Although centuries removed, I was surprised by the moments in which Haywood’s Love in Excess reads like a medieval, chivalric adventure tale. Of course, having just finished a course on Arthurian legends last semester, I’m predisposed to the genre; but there are nevertheless, at several points in the novel, striking holdovers from medieval literature that Haywood employs to underscore her narrative.
For instance, although the tale between Count D’Elmont and Amena certainly serves to set up his relationship with Alovisa, and does, in some way, give depth to his character, it really isn’t necessary to the remainder of the novel. It is, as in medieval tales, the launching point—the tale that ropes the knight into action that follows.
Further, throughout the story, we find Count D’Elmont increasingly unable to negotiate between an obligatory politeness towards and sympathy for women, and the usually inevitable misconceptions that such behavior gives to the female recipient. D’Elmont is, once he is forever committed to Melliora in the last book, the perfect echo of the Lancelots, the Tristrams—the desireable, but untouchable knights of medieval literature—men who must balance between the respect for women that chivalry commands, and the duty to love that courtly love requires.
And of course, there are duels.
Chevalier Brillian, after thinking his courtship of Ansellina triumphant, receives a challenge from his opponent, Bellpine, “to meet him the next morning” (73). And, though it is already obvious to everyone except Bellpine, Brillian decides he must fight to defend his honor—for “there was no possibility of evading [the fight], without rendring myself unworthy of her” (74). Though three hundred years removed, Brillian’s allegiance is to the chivalric code—he does not need to fight for Ansellina, nor to kill Bellpine. He fights because he can’t refuse.
Where these duels deviate from their predecessors, though, is in their reception by the State. While in medieval literature, they existed largely to reinforce the political structure in recompense for a weak court system, in Love in Excess, the duels are always portrayed in opposition to the government (the Count needs to hop into Ciamara’s garden to avoid the police after he defends Frankville, Brillian needs to leave Ansellina to avoid being charged with Bellpine’s murder, etc.). Thus, while these medieval holdovers exist in the novel (and are still deeply entrenched in society), they can only exist in secret—in concealed places away from the law.
Finally, a word about women in the novel. Of course we have our desireable women here, as we do in medieval literature—those who strike men with their beauty, and whose mannerisms entrap them to love. However, we also have female assistants, propelling the narrative forward. The narrative relies on helper figures such as Camilla’s Violetta, Amena’s Anaret, as well as troublesome figures like Melantha and Brione, to facilitate or complicate its plot. They are, in effect, the fair maidens that the “knight-errand” (237) meets along the road, who either point the way innocently to the castle, or, while he’s sleeping underneath the apple tree, cause him to forget he ever sought it.
There is, to be sure, much more to Love in Excess than this simple reading gives it credit for. Love, death, violence, virtue, moderation, jealousy, gender roles, education, are all fascinating conundrums whirling around our protagonists. However, it’s important not to forget (in part just so we can emancipate Count D’Elmont from his rakish reduction) the echoes of chivalry throughout the novel, and how the way in which the characters approach the above issues is heavily influenced by their medieval forbearers.
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