FREE ESSAY ON ANN RADCLIFFE'S THE ITALIAN

ANN RADCLIFFE'S THE ITALIAN

In Ann Radcliffe's The Italian, the very first thing that we see described is a veiled
woman:
It was in the church of San Lorenzo at Naples, in the year 1758, that Vincentio di
Vivaldi first saw Ellena di Rosalba. The sweetness and fine expression of her voice
attracted his attention to her figure, which had a distinguished air of delicacy and
grace; but her face was concealed in her veil. So much was he fascinated by the voice,
that a most painful curiosity was excited as to her countenance, which he fancied must
express all the sensibility of character that the modulation of her tones indicated (5).
Even without knowing anything about Gothic elements, this indicates very clearly what the
quality and tone of the book are going to be like. Vivaldi's pursuit of the veiled woman
is a signal that his is the pursuit of the mysterious, with the certainty that it will be
beautiful. This certainly does seem to be a great fascination in the novel; it is a
component and often a catalyst for that anxiety which runs throughout. 
It is this anxiety which causes the heightening of our emotions; our emotions are
heightened as we watch the characters' pursuit of the mysterious; and our curiosity is
excited more and more until we are nearly begging for its gratification. But Radcliffe
heightens our emotions without satisfying our curiosity, or at least not enough. For
example, the very first chapter establishes a sense of mystery about the assassin in the
Church. The Englishman inquires as much for himself as for us about the assassin. His
concern and state of shock invoke our own inquiry into this odd circumstance and then his
Italian friend tells him a mystery without actually telling him anything:
'He [the assassin] sought sanctuary here', replied the friar; 'within these walls he may
not be hurt'(2). 
He makes it clear that there is a story here but that it is long and suspenseful, maybe
shocking:
'It is much too long to be related now; that would occupy a week; I have it in writing,
and will send you the volume' (3).
What it is exactly, or what the tale is going to be is only hinted at in a very curiosity
invoking way: as if it is a secret. 
Instead of the Englishman and his Italian friend going down to the street cafe and
relating the story, the Italian friend says that he will send him something written the
following day and then the passage stops. We are tempted, as is the Englishman, by these
curious circumstances and yet nothing is revealed to us other that the implication that
soon all will be revealed (after a couple hundred pages). What Radcliffe does is that she
creates our sensation of terror; she suspends our disbelief that much longer, building
our curiosity and our need to know to a brilliant height and then-nothing: the story
takes a different turn and gratification is postponed while our expectation and
anticipation is increased. 
This happens in the very beginning passage in which Radcliffe starts The Italian by
providing just enough information to suck us into her tale and, then, just as we expect
pay off, she postpones it a little further while providing just enough information to
keep us intrigued. And, before we know it, we, the reader, are entangled in her Gothic
quicksand and greedily reading in search of the secrets she buries before our eyes. When
Vivaldi rushes into the Villa after the mysterious cloaked figure that has escaped him,
he emerges pale: we know something has happened and await his tale but he tells us
nothing, he refuses to say anything and, thus, we are left suspended in the wake of
mystery. Another example when we are suspended in the wake of mystery occurs when Vivaldi
and Paolo are in the dungeon imagining the garments lying on the floor to be moving. We
do not find out whether or not these garments belong to someone murdered until the end of
the novel; so this incident leaves us in a state of suspense:
'It moves!' exclaimed Paolo; 'I see it move!' as he said which, he started to the
opposite side of the chamber. Vivaldi stepped a few paces back, and as quickly returned;
when, determined to know the event at once, he raised the point of his sword, and
perceived, beneath, other remains of dress, heaped high together, while even the floor
below was stained with gore (77). 
This leads me to speak of imagination, which is such a huge part in telling the story.
There is such an enormous emphasis on perceptions, belief and feelings. It seems that
everything that happens is filtered through the lens of one of the various characters.
There is a constant projection of their thoughts into what is happening: 
As they passed, Paolo observed, that the walls were stained with what appeared to be
blood... (74). 
It did not necessarily have to be blood, but we see it through Paolo's perceptions, which
leads us to the most sordid conclusion. Immediately after this, they see a figure
standing in the shadows which disappears by the time they arrive; Vivaldi and Paolo
conclude that it must have been an evil spirit to haunt them. 
Although it can be argued that is the sense of the impending danger that gives the book
its impetus, it is more probable that it is the perception of the impending danger, of
the gruesome, of the revealing that which is dark, which is the impetus. That is a
significant difference. By doing this, Radcliffe wants to make sure that we are in sync
with the characters thought by thought and breath by breath. A cloudy sky cannot just be
shown as a cloudy sky, which would seem depressing to some or not important to others; it
has to take the perception and imagination of Vivaldi to make it foreboding. It is also
significant that Radcliffe purposefully constructs characters of a susceptible nature,
characters that are easily swayed by appearances and not facts.
By creating the character of Vivaldi, it seems that Radcliffe has created a character
that is more susceptible than the average person to the sublime and the gothic. He calls
the strange monk super-human on numerous occasions, overly excited to prove himself
correct. The narrator even says as much, hinting that after all the trouble Vivaldi put
himself through to discover the identity of the monk, a simple, rational explanation
would be disappointing. It seems as if Vivaldi is searching for trouble, in a sense, and
he does not shy away from dangers. It also seems that he enjoys the clandestine nightly
excursions to the arch where the strange monk appears. 
To Ellena, just like to Vivaldi, a simple rational explanation would also be
disappointing. In volume 2, when Ellena is taken to Spalatro and locked in her room
overnight, she begins to suspect an attempt on her life. In the darkness, she imagines
moving shadows and creaking floors, yet she is unable to confirm her fears. Instead of
using her common sense by thinking that if they really wanted to her dead, they would
have killed her before she reached the cabin, she prefers the non-rational explanation of
Spalatro trying to assassinate her. Like to Vivaldi, to Ellena just a rational
explanation would be disappointing and, to us, the audience, such a rational explanation
would decrease our sensation of terror instead of increasing it, which would, in turn, be
disappointing to our expectations. 
Ellena's fears certainly do not seem to be based on evidence. Even when Spalatro brought
her the meal, I was not sure if Ellena's fears were justified. It seemed that Ellena was
looking for someone to assassinate her, so anything she saw would be a part of that
conspiracy; everything Spalatro did would be suspect and it was. Her susceptible nature
often led her into the suspicion out of which the novel's Gothic tone is constructed;
just like Vivaldi's and Paolo's susceptible natures lead them to jump to most horrifying
conclusions earlier in the novel. 
When talking about perceptions, it is impossible to omit the distinction between the real
and unreal in The Italian. The strand of reality, interwoven with fantasy, seems to be a
driving force in the plot. In the episode involving Ellena, her suspicions are confirmed;
her fantasy becomes confirmed as reality as her fears about Spalatro's intentions are
confirmed (although not until the end). Of notice is also Vivaldi's constant desire to
solidify his fantasy (getting married) with Ellena; as if the real thing will finally
restrict the fearful possibilities into a single reality. Yet it is this reality from
which Vivaldi derives his fearful fantasies. It is this drama between what is real and
unreal that gives the novel its impetus. For example, when Marchesa is speaking to
Schedoni, they are both thinking of murder, but both refuse to 'say' it, as if doing so
would make it more 'real' than merely thinking about it. 
Bibliography
Anne Radlife's The Italian--Oxford World Classics