The Spanish Guerrilla and the Mountain Girl: Complicating the Spanish Tropes in Letitia Landon's Romance and Reality
University of St. Thomas
The victories of Austria, Prussia, and Russia in Europe in 1813 meant a turning point in the war against Napoleon. The Emperor's power in the Peninsula was weakened and the allies managed to push most of the Imperial soldiers out of Spain that same year. By April 1814 the war against the French was already won, Napoleon had finally been forced to abdicate and Ferdinand VII had already returned to his kingdom. Nevertheless, peace was not fully effective in the Peninsula yet. The French invaders were still holding a handful of isolated fortresses which were nonetheless facing siege operations. This was the case of the Cantabrian town of Santoña, the only place in Northern Spain which still remained in enemy hands. This paper aims to critically revise the references to this town made by Wellington in his dispatches, as well as those found in the British press that year and in some contemporary works by authors like Napier. These sources have been so far disregarded by Cantabrian historians studying the Peninsular War in that Province.
[T]he Alps and Pyrenees, with their pine forests and their vices . . . and Italy, Switzerland, and the South of France . . . . Catherine imagines that all these places may be the places for gothic violence, but she dared not doubt beyond her own country.
Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey 1
Highly popular in the 1820s under her pen name L. E. L. (1802-38), especially after The Improvisatrice's immense success in 1824, Letitia Landon was primarily known as a "poetess," whose fame rivaled that of Felicia Hemans (1793-1835).2 In 1831, riding on a very successful poetic career, Landon penned her first novel, Romance and Reality, "constructing quite a different literary self" (Stephenson 39).3 In her character Edward Lorraine's words, Landon suggests why she took up the genre: "a novelist will soon be as necessary a part of a modern establishment as the minstrel was in former times. The same feeling, which in the olden days gave a verse to a ballad, now gives a column to the Morning Post; only that the ball has taken place of the tournament, and white gloves are worn instead of steel gauntlets" (1: 185).4
A literary pastiche with considerable self-parodying and metafictional gestures, Romance and Reality as a novel allowed Landon to be dialogic, ironic, complex, and self-reflective. Into the novel's 1,000 or so pages, she ambitiously incorporates various sub-genres of the novelistic narratives (such as gothic, historical, satirical, travel, Regency drama, courtship, picturesque, and manners, etc.). She also adopts and mimics many influential authors such as Byron, Scott, Wordsworth, and Southey, invoking them in many of the epigraphs preceding her chapters, as well as in her characters' conversations. Landon even presents a literary salon (conversazione) in a half-mocking, half-serious way (1: xiv), at the home of Mrs. Smithson, the female protagonist's former governess turned novelist. This and other illustrative moments suggest Landon's deliberate appropriation of two other popular novelistic sub-genres of the period as well: the roman à clef (such as Lady Caroline Lamb's Glenarvon, 1816) and the silver-fork novel (which was becoming fashionable and popular in the 1820s and 30s).5 The novel's hybridity, as well as Landon's facility and acuity in weaving together its various facets, may have been what led the reviewer of the Literary Gazette to declare that Romance and Reality is "a perfectly original specimen of fictitious narrative," and to assert that "there is no performance of the class, within our knowledge, which it resembles . . . . In part like works by preceding novelists, it is in its own form and combinations that it appears to us to stand alone: we question if L.E.L. herself could imitate it successfully" (753). Even though a slightly mocking tone lurks behind the adulation, the reviewer otherwise offers a thoroughly favorable review of Landon's maiden venture into the novel form.6
Compared with Landon's poetry, however, Romance and Reality has received relatively little critical attention; only recently have critics begun addressing Landon as a serious novelist. For example, Claire Knowles explores the novel focusing on female authorship and the celebrity culture, and Jonas Cope examines its stylistic "inconsistency" and indeterminate subjectivity.7 So far, the lively and masterful depictions of London's upper-class society of the time, which Landon captures in Volume 1, have been the focus of critical attention. These depictions center around the unfolding "romance" of the novel, as Landon offers plenty of running commentary about its other side – "reality." Nineteen-year old Emily Arundel, the novel's putative heroine, seems to follow the grammar of the courtship narrative, according to which, this naïve, good-natured, timid English woman, debuts in London society—in this case as a protégé of a highly fashionable matron, Lady Mandeville—and finds a romantic hero, Edward Lorraine, the second son of the hereditary aristocrat Lord Etheringhame. A typical courtship narrative would have Emily and Edward, despite initial misrecognition, gain each other's love by the end of the novel. Landon, however, complicates such a formula considerably: in the middle of the novel, Landon sends Emily and Edward to Italy and Spain respectively, leaving readers in suspense. This at first appears to be a diversion into "exotic" locales—an obligatory nod to, or exploitation of, the popular picturesque and gothic genres—which should be resolved by the eventual union of the amiable English upper-class couple.
Yet, the "foreign material" expands the novel's scope significantly, well beyond the expected path of a Regency romance or silver-fork novel. Landon uses Romance and Reality to explore continental European politics and cultures, popularized by her contemporaries through poetry, novel, drama, essays, and travel narratives, including those by Byron, Southey, Coleridge, Caroline Norton, Mary Shelley, Hemans, and Lady Blessington. In particular, Landon explores the imaginary construction of, and provides sustained commentary upon, the European geopolitics of the time, venturing well beyond a poetics of "domestic" femininity and sentimentality.
What made these explorations possible was Landon's facility with a vast array of materials about Europe, accumulated from her contributions to various annuals as well as her copious reading. During the Romantic era, with advances in print technologies and expanding reading public, a profusion of material on political, military, economic, and cultural matters of the time was made available. The "new" media of Landon's time, such as newspapers, magazines, and periodicals, continually and competitively fed the appetites of the reading public for news of the British upper-class society and of foreign locales and cultures. Daily newspapers, as well as literary and political narratives offered reports on "war[s] at a distance,"8 as well as travel narratives to picturesque and exotic locales. Landon plays with such cultural milieu, blending high brow (Shakespeare, Milton, Dryden, etc.) and middle-brow texts (the Morning Post, Morning Chronicle, Gazetteer, etc.) with aplomb. The countries mentioned (and at times traversed) in Romance and Reality include France, Italy, Germany, Spain, Greece, Switzerland, Norway, and non-European Turkey, Russia, India, China, Persia, Egypt, America, Africa, South America, and the Tropics. Appealing to both the general audience and to the literary elite, Landon demonstrates her fluency with this range of material, Emma Roberts's memoir of Landon highlights Landon's reading habits and the scope of her knowledge: "She not only read, but thoroughly understood, and entered into the merits of every book that came out."9 Roberts notes that "[t]he history and literature of all ages and all countries were familiar to her; nor did she acquire any portion of her knowledge in a superficial manner," praising "the extent of her learning, and the depth of her research."
Thus, Landon's protagonists' travels to Italy and Spain are not just a diversion but a thematically and discursively integral part of the novel, and not just in terms of characters developing through travel and experience of the world—à la Childe Harold—but part of the arc of the novel that reflects her and her contemporaries' engagement with the world beyond national borders. Writing in "modern" times as nation-states emerged and England expanded its empire, Landon has her English characters busily cross national borders and tests their prejudices in encounters with the "foreign" other and with different points of view. Landon's exploration of Spanish material and of the English-Spanish relationship in the first three decades of the nineteenth century demonstrates her complex understanding of European geopolitics, and opens a window on her own positionality as a middle-class woman writer on the cusp of Victorian England.
"I am an Englishman, and I hate the French," is the common expression of our cosmopolite feelings—the French being a generic term for all foreigners.
Romance and Reality (2: 269)
"The Spanish imaginary" (to use Diego Saglia's phrase) in Romance and Reality is interwoven with Britons' construction of their national identity in the early decades of the nineteenth century. As scholars such as Saglia, Almeyda, and Nanora Sweet have pointed out, British writers of the time exploited Spanish history, tropes, and romances for raw material. The discourse on the Peninsular War (the Spanish War of Independence), in particular, provided the British public a "theater of war" and "theater of liberation," which led them to revise their relationship with Spain and forge a sense of British national identity vis-à-vis Spain.10 Further, women writers, including Hemans and Landon, were active shapers of this discourse.11 The details of Landon's portrayal of Spanish characters demonstrate her immersion in this discourse on Spain's political situation and the English-Spanish relationship. Her participation in this discursive milieu is evidenced in her earlier Spanish-themed poems, in which we can trace influences of Byron, Scott, Southey, Coleridge, and Hemans, among others. Landon's "The Guerilla Chief," a blank verse poem collected in The Improvisatrice, uses the fairly stereotypical motif of the Spanish guerrilla that became common in the wake of the Peninsular War. Landon focuses on the romance of a young Spanish couple Leandro and Bianca, who part due to Leandro's irrepressible "passion" for foreign exploration.12 Upon his return from Mexico, he finds his country ravaged by the Peninsular War and Bianca traumatized by the War. Finally reuniting with Leandro and regaining her sanity, she dies in his arms.13 The poem ends with a short verse paragraph: Leandro lives for revenge as a brave guerrilla, and after the French retreat, he unites with Bianca in the tomb.
OWhereas "The Guerilla Chief" focuses on the tragic romance for the effect of exoticism and melancholy, in Romance and Reality, Landon extends and complicates the Spanish tropes and narratives to explore the guerrilla movement's historical evolution, its afterlife following the Peninsular War and under Ferdinand VII, and its linkage to Cortes and the Italian Carbonari movement.14 In the novel, Landon's Spanish episodes revolves around the father-daughter pair of Don Henriquez de los Zoridos and Beatrice, which take up the substantial, and most lively, part of the third volume: the former is a guerrilla chief turned freedom fighter, who then becomes an ally-leader of the Italian Carbonari; and the latter, his courageous and beautiful daughter, becomes the object of Edward's affection. In situating the pair, Landon now utilizes the tropes of strong Spanish "maidens" and freedom seekers such as the Cortes Cadiz, who forged resistance during Ferdinand VII's oppressive regime. In addition, she incorporates Spanish societal "realities" of Spain, such as South-American cultural integration (evidenced in the depiction of an African servant named Caesar, for example), conflicts within Spain, and the Cortés' alliance with the Italian Carbonari movement, to name a few. She refers to Columbus's discovery of America at various moments and casually alludes to the widespread consumption of chocolate in Spain. Landon likens, at one point, exaggeratedly and problematically, the cross-cultural romance between the English nobleman and the young Spanish maiden to the discovery of America by the often Spanish-identified explorer. For example, her narrator declares, "Love is the Columbus of our moral world, and opens, at some period or other, a new hemisphere to our view. For the first time in his life Lorraine loved—deeply and entirely; for the first time he had met one in whose favour [pause] his feeling, his imagination, and his judgment, equally decided" (3: 91-92).
The novel's treatment of gender is also significant, as Landon expounds on the standard leitmotif of strong Spanish maidens, utilized by Byron and Hemans, among others (Saglia, Poetic Castles, 152; 173) and elevates her Spanish heroine to a Corinne-like status: a brave, intelligent, and thoughtful young woman whom she contrasts with the stereotype of reserved, domestic British womanhood. Soon after his arrival in Spain, Edward rescues the cross-dressed Beatrice and her servant from danger, and accompanies them to the decrepit family home. We can peg this time at around 1824, when Beatrice is sixteen years old. Once situated in her home, she tells Edward her story, focusing on her father. We soon learn that Napoleon's 1808 invasion of Spain marks a traumatic turning point for the de los Zoridos family. Pre-enacting a Spanish-English alliance, Don Henriquez, a young Spanish nobleman, visits England in 1804, staying with the Fortescues, "the last of one of [England's] last Norman nobles," a family who had held onto the Catholic faith (3: 62). Henriquez falls in love with the young heiress of the family, Margaretta Fortescue. Landon notes that Henriquez's "high birth, splendid fortune, and answering creed . . . overcame even the objection to his being a foreigner" (62). Following their marriage, Margaretta comes to Spain with her parents to enjoy an extended stay at her new husband's mansion. Yet, the Peninsular War ruins the family utterly: Margaretta's mother is killed in the French attack, traumatizing Margaretta forever, evoking the situation of Bianca in "The Guerilla Chief." For the rest of her life, Margaretta lives in a childlike state, relying on her daughter, Beatrice, to care for her, which Beatrice does devotedly and proudly. After Margaretta's peaceful death, her English bible stands for Beatrice's cultural identity as half-English.
As Beatrice's narration to Edward Lorraine unfolds, we learn more about her adored father. After the French attack, Henriquez joins a guerrilla group formed to fight the French and becomes a heroic guerrilla chief. At some point during the War, when he realizes that the initial French attack has permanently affected Margaretta's mental state, he moves his family to a mountain cottage until the battle of the Pyrenees allows them to return to their dilapidated mansion. Growing up as a "mountain girl," Beatrice is instructed in how to handle life's difficulties. As Beatrice begins to eclipse Emily both in Edward's eyes and in the narrative arc of the novel, Landon contrasts Beatrice's fortitude with Emily's weakness, due to the latter's sheltered life. Landon explicitly links Emily to "romance" and Beatrice to "reality" in the title, while at the same time, blurring the line between the two as the romance between Beatrice and Edward blossoms.
Symbolically, Beatrice embodies a desirable alliance between Spanish and English (noble) families, and by extension, the two nationalities/cultures. This Spanish-English heroine demonstrates the idealized character traits of independent judgment, self-possession, rationality, and courage in a woman (exemplifying the Wollstonecraftian ideal), symbolizing the beau ideal for the future of Britain (and Europe). Not only does Beatrice fare better when she and Emily are compared, but she surpasses in courage and fortitude her "sylph-like" mother, who, tragically crumpled under the harsh reality of the War in Spain.15 Unlike Emily or Margaretta, Beatrice experiences great hardships, developing strength and spirit well beyond that of the typical domestic woman. Through her negotiations with numerous obstacles both in Spain and Italy, Beatrice demonstrates she possesses mettle even beyond that of her freedom-fighter father, proving her suitability for the energetic and enlightened English nobleman.
Further, Beatrice forms a strong bond with Emily when they each find themselves at an Italian convent in Naples, St. Valerie. Beatrice assists Emily through various dangers, and is able to get Emily released from vows she has taken rashly. Even though very ill, Emily is able to return to England thanks to Beatrice's care. Emily, in turn, in a Corrine-evoking gesture, leaves her fortune to Beatrice. Thus, Beatrice inherits the old English house of the Arundels and marries her love, Lorraine. Instead of perishing like Bianca (Spanish) or Margaretta (English), the second-generation mountain girl Beatrice seems to survive, on her own, in any cultural context—Spain, Italy, or England.
By the 1820s the romanticized aura of the guerrilla had largely vanished as is well documented by an anonymous print entitled 'Portrait of a Guerrilla Chief' which, published in 1823 at the climax of the repression of the Spanish liberal regime, portrays the chieftain as a ragged desperado.
Saglia, Poetic Castles in Spain (182)
If Landon creates a new romance of the heroine through the cross-dressing, nature-trained Beatrice, her depiction of Beatrice's father, Don Henriquez, illustrates Landon's explorations of Spanish politics from the Peninsular War to the mid-1820s. When "Beatrice reached her sixteenth year," the narrator states, "the system of oppression and extortion enforced in his native province called imperatively on Don Henriquez to take his place in the Cortez. A few weeks of bold remonstrance ended with the imprisonment of the most obnoxious members, and a heavy fine on their property" (III. iv. 67). Henriquez, an agitating member of Cortes Cádiz, is incarcerated in the dungeon, then escapes, "aided by a party with whom he was now linked" (3: 85) and "ha[s] sought Naples in the first instance: a knot of exiles had there laid a daring plan for revolution which, in their country's liberty, involved their own restoration" (85). Since Henriquez's "talents and activity pointed him out as a fit agent," he goes back and forth between Spain and Italy, "to join and take command of an insurrection [in the latter], whose success was to be the touchstone of their countrymen" (85).
This narrative, which Henriquez tells Beatrice, Landon later de-romanticizes. Once the readers follow through Henriquez's narrative given to his adoring daughter, the narrator views him ironically, evaluating him as a flawed hero, using the same detached voice that satirizes English high society and politics in volume I. The narrator states, "It must be owned, that Beatrice's character of him was rather his beau idéal than himself" (3: 100-1).
While Landon shows sympathy for the Spanish liberal factions under Ferdinand VII's rule, ultimately she seems to promulgate individualism over factionalism or nationalism, and gradualism over radical social change. Like other English literati addressing the Mediterranean political future, she presumes that English constitutional monarchy ought to serve as a model for Spain and Italy.16 Yet, her commentary also reveals her skepticism about politicians in general, including her own countrymen and English politics. She also takes a dig at masculine ambitions and glory-seeking:
He [Don Henriquez] had seen enough of England to have caught impressions, rather than convictions, of the advantages of a free people; and a good constitution seemed equally necessary to the nation and the individual. But his ideas of liberty were more picturesque than practical. He dwelt on the rights of the people without considering whether that people were in a state to enforce, or even receive them. He declaimed on tyranny like an ancient, on information like a modern. He forgot that, for change to be useful, it must be gradual; and while enlarging on the enlightened intellect of the present time, he overlooked the fact, that our ancestors could not have been altogether so very wrong, or that society could not have gone on at all. (3: 100-1)
Revealing Landon's own ideological bias as an English, middle-class woman who considered herself a "respectable Tory,"17 this authorial pronouncement endorses a gradualist view, echoing the worldview of another famed woman writer, Mary Shelley (when she has Victor Frankenstein realize the value of such gradualism).
Perhaps Landon might have had Blanco White and the Holland House circle in mind when she imagines Henriquez's English counterpart as a member of the landed gentry and a titled parliamentarian.18 Here, her acerbic commentary targets English Whigs as much as members of the Spanish Cortés:
Don Henriquez would have been a happy man in England: he would have taken the chair at public dinners, and said the most touching things about alleviating the distresses of our fellow-creatures: . . . he would have given dinners to politicians, and called it supporting his party—and dinners to a few successful authors, and called it encouraging genius: he would have been in the opposition, and made some eloquent speeches on retrenchment and reform, and the newspapers next day would have complimented the honourable member for Cockermouth on his brilliant and patriotic display: he would have died, and left material for a well-rounded paragraph in the obituary, without having retarded or advanced one single circumstance in the great chain of events. (3: 102-3)
Through her "reality" check on Henriquez's inadequacy, Landon implies a critique of the Cortés movement and the Spanish political situation. As she highlights the "romance" of his espoused cause, she at once demonstrates her understanding of the political dynamics of a country in turmoil and reveals her own ideological tilt:
But, alas! for the mismanagement of fate—he [Henriquez] was quite out of his place in the Cortez of Spain: he dilated on religious toleration to those in whose ears it sounded like blasphemy—on the blessing of knowledge, to those with whom intellect and anarchy were synonymous—and on the rights of the people, to Hidalgos, who were preux chevaliers in loyalty to their king. Zoridos soon became an object of suspicion to the government. Besides, like most brilliant talkers, he generally said more than he meant; and, not being in the habit of very closely analysing his thoughts, his expressions often admitted of two constructions. His eloquence ended in his arrest. (3: 103)
In Landon's view, by the time the three years' constitutional monarchy ends in 1823, Henriquez has run the course of the "romantic" freedom-fighter. The next era cannot afford a grandiose figure like Henriquez; post-1823, the scene in which Edward has a brush with Spanish government officials introduces Don Manuel, a highly intelligent and sensible judge who can handle the complexity of the political situation (3: 294-96). Against the foil of Don Manuel, Henriquez's lack of self-reflection and judgment, as well as his narrow-mindedness, fueled by passion (101), are revealed. Landon offers this assessment of Don Henriquez:
Don Henriquez was, besides, a vain, and therefore a restless man. The earlier part of his life [during the Peninsular War] had been spent in a career, for which, above all others, he was suited—that of a bold and active Guerilla chief: but the quiet and loneliness of the succeeding peace was perfectly intolerable. (3: 101-102)
This un-sentimental, indeed cynical, view of the guerrilla-turned-freedom fighter further contrasts with Landon's earlier portrayal of "The Guerilla Chief" as an "ill-fated character destined for suffering, loss and death" (Saglia 177). Complicating a stereotypical rendition of the freedom fighter, or even an "emotional psychomachia" that Saglia finds in "The Guerrilla Chief" (177), Romance and Reality paints a prosaic but realistic trajectory of a former-guerrilla chief. In this regard, the novel also amounts to Landon's counterpart to Hemans's 1825 poetic commentary The Forest Sanctuary, which tracks the fate of a former Spanish freedom fighter in a displaced, "mutated panorama" (Saglia 178).
As Henriquez moves back and forth between the Italian Carbonari in the Neapolitan region and his native land under the Ferdinand VII's reign, Landon also presents a scathing critique of the Carbonari movement. In her depiction, there is little trace of the Carbonari and Risorgimento movement that attracted Byron's passion and liberational ethos. Henriquez's political career ends at an Italian convent, which he invades with some Italian Carbonari men, in a guerrilla or "vendita" style, in order to loot some of its treasures. He accidentally and dramatically reunites with his daughter and Emily there and is persuaded by Beatrice to help Emily flee the convent and sail with her to England. In the novel's dénouement, we learn that after Beatrice becomes well settled in England, Henriquez becomes interested in architecture and embarks on a tour of the pyramids in Egypt, faintly echoing, perhaps, his Napoleonic ambition.
In representing English-Spanish alliances through the two generations of the de los Zoridos family, Landon utilizes the motif of the cross-cultural romance. Margaretta, the English bride who marries the noble Spaniard before the Peninsular War, becomes the emblem of the War's collateral damage. Her daughter, Beatrice, who becomes the Spanish-English bride of the dashing English aristocratic hero, embodies a new, prosperous alliance. Beatrice, who cannot be completely domesticated according to English gender norms, emerges as a new reality-bound heroine, who eclipses the appeal of a stereotypical guerrilla-chief father. One does wonder, if Landon has created a new kind of romance here, and is shrewdly aware of it.
Landon's narrator at one point comments, "If it were not for romance, reality would be unbearable: nevertheless, they are very different things" (3: 155). Emily Arundel's will stipulates that, although she is bestowing fortune upon her Spanish counterpart, her family home should be demolished, so that the physical estate of the Arundel house will die with her. From the ruins, a new kind of ideal English womanhood in Beatrice Lorraine (with the very English title of Lady Etheringhame) emerges, while paying homage to Emily as her "ministering angel." Compared with the conventional proper lady of her time, Landon's Beatrice, who combines an exotic Spanish maiden's dramatic story with new life of a transplant into the fabric of proper English society, is a daring version of a new heroine. Perhaps, while bearing the signs of British colonialism, this new woman challenges "the angel of the house," thus reflecting the complex position of the middle-class Tory woman writer, who, while navigating the romance and reality of the literary market and the reading public of the time, recognized her constraints and opportunities.
Young-ok An is an Associate Professor in English and Director of the Luann Dummer Center for Women. Her research interests include British Romanticism (especially Blake, the Shelleys, Byron, Hemans, and Landon), Women Writers of the Long 18th and 19th centuries, and contemporary theory, particularly feminist and gender theory. Her most recent publication, "The Historicity of Byron's Promethean Agon" is forthcoming.
1. 277. First written in 1798-99 under the title Susan, the novel was revised in 1816/17 and was posthumously published with the new title, Northanger Abbey in 1818. In the cited passage, the novel's sixteen-year old protagonist, Catherine Morland, after chastised by Henry Tilney, concedes her folly in imagining a gothic scenario could occur in England, thus differentiating the enlightened center from the other countries susceptible to gothic violence.
2. Landon is often compared to Felicia Hemans in terms of wide-spread fame and productivity. During the 1820s and 30s, Landon published about 17 volumes of poetry, three three-decker novels, two books of short fiction, a small book-length play, and hundreds of uncollected works of poetry, fiction, and criticism, which appeared in periodicals, annuals, and anthologies.
3. Landon's contemporary Edward Bulwer Lytton observes in his unsigned review of the novel for the New Monthly Magazine, "Miss Landon's prose contains the witness of some faculties not visible in her poetry - acute liveliness, and playful, yet deep observation" (550).
4. L. E. L. (Letitia Elizabeth Landon), Romance and Reality (London: Colburn and Bentley, 1831). Hereafter the volume and page number indicate this edition.
5. For example, Romance and Reality was included in H. D. Jump (gen. ed.), Silver Fork Novels, in six volumes (Pickering and Chatto, 2005), as vol. 2, edited by Cynthia Lawford. Landon may have been inspired by such works as Benjamin Disraeli's Vivian Grey, 1826, Lytton Bulwer's Pelhem, 1828, and Catherine Gore's Manners of the Day, 1830. The participation of Ladies Blessington and Bury in the genre in the 1830s suggests its appeal, and Landon's last novel, Ethel Churchill; or, the Two Brides (1837), heavily incorporates the silver-fork genre. Claire Knowles situates Romance and Reality in the genre, indicating the similarity between Glenarvon and Romance and Reality and tracing the ways in which Landon exploits her own celebrity while negotiating the constraining gender norms of her time ("Celebrity, Femininity and Masquerade: Reading Letitia Landon's Romance and Reality," European Romantic Review, 23: 2, [April, 2012], 247-263); Cheryl Wilson's Fashioning the Silver-Fork Novel (London and NY: Routledge, 2012) elaborates various aspects of the genre and also situates Landon in that framework.
6. Further, we should take into account that, while the identity of the reviewer has not been established, the magazine's editor is none other than Landon's patron-lover, William Jerdan, with whom Landon entered into a sustained and secret affair in the mid 1820s. Tricia Lootens has argued for expanding Landon's reception beyond her poetry ("Receiving the Legend, Rethinking the Writer: Letitia Landon and the Poetess Tradition," in Harriet Linkin and Stephen Behrendt [eds.], Romanticism and Women Poets: Opening the Doors of Reception [Lexington: The University Press of Kentucky, 1999], 242-259); Jonas Cope, "'A Series of Small Inconstancies': Letitia Landon and the Sewn-Together Subject," Studies in Romanticism 52.3 (2013): 363-87.
7. Tricia Lootens has argued for expanding Landon's reception beyond her poetry ("Receiving the Legend, Rethinking the Writer: Letitia Landon and the Poetess Tradition," in Harriet Linkin and Stephen Behrendt [eds.], Romanticism and Women Poets: Opening the Doors of Reception [Lexington: The University Press of Kentucky, 1999], 242-259); Jonas Cope, "'A Series of Small Inconstancies': Letitia Landon and the Sewn-Together Subject," Studies in Romanticism 52.3 (2013): 363-87.
8. Mary Favret in War at a Distance: Romanticism and the Making of Modern Wartime (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009) examines the British experience of the Revolution and the Peninsular War.
9. Emma Roberts, Memoir of L. E. L. in The Zenana and Minor Poems of L. E. L. (London & Paris: Fisher & Son, 1839). Roberts' remarks are particularly pertinent to the Spanish material since Roberts herself wrote a definition-poem titled "Spain" in her Oriental Scenes, Dramatic Sketches and Tales, with Other Poems (Calcutta: Norman Grant, 1830), 217. For potential sources for Landon on the Spanish material, Spanish to English translations included Joaquín Telésfero de Trueba y Cossío's three-volume The Romance of History: Spain (1830) and Joé Joaquín de Mora's three artículos de costumbres on "Spanish manners," published in the European Review between 1824 and 1826. New Monthly Magazine and the Westminster Review published Spanish émigreés' materials (Joycelyn Almeyda, "Introduction: Of Windmills and New Worlds," in Romanticism and the Anglo-Hispanic Imaginary, [Amsterdam and NY: Rodopi, 2010], 39 [9-22]). Also, Mary Leman Grimstone published Zayda: A Spanish Tale in three Cantos (under the pseudonym 'Oscar,' 1820), which has displaced guerrilla material.
10. Diego Saglia, Poetic Castles in Spain: British Romanticism and Figurations of Iberia (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2000); and "Iberian Translations: Writing Spain into British Culture, 1780-1830" in Joselyn Almeida, ed. Romanticism and the Anglo-Hispanic Imaginary, 25-51.
11. Susan Valladares, "Romantic English Women and 'the Theatre of Glory': the Role of the Peninsular War in Forging British National Identity," Moveable Type, web; Jeffrey Cass, "Fighting Over the Woman's Body: Representations of Spain and the Staging of Gender," in Almeida, ed. Romanticism and the Anglo-Hispanic Imaginary, 233-248.
12. L. E. L., "The Guerilla Chief," The Improvisatrice and Other Poems (London: Hurst, Robinson and Co, 1824), 143-154.
13. For the formation and roles of Spanish guerillas, see René Chartrand, Spanish Guerrillas in the Peninsular War 1808-14 (Wellingborough: Osprey, 2004). Cádiz Cortés, Spain's first national sovereign assembly, was established in 1812. Cortes Generals proclaimed universal male suffrage under a constitutional monarchy; and Trienio Liberal, during the period from 1820 to 1823, was the brief time this Cortés was in effect. Landon thus shows an awareness that the 1812 Constitution the Cortés of Cadiz worked to promulgate was the model of the Carbonari 1820-1821.
14. Cádiz Cortés, Spain's first national sovereign assembly, was established in 1812. Cortes Generals proclaimed universal male suffrage under a constitutional monarchy; and Trienio Liberal, during the period from 1820 to 1823, was the brief time this Cortés was in effect. Landon thus shows an awareness that the 1812 Constitution the Cortés of Cadiz worked to promulgate was the model of the Carbonari 1820-1821.
15. Landon's emphasis on the daughter in the mother-daughter relationship provides an interesting comparison with Hemans's The Siege of Valencia (1825). In the latter, the mother, despite her deep inner conflicts about the war vs. sons' lives, becomes the only survivor of the siege.
16. Joycelyn Almeida points out that "A central preoccupation of both Spanish and Spanish American intellectuals [such as Blanco White, Antonio Alcalá Galiano, and Andrés Bello] in the recalibration of their countries' relations with Britain during the 1820s was the question of modernity, and how their societies could match the progress that it epitomized" ("Introduction," 17-18).
17. Landon describes herself as "rather inclined . . . to respectable Toryism" (F. J. Sypher, ed. Letters by Letitia Elizabeth Landon [Scholars' Facsimiles, 2011], 127).
18. For the significance of The Holland House group on the Spanish discourse, see Lloyd Sanders, The Holland House Circle (NY: Putnam and Sons and London: Methuen, 1908), esp. Chapter 24, "Foreign Refugees and Visitors"; Saglia, Poetic Castles, 26-32; and Nanora Sweet, "The Forest Sanctuary: The Anglo-Hispanic Uncanny in Felicia Hemans and José Maria Blanco White," in Almeida, ed. Romanticism and the Anglo-Hispanic Imaginary, 159-182.