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Significant tropes and identical stylistic techniques emerge from the analysis of the rhetorical devices employed in the novel Pride and Prejudice and in its film adaptation released by Universal in 2005.1 Many scholars have focused their studies on what Alice Chandler has called "Jane Austen's indirections" (391), for example, the rhetorical codes adopted by the author to conceal the characters' corporeity and sexuality without erasing them completely. Every aspect of cinematic transpositions is analyzed, and the added scenes of blatant sexuality, the new focus on the body, the role of symbolism, and the importance of the glances among the characters are all seen as aspects that contribute to transform Austen's novels into a visual, and sensual, experience.3 There is a direct correspondence between the rhetorical and stylistic techniques chosen by Austen to transform and mitigate the destabilizing power of passion and the visual equivalents employed by the cinema.

Significant tropes and identical stylistic techniques emerge from the analysis of the rhetorical devices employed in the novel Pride and Prejudice and in its film adaptation released by Universal in 2005.1 Many scholars have focused their studies on what Alice Chandler has called "Jane Austen's indirections" (391), for example, the rhetorical codes adopted by the author to conceal the characters' corporeity and sexuality without erasing them completely. In her essay, "A Pair of Fine Eyes: Jane Austen's Treatment of Sex," Alice Chandler offers an interesting analysis of the sexual connotation of literary allusions, puns, body language, and imagery. With a wider perspective, Tony Tanner's study of Jane Austen's works dedicates attention to the description of illness as the physical outcome of an excessive sensibility, to the symbolic value of objects such as portraits and letters, and to the importance of body language and physical activity. The Flesh Made World: Female Figures and Women's Bodies, by Helena Michie, reflects on the construction of feminine corporeity in literature and points out how work, hobbies, and physical activities such as walking are "overlaid with sexual connotations" (40), and physiognomy and synecdoche are used to depict female sensuality. Anna Paschetto, in her search for romance structures in the novels of Richardson, Austen, and Charlotte Brontë, proposes the analysis of the technique of dramatization and of the use of focalization in the construction of Mr. Darcy's character.2

Other critics have concentrated their attention on the erotic potential of costume films (including the adaptations of Austen's novels) and on their use of voyeurism and visual repression to increase desire. The importance of visuality and its effect on the transmission of meaning from novels to adaptations has been studied, for instance, by Jakob Lothe, who talks about the "oddly superficial nature" of films and describes the reliance on sight as the tendency "to peep for a couple of hours without participating" (11). In the same way, Neil Sinyard identifies in voyeurism one of the most effective instruments to increase the pleasure of spectatorship and the sensuality of the scenes. Stella Bruzzi, in her Undressing Cinema: Clothing and Identity in the Movies, studies the "power of clothes fetishism" (38) and its metaphoric value, and underlines how in nostalgia films the male body becomes a primary object of sexual interest. Focusing specifically on Austen, Esther Sonnet's article "From Emma to Clueless: Taste, pleasure and the scene of history," explains how, in costume films, visual pleasure is enhanced by "an intentionally solicited experience of repression" that imbues with sexuality "clothing, landscape, piano-playing, letter writing and conversation" (57). Finally, the book Jane Austen on Screen, a collection of essays edited by Andrew and Gina Macdonald, is entirely dedicated to the study of Austenian adaptations. Every aspect of cinematic transpositions is analyzed, and the added scenes of blatant sexuality, the new focus on the body, the role of symbolism, and the importance of the glances among the characters are all seen as aspects that contribute to transform Austen's novels into a visual, and sensual, experience.3

There is a direct correspondence between the rhetorical and stylistic techniques chosen by Austen to transform and mitigate the destabilizing power of passion and the visual equivalents employed by the cinema. This article, the result of a wider analysis of all Austen's novels and film adaptations, focuses on Pride and Prejudice because it is the work that, more than any other in the last ten years-from the 1995 BBC version, passing through You've Got Mail, Bridget Jones s Diary, and Bride and Prejudice, to the latest 2005 film-seems to have haunted the romantic reveries of the modern cinema. The use of tropes, such as synecdoche and metonymy, and of the stylistic technique of focalization, finds its effective counterpart in the filmic grammar that includes close-ups, insert shots, subjective shots, eyeline matches, and reaction shots. The analysis that follows presents a comparison of the corresponding rhetorical devices from small details to long sequences.

Eyes and hands: how to revive a dormant synecdoche

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the privileged trope in literature to deviate the erotic attention from the whole body to a single and "decorous" detail is the synecdoche. The Austenian body is usually fragmented and transmuted into eyes to be admired, hair-locks to be bestowed, hands to be kissed, and feet to be touched. Pride and Prejudice singles out Elizabeth's "pair of fine eyes" (VI, 25) as the complete embodiment of Darcy's passion for her. From the beginning, his attraction for Elizabeth is aroused by "the beautiful expression of her dark eyes" (VI, 23), but, once he understands the nature of his admiration, the "fine eyes" become the recurring symbol of Elizabeth's charm.

At first, Darcy confesses to a surprised Miss Bingley that he has "been meditating on the very great pleasure that a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow" (VI, 25). Some days later, Elizabeth's appearance at Netherfield, flushed after the long walk and showing a "scandalous" petticoat "six inches deep in mud" (VIII, 32), provokes Miss Bingley into observing that it must have "rather affected [Darcy's] admiration of her fine eyes" (VIII, 33). However, he replies that, on the contrary, "they were brightened by the exercise" (ibid). Not only does his attraction for Elizabeth seem to be growing stronger, but also, Elizabeth's sensual energy, expressed through the physical activity, is perceived by Mr. Darcy and is reflected in his comment. As Elizabeth's stay in Netherfield continues, Darcy's admiration slowly changes into something deeper and the author informs us that "Darcy had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her" (X, 46). This feeling is translated into the amusing conversation between a jealous Miss Bingley and an imperturbable Mr. Darcy. Trying to mock the latter about the "impossible" hypothesis of his marriage with Elizabeth, Miss Bingley suggests that he should not commission a portrait of her "for what painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes?" (X, 46). His reaction is, however, unexpected: "It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expression; but their colour and shape, and the eyelashes, so remarkably fine, might be copied" (ibid). His feelings, which cannot be expressed in other ways, are unfaltering and so is his avowed admiration for Elizabeth's eyes. Finally, after several months, a marriage proposal, a refusal, and an unexpected meeting at Pemberley, we are informed that Darcy's feelings are of "ardent love" and that Elizabeth's are of respect, esteem, gratitude, and "a real interest in his welfare" (XLIV, 216). Almost ready for the happy ending, the reader is still waiting for the public avowal of Darcy's love and it happens, a few pages later, through the re-transformation of the synecdochical fragment into the entire body. When Miss Bingley openly attacks Elizabeth's beauty-"[...] as for her eyes, which have sometimes been called so fine, I could never see anything extraordinary in them" (XLV 221)-she forces Darcy to recognize and declare publicly his admiration for Elizabeth: "[...] it is many months since I have considered her as one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance" (ibid). When love and passion need no longer be hidden, the "indirection" can finally be redressed and the truth can be confessed without fear or repression: the eyes can finally be again a part of a whole body.

Film adaptations have always acknowledged such synecdochical translation as highly effective in the visual medium and have rendered it by using its primary cinematic equivalent: the close-up of the heroine's face. In the film, the script presents a curious choice: Darcy 's admiration for Elizabeth 's eyes is cut out and so are all the dialogues referring to it. However, the camera often focuses on Keira Knightley-Elizabeth's eyes as the centre of the public's attention. In particular, at Darcy's first appearance at the Assembly Ball, his attraction for Elizabeth is underlined, a little too prematurely, with this technique. A close-up on Knightley followed by a reaction shot on Matthew Macfadyen/ Darcy leaves the spectator with no doubts about how the whole story will develop in the following two hours.

However, since the cinema makes great use of close-ups as the starting points of eyeline matches, another body fragment must be chosen as a privileged synecdochical translation. The choice seems to be the same in many adaptations including this one: the hand. In the novel, Austen seems completely unaware of the synecdochical value of idiomatic expressions that use the hand as a "surrogate" for women and instead employs them in a conventional way. So, during the ball at Netherfield, Elizabeth "found herself suddenly addressed by Mr. Darcy, who took her so much by surprise in his application for her hand, that, without knowing what she did, she accepted him" (XVIII, 77).

During the famous marriage proposal, as well, Darcy expresses "his hope that it would now be rewarded by her acceptance of his hand" (XXXIV, 157).4 These conventional phrases, however, are employed only as ritual formulas, dormant synecdoches that have lost, in time, their complex visual power.

The film adaptation chooses to "revive" the dormant synecdoche and to exploit it extensively, not only as a substitute of the body, but also as the most effective way of expressing the erotic potential of physical contact. The director makes use of the image of the hand to underline Darcy's and Elizabeth's physical attraction and he employs it as a substitute for Darcy's admiration of Lizzy's "fine eyes" during the Netherfield sequence. When the Bennet sisters leave Netherfield after Jane's illness, Darcy helps Elizabeth to get into the carriage by giving her his hand. In the sequence, an anticipated reaction shot reveals Elizabeth's surprise at the physical contact with Darcy's hand, a detail shown a second later by an insert shot. After their departure, Darcy goes back to the house and the camera once again frames his hand, with a cut-in, as it seems to be quivering. The same frame is presented after their casual meeting at Pemberley: their hands do not touch but the camera shows us, again, the close-up of Darcy's hand. His hands have become the symbol of the couple's physical attraction; they are "contaminated" by passion. It goes without saying that, at the end of the film', at the moment of the second marriage proposal, Elizabeth does not reply directly but takes Darcy's hand- saying only "Well then. Your hands are cold"-and kisses it (a subversion of customary behavior which, considering her characterization in this screenplay, is no surprise).

Focalization: an eye for an eye

A novel that in its draft version was titled First Impressions, must necessarily be based upon the emphasis of subjective perceptions. Through the intense use of focalization, a stylistic technique that transforms the look, at the same time, into the subject and the instrument of narration, Austen shapes the bodies of Darcy and Elizabeth as objects of their mutual attention. Whenever they are in the same room, they immediately become the starting and ending points of focalized observation. At Lucas Lodge:

Elizabeth was far from suspecting that she was herself becoming an object of some interest in the eyes of his [Bingley's] friend. (VI, 22)

At Netherfield:

Elizabeth could not help observing [...] how frequently Mr. Darcy's eyes were fixed on her. She hardly knew how to suppose that she could be an object of admiration to so great a man; and yet that he should look at her because he disliked her was still more strange. (X, 45)

At the Netherfield ball:

She could not help frequently glancing her eye at Mr. Darcy. (XVIII, 84)

At Rosings Park:

His eyes had been soon and repeatedly turned towards them with a look of curiosity. (XXXI, 143)

And at Pemberley:

It was not often that she could turn her eyes on Mr. Darcy himself; but whenever she did catch a glimpse, she saw an expression of general complaisance. (XLIV, 214)

The focalization is visually translated by the cinema through subjective (point-of-view) shots: the camera eye, in fact, allows the film director to have total control over point of view and over what the spectator can see (contrary to what happens in the theatre, where the audience is able to choose where to focus attention). The subjective shots make spectators see through the characters' eyes or, in the case of mental point-of-view shots, through their minds. The film does not employ this technique very often but two episodes are worth noticing. A classic subjective shot is performed with a pan during an interlocutory scene: in order to communicate the cycle of the seasons and the passing of time between the announcement of Charlotte's marriage with Mr. Collins and Elizabeth 's visit at their parsonage, the scene depicts Elizabeth sitting on a swing in her garden and, as she turns, the camera pan shows us through her eyes the changing landscape and human activities. The second sequence is a mental point-of-view shot that is extremely relevant for the subject under analysis: Darcy and Elizabeth dancing together at Netherfield ball. While the couple dances, the conversation grows more heated and, in order to communicate that the characters are completely absorbed by it, the director shows us an empty room where they are the only human beings dancing and staring at each other. It is not easy in this case to individuate whose is the mind that makes all the other guests disappear from the room (perhaps it is the director's) but the meaning is clear: even if they quarrel, in their mutual presence Elizabeth and Darcy cannot see anything else but their partner.

In fact, focalization does not only mean seeing what a character sees, it also implies not seeing what he cannot see. Austen is perfectly aware of this, so, when she writes, "Elizabeth dared not lift up her eyes. How Mr. Darcy looked, therefore, she could not tell" (LIII 271), the reader too is kept in the dark. The film does the same thing, and chooses a very interesting moment: the renowned scene of the "petticoat six inches deep in mud." When Elizabeth arrives at Netherfield (after a long walk through muddy fields) and enters the room where Darcy and Miss Bingley are having breakfast, Darcy's subjective shot is immediately focused on Elizabeth's face and is fixed there until she leaves the room so that, when Miss Bingley pronounces her well-known critical remark,5 Mr. Darcy cannot reply: neither he nor the spectator, in fact, has seen the petticoat for even a single instant!

Metonymy: undercover love

The Austenian body is not always translated into synecdochical fragments; sometimes it is also deviated and transmuted into something different, a separate object that becomes its objective correlative. The relocation of the character's essence into external recipients invests handkerchiefs, bunches of flowers, miniature portraits, and every other kind of tokens with metonymical meanings. The object that belonged to the beloved, the gift that has been bestowed or the portrait that represents his or her figure, becomes the representative, the tangible-and touchable-substitute of the person. Austen employs metonymical translation most widely in Sense and Sensibility but in all Ae novels and film adaptations the fetishist component is crucial. In Pride and Prejudice the traditional associations are avoided6 and the privileged metonymical relocation appears to be the portrait, where the depiction replaces the depicted.

If gazes, first impressions, and prejudices are the central themes of the novel, the act of drawing a (mental) picture is fundamental for the plot. At first, during the Netherfield ball, Elizabeth's attempts to make up her mind about Darcy are immediately associated with the idea of representation through the use of words belonging to the pictorial semantic field:

Darcy. "This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure," [...] "How near it may be to mine, I cannot pretend to say. You think it a faithful portrait, undoubtedly."

Elizabeth. "I must not decide on my own performance"

Darcy. "I could wish, Miss Bennet, that you were not to sketch my character at the present moment, as there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no credit on either." (XVIII, 78,80)

The discovery of the whole truth about Darcy and Wickham is rendered by Elizabeth with the idea of having been "blind" (XXXVI, 171) in her opinion concerning them and herself: "Till this moment, I never knew myself (ibid). In fact, if the mental "representation" stands at the basis of the attainment of the truth, the inability to "see" represents the main obstacle to be overcome.

The portrait that up to this point seemed a mere metaphor of mental activity turns into a real metonymical substitute at Pemberley, where Elizabeth can contemplate Darcy's real picture. When the metaphor becomes a metonymy, when the idea becomes an object, Elizabeth can no longer ignore it: visiting Pemberley with her aunt and uncle she cannot but see the truth in the way Darcy and Wickham are depicted. Darcy's letter has already "opened her eyes" but Elizabeth is not yet ready to acknowledge all of his virtues: the belief in Darcy's irredeemable pride still accompanies her at the beginning of the visit and saves her "from something like regret" (XLIII, 202) at the sight of the splendid rooms. However, once faced with the miniatures of Wickham and Darcy and listening to Mrs. Reynolds's impassioned defence of the latter:

"He is the best landlord, and the best master," said she, "that ever lived; [...] Some people call him proud; but I am sure I never saw anything of it. To my fancy, it is only because he does not rattle away like other young men." (ibid)

Elizabeth completes the inner evolution begun many chapters before. She is finally ready to see the real Darcy portrayed in a life-sized picture, which provokes an emotional reaction in her that goes well beyond the appreciation of a "striking resemblance":

She stood several minutes before the picture in earnest contemplation [...] There was certainly at this moment, in Elizabeth's mind, a more gentle sensation towards the original than she had ever felt in the height of their acquaintance. [...] as she stood before the canvas on which he was represented, and fixed his eyes upon herself, she thought of his regard with a deeper sentiment of gratitude than it had ever raised before; she remembered its warmth, and softened its impropriety of expression. (XLIII, 205)

The portrait is not only the metonymy of the man; it is also the embodiment of her opinion and feelings for him.

The film employs the same metonymical translation with only a slight variation: the Pemberley sequence is set at Chatsworth House and it exploits the beautiful sculpture gallery as the setting for the episode. The crucial point is that here the miniatures and the portraits have become statues: real bodies, cold and marble white, but with a surprising "physical" consistency. Instead of traditional family pictures, Elizabeth lingers among the naked bodies of maidens and warriors (Canova's Sleeping Endymion, Albacini's Wounded Achilles, Tadolini's Hebe, cup-bearer to the Gods, Schwanthaler's Paris and Oenone, and Bartolini's A Bacchante, among others). The camera spins around the gallery to frame a sequence of close-ups of Raffaele Monti's Veiled Vestal Virgin and of Elizabeth's face. The framing and camera movement communicate a complex symbolism. The close up of the Veiled Vestal Virgin is the immediate visual translation of Elizabeth's inability to see and the circular pan with which the camera frames a succession of the faces of the two women suggests a possible identification between them. The statue of the woman whose eyes are covered by a veil makes Elizabeth understand her blindness and prepares her to "see" what is waiting for her at the end of the gallery. After this short sequence, the camera stresses details of the naked bodies of the sculptures through close-ups and reaction shots on Elizabeth's face, filling this emotional moment with unmistakable erotic suggestions. So, when she finds herself in front of Darcy's bust the camera slowly brings his face into focus and the final reaction shot on Elizabeth clearly communicates the inner journey described in the novel.

One last metonymical translation is worth pointing out, an exclusively cinematic device: the bedroom scene. Austen never goes into the privacy of her characters' bedrooms (except in the case of illness), while the cinema seems to choose these locations as appointed spaces where the most private feelings can be revealed. In the film the bed is the cradle where Elizabeth and Jane lull their amorous expectations. The image of the bed (the container that replaces the content) transfers into every sentimental discourse an erotic note impossible to miss: the two sisters share the same bed and talk about Bingley and Darcy before sleeping. In one sequence we see them talking under the blanket: visually there is no more effective way of conveying the thought of their lovers into their bedrooms and between the sheets. The original shot-reverse-shot shows the sisters' faces under the sheets, framed from the surrounding setting, and communicates a moment of deep intimacy that, through the evocation of Bingley and Darcy, anticipates for the spectator the final outcome of the film.

The Austenian passion is translated and transformed into tropes in a delicate balance between repression and desire. The techniques analyzed here are only a few significant examples of a transfigurative attitude that embodies different but parallel exigencies both in the novels and in the films, and that suggests a formal, structural, and semantic analogy in these different media. The social and cultural necessity that led Austen to transfigure passion and corporeity in her novels finds its counterpart in the cinema: in an age when naked bodies are overexposed and sex is a common topic of discussion, costume films rediscover a taste for visual repression. Through the concealment of the bodies and the translation of their sensuality into other objects, both voyeuristic and fetishist sensations are enhanced. The spectator savours the pleasure of discovering the characters' feelings through clues and allusions, in the same way as must be done in the novels. The result of this process is the heightening of the sensual apprehension of the story: if passion is nowhere expressed it means that passion is concealed everywhere. Eyes and hands, paintings and sculptures: Jane Austen's narrative brims with sensuality and this certainly contributes to her continuing success in literature and the cinema.