont. It is interesting to note that she does some textual analysis, in scrutinising the Vicomte's letter. 'While remarking that, out of politeness, you were careful to avoid the words you imagined had offended me, I noticed all the same that, perhaps unconsciously, you expressed the same ideas. In fact it was no longer the adorable, the heavenly Madame de Tourvel, but an astonishing woman, a delicate and sensitive woman—to the exclusion of all others; finally, a rare woman, one such as is not likely to be met a second time.' etc. 320
Garry Gillard | New: 14 January, 2018 | Now: 20 December, 2018