Arya Month 2022 || Day 27: Literary Parallel - Fantomina; or, Love in a Maze by Eliza Haywood
George R. R. Martin and Eliza Haywood breakdown the realities and contradictions in how society treats women of different classes by depicting their female protagonists taking on different identities. Arya Stark from ASOIAF and the unnamed protagonist of Fantomina; or, Love in a Maze are both girls born into the highest ranks of their society and take on the roles of people in lower classes living in different circumstances. With each change in role, they take on different clothing and mannerisms while also receiving vastly different treatment. By having the same girls enduring different treatment based on how they’re dressed and what background they’re claiming, Martin and Haywood are illustrating that class and status are social constructs and there is nothing fundamentally different between those of high or low birth.
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“It may perhaps seem strange that Beauplaisir should in such near intimacies continue still deceived. I know there are men who will swear it is an impossibility, and that no disguise could hinder them from knowing a women they had once enjoyed. In answer to these scruples, I can only say that besides the alteration which the change of dress made in her, she was so admirably skilled in the art of feigning that she had the power of putting on almost what face she pleased, and knew so exactly how to form her behavior to the character she represented[...]”
- Fantomina by Eliza Haywood
Haywood is very aware of her audience and the questions her narration raises regarding deception and Beauplaisir’s gullibility in being deceived every time. As the all-knowing speaker, she addresses this issue by directly pointing out Beauplaisir’s folly and highlighting Fantomina’s skillfulness. She subverts the formulaic genre’s conventions by having the man deceived by a woman rather than the opposite.Â
Haywood continues with a criticism on men’s pride in knowing their women. Despite this, the power of masquerade as well as Fantomina’s skillfulness in effective disguise and performance suggest a subversive quality: does masquerade offer a gateway women’s liberation? It seems so, as masks establish the power dynamic within the novella.Â
While I wrote about Fantomina’s naivete in my last post, she is also, as we see here in the above quote, resourceful and knowledgeable. She attends plays, and therefore is aware of the power of acting and theatricality in convincing an audience of another presented persona. She is well-read and aristocratic, but possesses a perverted imagination, with many thoughts but limited experiences.Â
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A young lady of distinguished birth, beauty, wit, and spirit happened to be in a box one night at the playhouse, where, though there were a great number of celebrated toasts, she perceived several gentlemen extremely pleased themselves with entertaining a woman who sat in a corner of the pit[...]This excited a curiosity in her to know in what manner these creatures were addressed[...]Therefore she thought it not in the least a fault to put to practice a little whim which came immediately into her head, to dress herself as near as she could in the fashion of those women[...]
Fantomina by Eliza Haywood
Haywood’s exposition to the novella presents the basis of experimental reasoning that can be observed in Locke’s essay, “Of Ideas.” In it, he writes of how we get ideas: we get ideas from reflection of the observed object. Similarly, Fantomina, in her seeming blank slate innocence, observes a phenomenon occurring between external objects (gentlemen and prostitutes), experiences sensations of excitement and curiosity, reflects on these observations and sensations as suggested by her “thought”, and has an idea to further her understanding through experimentation.Â
While this exposition presents Fantomina as a heroin, her curiosity is naive through her fascination with men’s pleasures and the possibility of engaging in prostitution, foreshadowing an unfortunate ending. The genre of amatory fiction is a formulaic genre that presents an innocent, naive women, whose end is unfortunate as she is deceived by men. Haywood subverts the generic conventions, yet still displays the misogynistic trope of women’s incompetence.Â
There are many interesting ideas addressed in Fantomina. Deception, the role of the mask to grant women agency, morality, how reputation affects the way we look and think about a person. This selection from the novella, works to introduce many of these themes. Despite Fantomina's first disguises being subpar, her decision to embrace the fashions of a prostitute means no body truly recognizes her. They all spot the resemblance, but her reputation prevents them from putting the obvious together. This grants her an agency not usually permitted to women of her standing. No one expects a prostitute to act appropriately. As long as she maintains her disguise, she is free to pursue Beauplaisir or another man of her choosing. This brings to question her morality. While earlier in the novella, we are told that she chooses to disguise herself out of innocent curiosity, here we are told she is naturally vain. Later in the text, she continues to use disguise in order to pursue and sleep with Beauplaisir. She is clearly taking on a mascluine role which would have been much frowned upon. It's interesting to wonder whether, within the context of the 18th century, readeres would have judged her and Beauplaisir more or less harshley than today. It feels as though Beauplaisir, in his role as a rake, gets off with little question of his morality. It's simply more socially acceptable for men to pursue hook ups than it is for women. Their respective roles hardly differ, but even today, men who sleep with many women are studs, hookup artist, admired. Women who sleep with many men are used up, dirty, whores. This issue of women sexual freedom is one that is still very much present today.
In case anyone wants to read my revised ending to Fantomina which I wrote instead of my homework, here it is.
I wrote it this way instead of going for a straight feminist rewrite because I wanted to imagine something that Haywood herself might have written if she didn’t have to worry about moral censors. So it’s not feminist but also not dismissive of the arc of the story by suddenly shipping the protagonist off to the convent, damn her, the end.
--By eating little, lacing prodigious straight, and the advantage of a great hoop-petticoat, however, her bigness was not taken notice of, and, perhaps, she would not have been suspected till the time of her going into the country, where her mother designed to send her, and from whence she intended to make her escape to some place where she might be delivered with secrecy.
Sitting in her boudoir, she indulged in a private moment to untangle her hair from its elaborate configuration and let it over her shoulders.  For several minutes she experimented in front of the mirror, holding her locks in place behind her head and letting them fall again, studying her appearance as she presumed Beauplaisir might when struck with the fancy that Fantomina much resembled Celia or the Widow Bloomer, and how very odd.  She herself began to see little resemblance between the personages.  At times the mirror caught her by surprise, and what had been a passing glance became a shock.  Was that Celia she saw, for just a moment?  It struck her as silly that she should be so startled by her own reflection in the glass, mistaking herself for another.  But now, with careful study, she was not in near so easy a humor.  With her hair pinned in place, or held to resemble such a fashion, she felt at ease with her image.  With her hair unrestrained, she could scarce identify herself, but for her wide eyes.  Intending to reassure herself by speaking her own name aloud, she uttered, “I am Fantomina,” and quickly colored.  That wasn’t right at all, but her proper name slipped over her tongue and back down her throat, where she could not remember it at present.
The subject of her escape in the country had been on her mind for several days as she made her preparations.  A specially tailored frock, apron, and other related accoutrements were stowed already in the lining of her luggage, preparations for another identity once she found herself in a position to escape her mother. With another hour yet before supper and nothing to entertain her, she was struck by fancy, almost as if inebriated, and found herself tearing open her luggage and with a small knife severing the lining.  She struggled out of her gown, clumsily tugging the fine fabric from her person, and finally knelt naked on the floor, the curve of her stomach dramatically pronounced once free of its lacing.  She struggled to dress herself in her new clothes.  While it was not exactly the garb of poverty, she dressed as a person of significantly lesser esteem, a fishmonger’s wife, perhaps, or a street corner flower girl.  She fastened her various possessions to her; her apron she tied around her waist, and a worn coin purse, which she had bought off a befuddled innkeeper’s wife, she slung at her side.  She sat again at her looking glass, feeling more like herself than she had before.  She felt light, nymph-like, despite her heavy condition, and did up her hair plainly, using cheap pins and a simple style.
She took pause over the looking glass for some time, admiring her features, her much discussed beauty, her just slightly rosy cheeks.  She had dampened her beauty before for her mischief  and had not felt particularly lacking.  Thick brows, a course accent, none of it gave her any humiliation.  She took a steadying breath, as if that decided things.  She picked up her comb from her table and tested its hefty weight in her hands.  The handle was beautiful polished wood.  She had never looked at it with much interest before.
A new scheme was forming in her mind.  Every day she remained at home she risked discovery.  In the lower classes she might cause a stir of gossip, but her true name would be unknown.  In time, she might return to her home, once the child was somewhere comfortably situated, and by then she would have a new tale to tell.  Abduction, threatened honor, pious weeping in the dungeon of some ransomer, all flashed before her as magnificent histories she might invent for the fine lady of her mother’s house.  But she needed to escape here first.  Her mother, unlike Beauplaisir, and unlike even herself, had a sharper eye for her daughter’s features, and surely would recognize her in any dress or attitude.  She fondly stroked the bristles of the hairbrush.  Her grip tightened around it with the assurance of someone who had made up their mind.  She struck herself squarely in the eye, and pain singed her whole face.  She examined herself in the mirror.  She hadn’t struck herself with enough force to bruise, though the whole left side of her face was beginning to redden.  Her emotions ran amok in turmoil, hope turning to despair, and despair to anger, anger with herself, with Beauplaisir, with the silly adventure that had ended so awfully and brought her to this.  She struck the mirror with force, and it refused to crack.  She leveled the brush against it again and again, with more force each time, until finally the mirror shattered.  It was then, in such a disastrous temperament, that she leveled the brush on herself again.  A sound crack greeted her.  Pain burned deep to the bone, and she found she could not see.  Well, if she could not see, surely her disfigurement was utter and complete, and neither could they see her.
