Sinister histories

Gothic novels and representations of the past, from Horace Walpole to Mary Wollstonecraft

Jonathan Dent

• Publisher: Manchester University Press
• Year: 2016
• Print ISBN:
  9781526143518
  9780719095979
• eBook ISBN:
  9781784997984
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Social History
• Index: Literature

Sinister histories is the first book to offer a detailed exploration of the Gothic's response to Enlightenment historiography. It uncovers hitherto-neglected relationships between fiction and prominent works of eighteenth-century history, locating the Gothic novel in a range of new interdisciplinary contexts. Drawing on ideas from literary studies, history, politics and philosophy, the book demonstrates the extent to which historical works influenced and shaped Gothic fiction from the 1760s to the early nineteenth century. Through a series of detailed readings of texts from The Castle of Otranto (1764) to Maria, or The Wrongs of Woman (1798), this book offers an alternative account of the Gothic's development and a sustained revaluation of the creative legacies of the French Revolution.

1

Contested pasts: David Hume, Horace Walpole and the emergence of Gothic fiction

Old castles, old pictures, old histories, and the babble of old people, make one live back into centuries that cannot disappoint one.

Horace Walpole to George Montagu (5 January 1766)

In reality, what more agreeable entertainment to the mind, than to be transported into the remotest ages of the world, and to observe human society, in its infancy, making the first faint essays towards the arts and sciences.

David Hume, ‘Of the Study of History’ (1741)

Featuring supernatural occurrences, family disputes, ancestral ambiguity, female persecution, superstitious beliefs, a castle with subterraneous passages, scenes of suspense and terror, and a macabre history that returns to disrupt the present, Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto introduced a number of tropes that would feature prominently in future Gothic works. As Walpole’s epigraph to this chapter indicates, he was enthralled by the past and our relationship with it. His status as a wealthy aristocrat enabled him to pursue his interest in the past and his home at Strawberry Hill came to resemble a Gothic castle.¹ Walpole was fascinated with medieval history and he was a keen historian and antiquarian.² His Strawberry Hill mansion was filled with paintings and ancient artefacts, and he published a number of works with serious historical intent.³ However, as I will show in this chapter, Walpole’s engagement with the past in Otranto is more frivolous. He does not set out to challenge the historical accuracy of Enlightenment works of history such as Hume’s The History of England. Rather, Otranto cultivates an imaginative identification with the past, raises difficult questions about the nature of historical knowledge and exploits the blind spots of Enlightenment historiography to evoke suspense, fear and terror.

As I discussed in the Introduction, Hume’s The History of England exhibits many of the qualities associated with Enlightenment historiography and proved immensely successful throughout the eighteenth century. In very diverse ways, both Hume and Walpole were interested in re-configuring history for the demands of an increasingly historical age. The former employed rational narrative frameworks designed to produce a more objective account of England’s history while the latter let his imagination run riot and plundered the past for its creative potential. History and literature were closely intertwined in the eighteenth century but, with the emergence of Otranto two years after the publication of Hume’s final volume of The History of England, the relationship between the two became even more convoluted. As I discuss in more detail later, Walpole’s letters reveal that he had a contentious relationship with Hume and that he was not fond of The History of England. Proposing that Otranto can be read as a rebellion against Hume’s historical philosophy, this chapter poses a number of questions. For example, to what extent can the novel be read as a reaction to the Enlightenment historical attitudes manifest in Hume’s The History of England? What is the significance of random occurrences in Walpole’s novel and what does Otranto say about our relationship with the past? Before answering these questions, it is necessary to thoroughly examine The History of England and the philosophy that underpins it.

Containing the past: Hume and historical frameworks

Hume was a philosopher before he was a historian and, whether it is historiography or philosophy, all of his work is historical in the sense that it endeavours to trace effects to perceptible causes. From A Treatise of Human Nature (1739–40) to An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding (1748) to The History of England (1754–62), Hume examines origins in an attempt to gain understanding and endeavours to banish ignorance by assigning causes to previously inexplicable phenomena. Moreover, his philosophical works outline a variety of narrative strategies that he believes are not only essential for writers in general, but particularly for historians. Throughout his philosophical conjectures, Hume speaks of history as a ‘narrative composition’ (1826, 27). Less interested in the function of history than some of his contemporaries, he focuses on how the past comes to be written and is concerned with history as a specifically ‘literary problem’ (Braudy 1970, 32).⁴ Hume argues that, like all literary compositions, history must have ‘a design’: without one, a work would resemble ‘more the ravings of a madman’ than ‘the sober efforts of genius and learning’ (1826, 26). History must be contained by a narrative framework or an infrastructure that emphasises coherence and continuity. The ‘events or actions’ that a historian relates must be ‘connected together by some bond or tie’ which ‘may bring them under one plan or view’ (26). In the writing of history, Hume argues, this ‘connexion among several events’, the one that ‘unites them into one body’, is invariably the ‘relation of cause and effect’ (30). The ‘more unbroken’ the ‘chain’ of reasoning or causation the historian presents, the ‘more perfect is his production’ (27).

For Hume then, the chief purpose of historiography is to unearth lines of causation. Even seemingly ‘different and unconnected’ past events must be comprehended within a ‘design’ and traced from their origins to their ‘most remote consequences’ because, ‘amidst all their diversity’, they still share a ‘species of unity’ (27). This leads to another important aspect of Hume’s philosophy, and one that has fundamental implications for his historiography. Despite its evident scepticism, his philosophy is largely concerned with universalisability.⁵ In An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, Hume declares that ‘there is a great uniformity among the actions of men, in all nations and ages’ and that ‘human nature remains still the same in its principles and operations’ (97). Since human nature is ‘uniform’, he posits, human action necessarily follows certain patterns. To use Terence Penelhum’s words (1993, 169), Hume’s philosophy implies that there is ‘a natural or usual course of behaviour’. Even when there are ‘seeming irregularities’ (in character or event), ‘internal motives’ may still ‘operate in a uniform manner’ (Hume 1826, 103). By ‘showing men in all varieties of circumstances and situations’ (98) within a coherent, causal, narrative framework, history should illuminate ‘secret springs and principles’ (27) and ultimately reveal ‘the constant and universal principles of human nature’ (98).

Such ideas pervade The History of England; a work that essentially represents an extension of Hume’s philosophical speculations. Written after the majority of his works of philosophy, Hume’s philosophical ideas not only inform and shape his multi-volume work of historiography, but are thoroughly tested, evaluated and altered. In contrast to his earlier works, Hume not only conjectures about matters of historical composition, but implements his philosophical ideas in The History of England. One does not have to read far into Hume’s history to discover his continuing concern with organisational frameworks and patterns of human behaviour:

Most sciences, in proportion as they encrease and improve, invent methods by which they facilitate their reasonings; and employing general theorems, are enabled to comprehend in a few propositions a great number of inferences and conclusions. History … is obliged to adopt such arts of abridgment, to retain the more material events, and to drop all the minute circumstances, which are only interesting during the time, or to the persons engaged in the transactions.

(HE 2: 3–4)

One such framework or ‘art of abridgment’ implemented in The History of England is character analysis. By implying that there is a relationship between personality and a broad range of public events, the analysis of ‘eminent personages’ (HE 5: 327) provides a form of causal explanation, at least in the Stuart volumes. For instance, ‘wild’ in his ‘conduct’ and ‘unrestrained either by prudence or principle’ (HE 6: 240), the Duke of Buckingham’s character is closely linked to his involvement in certain historical events. Without even considering alternative causes (such as social, political or contingent), Hume argues that it is Buckingham’s impulsiveness, his lack of ‘secrecy and constancy’, that destroys ‘his character in public life’ (HE 6: 240). As Leo Braudy highlights (1970, 46), Buckingham’s fiery nature is also somewhat overemphasised in his rivalry with Richelieu and for the cause of the brief England–France segment of the Thirty Years War.

In a similar fashion to Buckingham, Lord Ashley (also known as the Earl of Shaftesbury) is another figure who provides the ‘bond or tie’ that brings disparate events ‘under one plan’ (Hume 1826, 26). One of ‘the most remarkable characters of the age’, Lord Ashley is portrayed as ‘the chief spring of all the succeeding movements’ (HE 6: 240). Possessing ‘furious passions’, a ‘sound judgement of business’ and an aptitude for subtle contrivance, Lord Ashley’s nature is closely allied with the ‘pernicious counsels’ and insidious schemes of the infamous Cabal (HE 6: 240–89). Indeed, in the Stuart volumes, character analysis provides a framework or design for containing the past and revealing the correlation between human nature and human action. Hume epitomises his own historiographical strategy when he declares that the ‘movements of great states are often directed by as slender springs as those of individuals’ (HE 6: 46). However, The History of England is essentially a mélange of historiographical methods and, as is common with works written over a number of years, Hume’s techniques, aims and attitudes alter significantly; not only across the six volumes, but within individual volumes. Hume’s representation of Oliver Cromwell exemplifies the experimental nature of The History of England and signifies a discontent with character as a mode of historiographical organisation.

Where Buckingham and Lord Ashley are represented as rather one-dimensional figures whose stormy natures are directly responsible for the outcome of certain historical events, Oliver Cromwell is presented as a dynamic man with both public and private identities. Conducting himself with great ‘regularity’ and ‘austerity of manners’ in court, he has a propensity for ‘unguarded play and buffoonery’ amongst his ‘friends’ (HE 6: 90–1). We learn that he has a ‘vein of frolic and pleasantry’, often amusing himself by ‘putting burning coals into the boots and hose of the officers’ that ‘attended him’ (HE 6: 90). Hume argues that such qualities make Cromwell a ‘singular personage’ and a rather ‘inconsistent’ character (HE 6: 90). Human nature as uniform and the cause of historical events is profoundly problematised. Hume’s desire to see mankind ‘the same, in all times and places’ lessens (1826, 98). Cromwell’s conflicting selves lead Hume to contemplate the validity of character as a form of organisation in historical writing: he notes that Cromwell is capable of provoking both the most ‘extravagant panegyric’ and ‘most virulent invective’ (HE 6: 107) amongst historians. In his own historical account, Hume does not attempt to resolve the paradoxical qualities of Cromwell’s character. He merely represents the disparate qualities of his character and leaves it for the reader to decide. As Braudy notes (1970, 56), the irregularities of Cromwell’s character cast Hume’s philosophical notions concerning the universalisability of human nature and behaviour into doubt.

The portrayal of Charles II casts further doubt on Hume’s earlier philosophical conjectures. ‘If we survey the character of Charles II in the different lights, which it will admit of’, writes Hume, ‘it will appear various, and give rise to different and even opposite sentiments’ (HE 6: 446). In contrast to the treatment of Cromwell’s character, Hume sees a need to contain Charles’s character in order to ensure a coherent narrative. ‘With a detail of his private life’, writes Hume, ‘we must set bounds to our panegyric on Charles’ (HE 6: 447). By volume 5, Hume has almost entirely lost his faith in the relationship between human nature (cause) and human action (effect). Despite Charles I’s propensity for ‘hasty and precipitate resolutions’ (HE 5: 542), Hume does not see his personality as the reason for a series of ‘hostilities with Spain’ (HE 5: 354). Rather, Hume argues that antagonism between England and Spain ‘proceeded from the advice’ and ‘importunity of the parliament’ who deserted Charles ‘immediately after they had embarked him in those warlike measures’ (HE 5: 354). Indeed, human personality as a means of tracing lines of causation and unifying the vagaries of circumstance that is the past is radically undermined. Hume comes to believe that ‘character is not the only or even a major cause in history’ (Braudy 1970, 58).

In the Tudor and medieval volumes, Hume turns his back on the character-oriented conception of history almost entirely; history may be expressed through human nature, but it is not ultimately determined by it. Character becomes merely ‘one of the many causal streams in the flow of history’ (Braudy 1970, 64). The focus is now on the law. As Hume argues in his essay, ‘That Politics may be Reduced to a Science’, so ‘great is the force of laws’ that ‘consequences almost as general and certain may sometimes be deduced from them’ (1825, 13). Consequently, as Braudy points out (1970, 67), the Tudor and medieval volumes accentuate the formation and implementation of the law and attempt to place humankind within the infrastructure of law and time. For instance, Hume’s representation of Henry VII’s reign is permeated by the ‘many good laws’ that he ‘enacted for the government of his subjects’: from a ruling against ‘carrying off any woman by force’ to laws ‘against the exportation of money, plate, or bullion’ (HE 3: 74–7). At this stage of The History of England, Hume suggests that ‘the “real” theme of history is the working of law’ in each period (Braudy 1970, 68). Discussing feudalism in volume 1, Hume declares that ‘feudal law is the chief foundation, both of political government and of jurisprudence, established by the Normans in England’ (HE 1: 455). Feudal law is so important, argues Hume, that we must ‘form a just idea’ of it in order to explain the state not only of England, but ‘of all other kingdoms of Europe, which, during those ages, were governed by similar institutions’ (HE 1: 455). The law in effect becomes Hume’s latest infrastructure to connect diverse events and to ‘comprehend in a few propositions a great number of inferences and conclusions’ (HE 2: 3–4). In effect, what we have throughout The History of England is a quest for a narrative framework to contain and write the past. Elements that fit such infrastructures are kept, whilst elements that do not are omitted. Traditional forms of historiography (such as character analysis) are tried, tested, retained, modified or discarded whilst new forms (such as examinations of laws and the impact on lives) are developed and piloted. From a belief in a static historical reality, Hume eventually perceives the past as a kinetic ‘collection of facts which are multiplying without end’ (HE 2: 3–4).

As Braudy aptly summarises (1970, 59), in Hume’s historiography the ‘idea of a past filled with notable events and exemplary individuals gives way to a past defined by movement, process, and the tangled accumulation of causes’. Despite searching for an infrastructure to interpret and contain history, Hume still manages to convey a sense of the multiplicity of the past. He freely admits to the shortcomings of the historical record, bemoaning the fact that ‘the history of remote ages’ should always be ‘so much involved in obscurity, uncertainty, and contradiction’ (HE 1: 3). Moreover, historiography is a speculative art for Hume; his history is ultimately governed by likelihood and probability. He freely admits the limited narratological power of historiography and does not shy away from historical u...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half Title
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Dedication
• Contents
• Acknowledgements
• Abbreviations
• Introduction: history and the Gothic in the eighteenth century
• 1 Contested pasts: David Hume, Horace Walpole and the emergence of Gothic fiction
• 2 ‘[B]‌ringing this deed of darkness to light’: representations of the past in Clara Reeve’s The Old English Baron (1778)
• 3 ‘Entombed alive’: Sophia Lee’s The Recess (1783–85), the Gothic and history
• 4 ‘[E]‌very nerve thrilled with horror’: the French Revolution, the past and Ann Radcliffe’s The Romance of the Forest (1791)
• 5 ‘Things as they are’: William Godwin, Mary Wollstonecraft and the perils of the present
• References
• Index