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Narrative Purpose In The Novella
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Narrative Purpose In The Novella
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71-2528
LEIBOWITZ, Judith, 1941-
NARRATIVE PURPOSE IN THE NOVELLA. [Portions
of text in French and German].
University of Southern California, Ph.D., 1970
Language and Literature, modern
i University Microfilms, A X E R O X C om pany, Ann Arbor, Michigan
© Copyright by
JUDITH LEIBOWITZ
1971
NARRATIVE PURPOSE IN THE NOVELLA
by
Judith Leibowitz
A Dissertation Presented to the
FACULTY OF THE GRADUATE SCHOOL
UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
In Partial Fulfillment of the
Requirements for the Degree
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
(Comparative Literature)
January 1970
UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
T H E GRADUATE SCHOO L
UNIVERSITY PARK
LO S ANGELES, CA LIFO RN IA 9 0 0 0 7
This dissertation, written by
.............
under the direction of /e x .... Dissertation Com
mittee, and approved by all its members, has
been presented to and accepted by The Gradu
ate School, in partial fulfillment of require
ments of the degree of
D O C T O R OF P H IL O S O P H Y
9 ?7 ‘
. s r . . . . . .
Dean
Dflte...J.anuax>c,...L9.7.(L..
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Page
INTRODUCTION ........................................ 1
Chapter
I. INTENSITY AND EXPANSION IN THE NINETEENTH-
CENTURY NOVELLA........................... 20
II. THEMATIC COMPLEXITY IN THE NOVELLA.......... 71
III. REPETITIVE STRUCTURE AND ITS FUNCTION .... 115
CONCLUSION.......................................... 176
APPENDIX............................................ 179
'BIBLIOGRAPHY........................................ 200
INTRODUCTION
My purpose in this dissertation is to define the no
vella as a distinct narrative form. There is little con
temporary criticism on the novella, although the need for an
accurate generic distinction is evident in the widespread
and ambiguous use of the term.'*' A striking phenomenon of
the 1950's and 1960's is the increasing interest among the
general public and publishers in the novella and a new will
ingness to use the term. The movie Good-bye Columbus, for
example, advertises itself as an adaptation from Roth's
novella of that name. And the growing numbers of antholo
gies and genre courses in colleges indicate that the novella
is becoming ever more popular. Unfortunately, however, we
often use the terms novella, novelette, and short novel
interchangeably. This is an unfortunate confusion because
^"Krishna Baldev Vaid' s introduction to Technique in the
Tales of Henry James (Cambridge, Mass., 1964) gives numerous
examples.
! 2 i
i ■ !
the short novel is a short version of the novel genre of
fiction, whereas the novella is a different literary form,
coinciding occasionally only in length with the short novelJ
Because we in English-speaking countries lack a standard
term, we use several ambiguous terms to denote the literary
form and tend also not to make any distinction between short
stories and novellas or between short novels and novellas.
Until recently the term novella has been rarely used
except in its Germanic form, Novelle, and in reference to
German works of that genre. And outside the field of German;
scholarship there are few specialized sources available to
the American reader who wishes to inform himself of the
novella's generic tradition. But novellas have also been
written by English, American, Spanish, Italian, and Russian
writers consistently from the middle of the nineteenth cen
tury to the present time, fewer in France, and more in Ger
many. That the genre is not studied much outside Germany is;
not necessarily a result of ignorance, however. Thomas
!
Mann's Per Tod in Venedig, for example, which is usually
called a Novelle, has never been studied as a literary form 1
even in Germany, where the Novelle as a separate genre is an
/ i
I
established concept. In America it is sometimes |
3
anthologized as a short novel, which is to refuse the im
plications of its formal designation. The work is well
known, but critical interest is centered on its interpreta
tion, i.e., those philosophical implications which relate to
the rest of Mann's thought. Even a work of such remarkable
artistic mastery, and a work by a man clearly aware of lit
erary tradition, has not been studied as a literary form.
One of the reasons for our neglect of the novella in
America is that by a linguistic accident, the terms used for
fictional forms have developed in such a way as to leave us
without a separate designation for the genre. A chart of
the words available in various languages shows that English,
and also Spanish, is strangely lacking in a word which ex
ists in other languages.^
English (hi)story, tale novel
Spanish historia, cuento novela
(archaic)
novela
Italian storia, racconto novella romanzo
French histoire, conte nouvelle roman
German Geschichte, Erzahlung Novelle Roman
In America we have been concerned primarily with the generic;
distinction between the romance and the novel, a problem
2
This linguistic chart is from Gerald Gillespie's arti
cle, "Novella, Nouvelle, Novelle, Short Novel?— A Review of
Terms," Neophilologus, LI (April 1967), 122.
4
which has not preoccupied critics of other countries. Eng
lish and Spanish are in fact the only languages with a
built-in linguistic confusion in their references for long
fiction. The other languages use only a form of the word
Roman. In France, Germany, and Italy the languages them
selves indicate the speaker1s attention to distinctions
among the story forms, having more terms than English or
Spanish. We have taken our word novel, related to nouvelle,
Novelle, and novella, and used it to designate the Roman
category. To fill up the resulting gap in the Novelle col
umn, we use short novel, which denies generic distinction
and simply implies that the form is shorter, but otherwise
operating under the same laws of composition as the novel.
Our other choice is novelette, which implies the same idea
but which has a pejorative suggestion as well. Some critics
3
prefer short novel, as the term is already m use. Even
so, as a first step toward demonstrating a generic
3
E.g., Dean S. Flower, ed., Eight Short Novels (New
York, 1967) : "Editors and critics have an obscure penchant
for terming them novellas— evoking Boccaccio— or 'novel
ettes 1 — evoking The Ladies Home Journal. The consensus now
adays, for better or worse, is 'short novel'; like many an
other label it's a misnomer, but convenient" (p. 13). On
the other hand, H. M. Waidson, in "The German Short Story as
a Literary Form," Modern Languages, XL (1959), 121-127, ar- !
gues for the term novella.
distinction, throughout this study the anglicized term no
vella will be used. This distinction also has the advantage
of retaining the term short novel as the proper label for
short works belonging generically to the novel category.
As the title of the dissertation indicates, my basis
for generic definition will be narrative purpose or Gestal-
tunqsziel. My theory rests on the assumption that each
narrative form has its own developmental goals and its own
manner of developing or giving shape to its fictional mate
rial. In general terms, this means that the novel's selec
tivity differs from the short story's because the novel's
narrative task is elaboration, whereas the short story aims
at limitation. And the novella's techniques of selection
differ from the other two genres of fiction because its
narrative purpose is compression, of a type to be defined
presently. I shall attempt to explain these generalizations
in the course of this study, for we are unable to define a
genre until we recognize what kind of shaping of material,
what narrative purpose, is inherent in the fictional forms
at their present stage of evolution.
Although the term genre is sometimes used to refer to
subcategories of literary forms such as sentimental novel,
i Entwicklungsroman, or Classical novella, Romantic novella,
etc., I am here reserving genre for the major types of fic
tion: the short story, the novella, and the novel. The
province of this paper is the novella, but the discussion
will include other fictional genres in order to contrast and
distinguish the narrative purpose of each. The approach to
genre study which I am proposing here is based on the idea
that genres can be meaningfully understood only if the gen
eric label is an implicit designation of different types of
fictional shape. Until now, generic criticism has not aimed
at identifying shaping purpose but has been based instead on
those techniques historically associated with each genre, or
with the subjects dominating the genre. Both of these crit
ical approaches may be quite useful, especially for studying
fixed forms, but neither techniques nor subject matter can
serve to distinguish genres of fiction. These approaches
i l
i ;
have not only failed to illuminate individual works, but
they have brought students of the novella to an impasse. A
full discussion of the failure of these approaches to the
novella will be found in the next chapter, and the Appendix >
may be consulted for a brief history of novella criticism,
as well as a reminder of the characteristics established by
German critics as essential to the novella by the end of the
nineteenth century.
For some time it was thought that genres could be dis-
i :
itinguished by their choice of fictional materials, by sub
ject, or by theme. This has been found to be an unsatis
factory means of ascertaining genre. Not the subject, but
ithe kind of treatment given the subject, provides meaningful
generic labels for different types of literary achievement.
War can provide the subject for any literary genre but it is
Ithe different treatment of this subject which results in
different shapes or literary forms. Certain relatively
Ifixed forms, such as elegy or eclogue, may be defined in
!
part by their subject, but usually a statement concerning
tone or treatment has to be added to the subject-definition.
|In general, a distinction between one form and another has
i
Ito include an observation on the genre's manner of treating
j :
ithe subject, and this is especially true with the genres of
i
fiction.
Robert Scholes argues that both reading and writing are
i
igeneric processes: a writer conceives his idea only in the
4
context of what has already been done. And the reader,
jperceiving generic signals in the work, recognizes the form
4
"Towards a Poetics of Fiction: 4) An Approach through
Genre," Novel. II (1969), 103.
8
and responds to it in its proper context— that is, he knows
by generic signals whether the protagonist is meant to rep
resent heroic qualities, whether the reader is meant to in
terpret the work or parts of it ironically, and so on. I
would add, he responds to the work in the context of a nar
rative goal which he recognizes through experience with
various genres. By helping the reader to perceive the in
dividuality of the different forms, genre-study can achieve
its aim, which is, as stated by Scholes, "to generate ap
propriate responses to works of literature" (p. Ill). Al
though I agree with these theoretical statements, I differ
from Scholes in the application of this concept. He uses as
his example of good generic criticism the introductory essay
to Manon Lescaut by Deloffre and Picard entitled "Sources
i . 5
iLitteraires et Histoire du Genre." The generic signals
pointed out in this essay, however, are not precisely gen
eric. They are, as summarized by Scholes: (1) the framing
of the tale; (2) the presence of a narrator whose character
lends resonance to the style, radically affecting its tex
ture; (3) the development of a narrative prose which has the
5
In the introduction to the Garnier edition (Paris,
1965).
familiarity of conversationj (4) selection of ordinary
characters— of "condition moyen"; (5) exactness in the ren
dering of dates, places, and manners] and (6) plausibility
in the incidents (pp. 110-111) . My argument with this ap
proach to genre is that although it points out the histori-
i
;cal precedent in the genre, it fails to consider the purpose
i
for which certain techniques have been used, and therefore
does not guide us to an appreciation of their relative im
portance or to an ability to distinguish differences in
their function in different generic contexts. The presence
of characters from an ordinary walk of life cannot be as
signed any generic significance, although it does signal the
sauthor's intention within a generic structure. The problem
i
i
iof generic structure still remains to be solved, however.
The authors of the essay do not solve the problem by label
ing Manon Lescaut an histoire, since they do not distinguish
this genre from the novel. What they point out is a tradi- i
tion of quasi-history in literature and Prevost's use of
!
this tradition. This is not generic criticism, though,
i ;
| since realism is a characteristic of some fiction, as well
as of some drama and poetry, but it is not a generic attri
bute of any one literary type. Since Manon is in the gen
eric tradition of picaresque novels, criticism which aims
10
to throw light on its genre should discuss its formal rela
tionship to this type of novelistic precedent. The theory
offered in my study is intended to clarify the generic prob
lem which criticism of this kind has not yet solved.
Traditional criticism of the novella originated in Ger-
|
many and is based specifically on German novellas. This
body of criticism was written in large part by the novella
writers themselves during the period 1830-1900. Contempo
rary German criticism follows their approach to the novella,
which is based on a false theory of genre. The theory is
false because it does not yield even partial answers— just
misleading ones— to the problem of defining the novella,
jits method has been to cull characteristics of the novella
jfrom works written in the past and to judge new works on the
i
I
basis of those characteristics. According to this theory,
i
new novellas must incorporate essential techniques whose
relative importance is measured only by statistical fre-
j
quency. The three most recurrent and most stressed charac
teristics— an unheard-of event, a striking turning point,
land characters subordinate to a pattern of fate— demand
categorization of works according to their inclusion of
these techniques, but do not take into account the essential
nature of a genre that may demand such techniques.
11
Agreement on which and how many characteristics a work must
I
have is irrelevant, for there is no basis for these deci
sions, except historical statistics. A genre theory should
be descriptive, but even if it were possible to arrive at a
uniform approach, by which certain characteristics were ac
ceptable on an historical basis, these would still be only
arbitrary phenomena, employed for some hitherto undefined
aesthetic goal. Since the sum of characteristics of no
vellas does not help us to arrive at a definition of the
novella, but only catalogues the frequency of particular
devices, my intention is to offer an explanation for fre
quently occurring devices. Once we define the generic goal,
• the narrative shaping purpose of the novella, the character-
j
jistics may have a significance they previously lacked. If
; i
jit can be shown that the function of whatever techniques the;
novella uses is constantly to produce the same effect, the
traditional categories may be relegated to history and the
i ' '
novella may be understood in terms of its generic aesthetic :
i ;
jgoal, or narrative purpose.
i ;
| Before proceeding to study the novella's effect, it
yould be well to clarify the concept as it will be used
here. Over-all aesthetic effects of the narrative, such as
elaboration or compression, are different from stylistic
12
effects within the narrative. It will become evident, in
the course of this study, that stylistic devices are in
themselves relatively unimportant to generic distinction.
For example, Gide often uses techniques to produce a certain
ikind of irony. He may use the technique of self-reporting
i
iin order to produce the ironic effect of unwitting self-
irevelation. We are likely to notice variations of this
technique and its aesthetic effect in several of Gide's
works. But to notice irony as a major Gidean aesthetic
ieffect does not help us to understand the difference between
I Les Faux-Monnayeurs and La Symphonie Pastorale as generi-
cally distinct narrative structures, for Gide's irony con
tributes differently to the over-all effect of each work.
Contrary to the general tendency of previous novella
jcriticism, no specific techniques can be ascribed to a j
single narrative genre. Irony does not belong exclusively
to the novel any more than does turning point to the no-
i i
I ■
Ivella. For that reason, as the example of Gide's irony in- j
f j
Jdicates, a study of techniques will not lead to an under-
j i
jstanding of generic narrative purpose. Understanding Gide'sj
'irony leads only to an understanding of Gide' s works as
Iseparate entities. But the function of irony in the context:
|of the over-all design and effect of Les Faux-Monnayeurs j
13
jdiffers from its function in the context of La Symphonie
1
Pastorale. Until we analyze how techniques in a literary
work serve its governing principle of composition, the pres
ence of the techniques has no relationship to genre. But
once the functions served by techniques in specific contexts
jean be identified, they can serve as the basis for generic
distinctions and definitions.
Whereas the short story limits material and the novel
extends it, the novella does both in such a way that a spe
cial kind of narrative structure results, one which produces
a generically distinct effect: the double effect of inten
sity and expansion. Since the motifs in a novella are usu
ally part of a closely associated cluster of themes, the
|
isame material remains in focus, while in the novel the cen-
|
i |
;tral focus shifts. By means of this treatment of theme,
I !
I
Which I call theme-complex, all the motifs are interrelated,
permitting the novella to achieve an intensive and constant
ifocus on the subject. At the same time, since the implica
tions of each motif are suggested but not explicitly devel- j
i ‘
! ,
joped, the novella is eminently a narrative of suggestion.
i
'This outward expansion from a limited focus is the effect of:
the typical plot construction of the novella. The action in
|a novella does not give the effect of continuous
14
progression, of a large area being covered as in the novel, !
but of a limited area being explored intensively. The
action is generally compressed by means of a repetitive ;
|
structure, but we shall see that manipulations of chronology
and other devices also help the writers achieve their ef- j
feet. The use of repetitive structure enables the author to
rework or redevelop themes and situations he has already
!
developed. The repetition may consist of parallel situa- I
tions which are counterparts to those already presented, or |
parallel motifs which represent different aspects of the
theme -comp lex. ;
Both theme-complex and repetitive structure operate
to compress the material while at the same time expanding
its implications. While the plot accommodates itself to
intensive treatment of the subject through repetition or
other devices, and while the interrelatedness of the motifs
reinforces this intensity, at the same time the undeveloped
implications of the theme-complex serve to expand this
material. I shall devote a chapter to each of these tech
niques, theme-complex and repetitive structure, in order to
demonstrate that they are common to all the works studied
here and that they serve the same purpose each time in pro
ducing the narrative's double effect.
My intention in describing these techniques is to focus
on their function. In contrast to the "characteristics"
approach, my theory aims to discover the shaping purpose of
the genre which calls for certain techniques. In singling
out theme-complex and structural reworking of a limited sit
uation or idea as important to the novella, I hope not to
substitute new characteristics for old. Rather, I wish only
to discuss the most prevalent modern thematic and structural
techniques of novella composition and to eliminate the arbi-
|
itrariness of traditional novella nrescriptions in the areas
of subject and plot structure. The techniques isolated here
as important to the novella are designated as such because
of their contribution to the novella's narrative shape, not
l
jsimply because of their frequency. My proposal, that the
I
^narrative purpose of the novella is so to shape its narra-
t
i
tive that the effect will be that of intensity and expan
sion, is meant to be as specific as necessary for generic
definition, but as free as- possible as concerns technical
aspects of composition. Regardless of technique,, if the
i
bodern novella is distinguished from other fictional forms
by this narrative purpose, it can be described as an inten
sive analysis of a limited area with wide, undeveloped im
plications .
! Each narrative form, having its own developmental
goals, uses techniques of selection proper to these goals,
but the techniques themselves are not adequate for generic
jdistinction. The selection of a genre limits the author's
lability to manipulate his material and at the same time
i
jopens to him the possibilities inherent in that kind of
narrative treatment. In order to comprehend the narrative
^capacity special to the novella, we should become aware of
the effect which it and no other literary form produces.
Each ordering of material, each form, provides an over-all
aesthetic effect generically distinct from that of other
literary types. Histories of the novel, for example, recog
nize a similarity of aesthetic experience, or else every
novel would be treated in isolation. Clearly, the reader
responds not only to the specific aims of the writer, but
also to the genre. Thus, as Scholes implies, there are two
jlevels of aesthetic response involved in the reading of a
novel— one responds to Flaubert, for example, or to Hardy,
and also to the narrative shape which he recognizes as
jnovelistic. In the next chapters I shall try to explain how
the novella creates its special response by analyzing how
various authors have developed the capacities of the form,
jl shall try to demonstrate that, as in any genre, the
! 17 :
l
techniques used in the novella are employed in such a way as;
to produce a unique over-all effect. During the course of
this study, I intend to show that genre is a more meaningful
concept when defined by unique effect than when defined by a
history of its typical devices. And I shall try to show
that the novella's effect is a combination of intensity and
expansion.
The procedure I shall adopt is as follows. In the
first chapter I shall analyze a few important novellas of
the nineteenth century in order to demonstrate that while
existing novella criticism does not clarify either the
nineteenth-century novella as a genre or the individual
worksj their generic relationship can be recognized on the
basis of common aesthetic effect. Works discussed in this
jchapter are Brentano, Geschichte der braven Kasperl und dem j
schonen Annerl; Stifter, Brigitta; Keller, Kleider machen
Leute; Meyer, Der Heilige; Hauptmann, Bahnwarter Thiel;
:Storm, Der Schimmelreiter; Merimee, Carmen; and Melville,
i Bartleby the Scrivener. In Chapter II the generic aes-
i
thetic goals of producing intensity and expansion will be
examined in more detail in connection with contemporary
works, from the standpoint of their treatment of theme. In
the third chapter generic aesthetic effects already
discussed will be retested through structural analysis.
Works included in Chapters II and III are James, The Bench
of Desolation and Washington Square; Mann, Der Tod in Vene-
dig and Die Betrogene; Gide, La Symphonie Pastorale: Silone,
The Fox and the Camellias; West, Miss Lonelyhearts; and
Spark, The Go-Away Bird. It is hoped that this procedure
will show the continuity of the modern novella from the late
nineteenth century to the present on the basis of narrative
goal, and that it will provide a unified and verifiable
generic approach to the novella. Throughout my treatment of
theme and structure, I shall attempt to show that the tech
niques of the short story and short novel, even when they
coincide, serve a different narrative purpose from that of
j
the novella.
j :
By including works from different literary traditions, :
I ;
I hope to isolate those principles of composition which are
basic to the novella and which transcend national types. In
doing so, it will b.e necessary to cut off the past and to
limit the discussion to works written since the early nine
teenth century, since the novella prior to that time had not
yet begun to take its modern generic form.
The works, which represent a sampling of novellas from
different literatures, have been chosen on the basis of
j 19
rtheir popularity with both the reading public and the crit
ics. James and Mann receive more emphasis than the other
writers on account of their international stature as accom
plished writers in several genres— their versatility indi
cating their conscious choice of form— and on account of
their importance as innovators. The choice is further dic
tated by the fact that there is no published generic study
6
of either of these two writers, although those of Mann's
works entitled Novelle have been universally accepted as
:such.
6
With the exception of a hitherto unpublished disserta
tion on James's short novels by Dean S. Flower.
CHAPTER I
INTENSITY AND EXPANSION IN THE
NINETEENTH-CENTURY NOVELLA
This chapter will show that despite great differences
in internal aesthetic effect, a number of nineteenth-century
works belong to the same genre by virtue of their sharing
the same over-all narrative purpose, to produce the double
effect of intensity with expansion. These novellas develop
their subjects in accordance with the same goal, regardless
of specific intentions or subject. But recognition of these
common principles of composition is obscured by critics who
jstill adhere to the categories established by nineteenth-
i
century theoreticians. Karl Konrad Polheim, a German critic,
proves in detail that the characteristics approach has
i
jfailed, in a survey of major criticism from the middle of
1
(the nineteenth century to the present.
^"Novellentheorie und Novellenforschung (1945-1963),"
21
| His study of novella theory is an interesting experi
ment. By collecting everything that has been said by the
critics about Brentano1s Geschichte vom braven Kasperl und
dem schonen Annerl (1817), he is able to demonstrate that
the results are entirely uninstructive:
Die vergleichende Betrachtung des einen Beispiels hat
uns freilich zu einem beunruhigenden Ergebnis gefuhrt.
Die Novellentheorie, in welcher Form immer, konnte sich
als Hilfsmittel zur Deutung eines Kunstwerkes kaum be-
wahren, sie drohte vielmehr die Sicht darauf zu ver-
stellen. (p. 305)
Polheim's examination, of which only a part will be summa
rized here, thoroughly justifies his claim that the various
theories of the novella have failed to illuminate this work.
It is not difficult to continue his approach and to demon
strate the lack of usefulness of the traditional Novelle
|characteristics as applied to other nineteenth-century no
vellas . Obviously, if these categories are not even appli
cable to the nineteenth-century Novelle, they should not be
i
expected to provide a critical approach to.the recent no
vella, which presents additional problems of technical in
novation. But by discarding the traditional categories, at
Deutsche Vierteljahrsschrift fur Literaturwissenschaft und
, Geistesgeschichte, XXXVIII, Supplement (1964), 208-316.
! 22
i
least temporarily, and by seeking a shaping principle to
i
account for observable techniques, we can try to recognize
i
the common aesthetic goal of several representative no
vellas . In this way we may also better understand each
work.
Polheim shows that the failure to elucidate Kasperl und
Annerl is due to the normative critics, who discuss the
characteristics cited in the Appendix, thereby contradicting
each other or failing to tie in their identification of the
conflict, etc., with any interpretation of the work as a
whole. Surely the purpose of genre criticism is to arrive
at a deeper appreciation of the work through an understand
ing of its generic tradition. But this is not the case with
Ithe critical activity illustrated in Polheim1 s article. For
|
t :
|example, an examination of structure should lead to the
identification of central event and turning point but, as
will be seen in the comments cited below, this discussion
j
!does not develop any over-all view of structure, nor does it
I '
provide any analytical approach to the work. Thus the
critics fail to resolve the major structural problem in
Brentano's novella, the inclusion of two stories. Appar
ently criticism of even an important novella has been geared
ito pre-established critical categories which do not
| 23
•necessarily lead to a complete understanding of the work.,
I
but rather tend to obscure it.
Johannes Klein identifies the central event as the vol
untary death of two people for honor's sake, but he does not
2
relate the deaths to each other or to the whole work.
Walter Silz says there is a single central conflict but does
not identify it. He seems to take the Kasper story for the
main substance of the work, as he identifies Kasper's de
nunciation of his father and brother as the turning point of
the whole work. Helmuth Himmel, under the same assumption
that Kasper's story is the main component of the work, calls
Kasper's dream the turning point for the complete novella;
but he does distinguish a separate turning point operating
within the Kasper episode, i.e., his decision to follow the
robbers. Heinrich Henel says that instead of having one
i ' ;
unusual event, as in a Renaissance novella, this work has
four: infanticide, suicide, "verhangnisvolles Richtswert,"
and mercy. Benno von Wiese discusses three novella
I :
1 :
|"events," connected by the grandmother: Kasper's novella of!
honor; Annerl's story of false honor and supernatural power;
j
i
2
The following summary is from Polheim, pp. 297-304;
also see Bibliography.
| 24
1
land the central symbol., the veil (which he calls an
j
"event"). Richard Alewyn, who does not derive his turning
point from any theory of the novella, says it occurs not
when something happens, but when something is revealed: the
moment when the reader realizes how imminent the execution
of Annerl is. After this shock, place and time perspective
change, and new action is added (the Duke and Grossinger's
sister). Alewyn says there is no central eventj rather,
symbols establish points of contact between different
places, times, and persons. Alewyn's remarks seem to be
most useful, as will be seen shortly. The observations of
the other critics, as is easily evident, are totally dis
parate and do not provide a coherent interpretation of the
work.
j It is necessary to understand the structure of the work
before any valid conclusions can be drawn concerning struc
tural questions such as central conflict or turning point.
In this work, there are three levels of reality which become
! i
| increasingly interrelated: the outer reality of the first- j
'person narrator, the inner frame of Anna Margaret, and the
stories she tells of Kasper and Annerl. This structure is
obvious unless one ignores the narrative as a whole in order
to force central importance on some aspect of it. The old
jwoman's narration is two steps removed from reality—
I
i
Ireported in her words, the stories still have to filter
through the outer narrator to the reader. Although on the
same narrative level, the two stories do not make up a
structural unity, as assumed by everyone but Alewyn. Kas-
iper's is a didactic story, whereas Annerl's story is a fate
story. The supernatural childhood episode in Annerlfs story
parallels the anecdote of the French officer in Kasper's.
Both incidents serve as exposition to their respective sto
ries and set the tone for each. In this manner, the stories
balance each other structurally and thematically, and nei
ther is subordinate to the other. The critics speak of
separate conflicts in the "Kernnovelle" (inner novella) and
in the outer novella] however, Kasper's story is no more the
Icore than Annerl's. The turning point in Kasper's story
does not operate causatively in Annerl's, for the old woman
remarks that Kasper was fortunate never to know that Annerl
|in the meantime had developed pride and thereafter been
i
I
|seduced. If he had not known of her situation, she could
r
Inot have known about his either. Annerl's story is appar
ently developing concurrently with Kasper's, or slightly
later, as her execution takes place the day after Kasper's
suicide.
26
The Kasper and Annerl stories produce two different
i
I
angles of vision on the subject of honor so that neither
story can be said to take precedence over the other; rather,
they are parallel. All the other elements of the novella
contribute to the theme, too, so that the stories cannot be
taken for the substance of the novella with the rest rele
gated to framework. The grandmother represents a religious
view; the narrator interjects an aside on the degrees of
honor in professional callings; the French officer repre
sents a military code of honor; Grossinger represents the
ethical aspect of seduction; the Duke, as counterpart to
Grossinger, regains honor after the seduction; he also pos
sesses the worldly power and honor of high birth, and he
leven achieves the worldly counterpart to divine justice by
j
building the monument for the education of the people. It
;is in this context of multiple, fragmentary representations
of the problem of honor that the Kasper and Annerl stories
junfold— the first illustrates an intellectual excess, made
plausible by Kasper's admiration of the French officer; the
isecond illustrates the misconception of honor, as the ser-
i
jvant girl is seduced through vanity, and then, like Kasper,
|
irefuses to live with the loss of honor, for the sake of
i
27
honor.
i
All the elements are aspects of the theme, "Gebt Gott
allein die Ehre," the refrain-like comment of Anna Margaret.
It is echoed in the refrain from a folk ballad, which is
sung at the beginning and interspersed throughout the narra
tive until its associations are completed at the end of the
novella. The granting of grace at the end is parallel to
the redemption of the huntsman before his execution, and
Annerl's seduction is an ironic reversal of her mother's
refusal to marry the huntsman, which started the curse on
Annerl. There is no cause and effect, however, except in
the case of Annerl's cursej the French officer's suicide,
for example, is not a part of that chain of events. Rather,
iall the fragments represent different facets of honor-
idishonor. The fragments are unified thematically by the
associated leitmotifs of veil-apron-roses-wreath, and struc
turally by parallelism and interlocking.
The stories of Kasper and Annerl function in the same
Iway and for the same purpose as does repetitive structure in;
; the contemporary novella. The same large problem (honor) is
;focused upon twice, hence the intensity. But this parallel-
: ism occurs in a context of multiple motifs. None of these
i I
|usurps the focus, yet by their presence they produce the |
! 28
effect of expansion.
i
The demarcation of the three levels of reality, the two
narrators and Anna Margaret's stories, becomes increasingly
blurred. The reader's perception of reality changes as he
perceives the unity of the separate elements. The outer
frame, instead of setting off the content, gradually starts
to serve a function in it and to merge with it. The struc
ture is presented in the diagram on the next page.
Grossinger's role may further serve to illustrate the
structural interlocking. He participates as seducer in the
Annie story, parallels the Duke's situation of noble seducer
on the outer level, speaks to both narrators at the begin
ning, tries to refuse the outer narrator's admittance to the
Duke so that the Duke's secret will remain intact, and like
:Kasper, commits suicide and leaves a letter of explanation
which is inserted in the text— thus he participates in the
novella at all levels.
It is difficult to speak of a central event in a work
j
Iwhich is evidently composed of several aspects of a single !
problem, two of which, Kasper and Annerl, are the most fully
i :
developed. Kasper's suicide is a rather striking mid-point,
after which a new tone is introduced in the episode of the
f
f
curse on Annerl. However, his suicide does not cause the
29
|(1) Outer frame
(2) Inner frame
(1) Grossinger throws the rose at the
narrator
> ■
(3) Kasper's story:
anecdote of the
French officer
(1) Narrator interrupts narrator
>
(3) Kasper's story:
the suicide
(3) Annie's story:
the curse
(1) Narrator petitions the Duke
(3)
----->
Annie1s execu
tion
(3) Grossinger1s
suicide
----->
(3) Grossinger's
sister and the
Duke
>
1(1) Monument of
Justice and
Mercy
S 30
'surprising twist of fate that is to be found in some of
i
Keller's work, e.g., Kleider machen Leute. The single con
flict is not between any two characters in the work, for
each character confronts the conflict between dishonor and
honor in a different situation. The work contains two un
usual, unheard-of events— Kasper's action and Annerl's exe
cution— which stand out from a number of unusual cases in
volving honor. Kasper's decision to follow the robbers is
a turning point in his story, since he then discovers that
they are his own family, which is the reason for his shame
•and subsequent suicide, as well as for the honor gained by
bringing them to justice. The turning point in the Annerl
story is of a different nature, for it is not contained
within the inner narration. It is not, for example, her
jrefusal to identify the father of her child, nor is it the
murder of her child. Instead, the turning point occurs at
the belated arrival of the pardon. In this case, the story
jis resolved with the participation of the former listener.
jTechnically, the interaction of structural levels is more
j
[important than the labeling of the turning point. Brentano
emphasizes the outside participation by allowing it to domi
nate the plot for a time— Grossinger and the narrator cannot
be heard and then Grossinger is thrown— whereas he could j
31
have presented this still as an in-set story told after the
event to an outsider.
It is evident that the traditional German Novelle
categories— unheard-of event, central conflict, and turning
point— do not help to focus on the important aspects of this
work, but only serve to obscure its construction. Since
this work is generally accepted as a novella, despite Bren-
tano's calling it a Geschichte in the title, and since it
even incorporates, according to Silz, all the features ever
expected of a novella, it is all the more interesting that
the process of identifying the characteristics takes the
reader no further into the work. No one disputes the fact
that it is a novella, but no one accounts for its manner of
presenting the material.
Upon reconsidering the techniques just discussed from
the standpoint of their aesthetic effect, it becomes even
more apparent that the traditional categories are irrele
vant. It is evident that Brentano is concerned with pre
senting the subject of honor as a problem— whether face
tiously or not may be left aside for the present purpose.
Further analysis of the work might show a certain comic
irony in the treatment of fate and in the kind of resolution
achieved by the monument, but that does not affect the
32
over-all developmental goals of the work. The grandmother's
attitude is fixed, but the Duke does change. Also, the
narrator gains insight, starts to re-evaluate the morality
of Kasper's suicide, and finally condemns the notion of
honor, as he appeals to the Duke to correct the failure of
honor by sheer authority. The subject is developed here by
concentration on a narrow topic, by focusing in each example
on the choice of suicide as a means of preserving or regain
ing honor, and in each case implicit or explicit doubt is
cast on that solution. The effect of extreme concentration
of subject is achieved in part by the parallelism of the two
stories, in part by the repetitions of the same problem in
jthe other, fragmented elements of the plot. This intensity
jis accompanied, however, by the effect of expansion,
achieved by the thematic ramifications and associations
j |
already pointed out.
A brief survey of several more important novellas will
(further indicate the irrelevance of the traditional novella
I
jcharacteristics and the need for a new critical approach.
IStifter's novella Brigitta (1844) contains an unheard-of
:event, the unusual success of the ugly duckling, and also
|Brigitta's unusual demand that her husband leave. Once
j
i ■ ;
jmore, though, the central conflict is not between two
33
characters in the narrative. Rather, the narrative presents
both sides of human emotion: the barrenness of the heart
without love, and the creativity, the blossoming, of the
heart with love. Thus this work, too, presents in summa
rized fashion general aspects of a specific problem.
Stephen's sudden and brief attraction to Gabrielle is
ithe turning point of the Brigitta story, but once again
identification of this stage of the action requires an un
derstanding of the over-all structure. Brigitta's life
could have constituted a novella with that event as turning
point, but Stifter's chronological and structural presenta
tion of Brigitta's life makes it impossible to regard the
iwork structurally as a novella within a frame. Instead,
’ there is a steadily intensified focus on Brigitta, her story
i
jis told up to its present state in the third part of the
novella, and then the resolution of her story takes place on
the same level of reality as that of the frame-narrator.
jThus the narrator, as in Kasperl und Annerl, ceases to pro-
i
I :
jvide the frame. When the narrative includes him as one of
i :
jits plot elements, it is the entire composition that is a
j
novella, not the enclosed history of the heroine. Stifter
!is able to expand the subject of the novella by going beyond
j
jthe confines of the limited focus indicated by the title
34
and concentration on one character.
The four equal parts of the narrative relate to the
central figure in different ways. In the first section
Stifter establishes a spatial distancing of the action to
come, instead of the usual time frame. As the narrator
crosses the Hungarian countryside, the reader is drawn fur
ther into the physical setting of the action. Stifter
wishes the reader to feel that he has traveled an immense
distance, and he spends one-quarter of the narrative creat
ing this effect. The narrator is on his way to meet the
Major, and there is no mention of Brigitta. Although she
appears at the end of the section, she is not yet part of
the plot. However, the nature imagery which will serve an
important function throughout the novella is established in
i ;
ithis first section, which is frame to the action as well as !
thematic exposition.
The second part again works spatially, as the narrator
is escorted around the Major's estate and selected details
jof its management are developed— those relating to the
Major's large-scale cultivation of the formerly barren
earth, and his relationship to his employees. At the end,
the narrator gives a brief, inaccurate history of Brigitta
las he then knows it. In part three, set off structurally
from the narrator's level of parts one and two, Brigitta's
story is told as a separate insert. The narrator's account
of Brigitta's youth, marriage, separation, and subsequent
creative activity employs the same nature imagery that has
thus far been dominant in the narrative. Just as, in parts
one and two, the soil had blossomed under cultivation, so
the heart now expands under the influence of love. The
story backtracks to relate Brigitta's past up to the moment
we have met her but also moves into the future, for the nar
rator insists that we notice that he is recounting the
events after they have unfolded gradually to him. In the
last part, the chronology of the narrator's present is re
sumed, as he describes his first visit to Brigitta— which
occurred, of course, previous to part three. He interrupts
jhimself to emphasize that all the events, including those of;
I
parts one and two, which the reader thought to be set in
present time, happened in the narrator's past. He himself
jhas married since, as a result of witnessing this unusual
I
1 ;
ilove. After establishing this chronological tension, the
ilast section resolves Brigitta's story, when her son's wolf
l
bite causes anxiety to both Brigitta and the Major, precipi
tating the acknowledgment and resumption of their marriage.
Again the narrator establishes the time distance by filling I
36
in details of the Major's past. The narrator indicates the
i
lapse of time by placing his departure after the winter.
His visit to Gabrielle's grave after his departure is the
last reminder of the Brigitta story. Then the horizon of
the narrator's homeland emerges as the next and final visual
scene, and this foreshortened spatial distancing removes us
from the action.
There are some strange twists in fate, such as the
son's wolf bite, the presence of the bewitching Gabrielle,
and the return of Stephen, drawn by inner necessity, to his
estate to be Brigitta's neighbor. But Stifter modifies the
traditional fate pattern by including Brigitta's psychologi
cal background. Therefore, the characters are not subordi
nate to fate. Even the narrator is interested in psychology
from the very beginning of the novella, and the psychologi
cal realism of the entire novella is manifested by his
dreams.
As mentioned above, the first two parts of the novella
i
I furnish frame and exposition. The function of these two
; i
Iparts is to establish not only a sense of spatial proximity
but also a theme-complex of related ideas: nature-aridity,
cultivation-fertility, human isolation-solidarity. Clearly
f
| this half of the narrative also serves to suggest, through !
37
nature imagery, the phenomenon of human cultivation of
naturally arid soil, the symbolic counterpart to Brigitta's
condition and, by implication, the Major's. By this ar
rangement of material, and by presenting Brigitta's story
completely out of sequence, Stifter achieves the simulta
neous effects of concentration and expansion. The subject
has been presented first in natural terms and then re
examined in human terms. The focus on Brigitta is intensi
fied not only by the slow, gradually narrowing approach to
her, but also by this redevelopment in a second thematic
context closely related to the first. But while building to
an intensive focus on Brigitta, Stifter is still able, by
means of the theme-complex, to expand the implications of
her condition to the parallel condition of the Major. He is
;even able to let the implications expand so far outward from
the single focus as to encompass the narrator, who has also
learned to cultivate his heart. It is primarily the repe-
1
itition of allied motifs which makes this narrative economy
possible. But in this novella the technique of chronologi- I
j |
jcal manipulation must not be overlooked. Although it is not
frequently used, here it is highly effective in weaving the
Major's and the narrator's stories in with Brigitta's so
that the same small group of motifs can serve to develop all;
38
three elements of the plot. Brentano's use of the fragment
as a unit of plot construction had much the same function,
for it, too, made all elements of the novella emanate from
the same point of focus— in that case not a character, hut
the concept of honor.
; Brentano had treated a totally different subject, used
different techniques and structural arrangement, yet
achieved the same kind of effect as Stifter. His outstand
ing events, Kasper's suicide and Annerl's execution, were
also embedded in associations and suggestions so as to pro
duce simultaneously the effect of concentration and expan
sion. In both cases traditional criticism has been inade
quate . Only a new approach and the introduction of new
jterminology has allowed us to perceive what each writer is
jdoing and the relationship between these two works.
Keller is one of the few writers to use exactly the
kind of turning point Tieck describes; i.e., a striking
3
turning point occurring midway in the narrative. This is
jnot the characteristic which makes Keller's short fiction
^novellas. For example, in Spiecrel das Katzchen (1875), the
!
cat makes a pact with the devil, gains a superior position
' 3
j See Chapter III of this study.
: 39
|
|over him, frees himself, and then turns the tables entirely.
|
In Kleider machen Leute (1872), the tailor is precipitated
into a position of social prestige, he is exposed in an
unusual manner, the plot takes a false lead, and then he
achieves success. The reversal of fate provides the main
interest in Keller's work, although as a realist, he modi
fies the Romantic fate pattern of the fairy tale so that the
surprising turn of events is explainable. Although Spiegel
has various moral attributes, Strapinski, the tailor, has no
personality, and in both cases character is subordinate to
event, as since required by novella theory. When Strapinski
leaves the masquerade party, the plot develops along a new
and surprising line, but his moment of exposure is not a
I
icausative turning point. His exposure changes the movement
lof success but does not in itself cause either subsequent
success or failure. Keller twists around again and re
establishes the character's fortunes. Not many works con-
jstruct this sort of plot, however, and, as will be demon-
i :
jstrated in Chapter III, this technique cannot serve to dis- |
I
jtinguish the novella from other genres, as Tieck claimed.
Kleider machen Leute is based on a novel event, much in
Jthe nature of an anecdote— a penniless man, by a series of
j ;
Icoincidences, is accepted as a rich man. Composed in three i
parts, the novella portrays Strapinski's passive acceptance
Jof his role and then his active participation in the decep
tion, as the first part. His first encounter with Netta is
the turning point of this section, as it is in order to im
press her that he begins deliberately to play the role of a
Polish count that he had merely accepted before, and it is
because of her that he remains. In part two, Strapinski's
engagement to Netta signals his continued success. However,
the celebration fSte turns into his public exposure as an
impostor. In part three, the situation is saved by Netta.
Again there is an enclosed story, but this one is subordi
nate to the main action.
Part one shifts from unconscious to conscious role-
I
playing; part two, beginning with allegories, is followed by
■a collective "play" on stage, as the slogan "Man Makes
|
Clothes," and its reverse, "Clothes Make the Man," is acted
out, concluding with the imitation of Strapinski himself.
Part three resolves the problem of authenticity as the
Stailor re-enters his reality, his role as tailor. The idea
i
|of the role is in counterpoint to the pattern of fate and
coincidence. The two themes are developed simultaneously
throughout as separate, but closely connected, aspects of
j
ithe problem of identity. The unusual events, turning point,
41
i
and subordination of character to event make this one of the
i
!few novellas to fulfill traditional criteria so precisely
that there is no difficulty in recognizing them. The narra
tive also produces those effects observed in Brigitta and
Kasper1 und Annerl. In spite of the thematic duality, the
effect of concentration is still dominant— it is the story
of a specific tailor being accepted, exposed, and re
established in a town. And the double theme— fate and
coincidence, and role-playing— provides the same foreshort
ened, condensed complexity observed above.
Meyer's Per Heilige (1880), Hauptmann's Bahnwarter
Thiel (1887), and Storm's Per SchiromeIreiter (1888), totally
different from each other and from the three works just
lexamined, manifest the same developmental goals, intensity
i
!
|and expansion, while again conforming only in part to tradi
tional categories. All three are constructed on an anec
dotal basis: the story behind Thomas 1s canonization, the
i
jstory of an unusu,al murder, the dikemaster's mysterious
jdeath. All three have the turning point described by Tieck.N
iln Per Heilige, Henry's insistence on making Thomas arch
bishop is the turning point in the two men's careers, since
Henry does not realize Thomas's exclusive dedication to his
|immediate role and therefore does not foresee the
: 42
jchristianizing effect the bishopric will have on Thomas , in
conflict with Henry's own interests. Once again the turning^
point is of a dubious nature, since the real separation be
tween the two men occurs with Gnade's death, caused by
Henry's lust. Although this is the psychological turning
point, Thomas's appointment controls the second half of the
novella and its resolution. It would therefore be arbitrary
to single out either event as the turning point. Thus this
criterion of the novella is irrelevant once again. In a
isimilar manner, Thiel's frustration becomes unbearable after
i
his child has been run over by the train j Hauke's fate
catches up with him when he gives in to the lethargy of the
village people and neglects the necessary repairs of the
Idike. However, the frequent references to the curse placed
i ;
ion him early in his life are indicative of a different
I '
structural pattern.
Meyer and Storm emphasize the anecdotal nature of their:
Inovellas by setting them within frames, whereas Hauptmann
j :
(uses a third person narrator. The crossbowman tells the
story of Thomas and Henry to an anti-Thomas canon who occa
sionally interrupts the narrative to dispute the veracity of
ithe events. The narrative includes the narrator's and
!
jThomas's backgrounds, but not Henry's. The narrator also
43
announces the development and outcome of every phase of his
!
i
story in advance, thus reinforcing stylistically the objec
tive distance already effected by the frame. There are two
jframes in Per SchimmeIreiter. As the story is told by a
teacher to a traveler, and then is read by the pseudo
publisher, the events are removed from the reader by three
i
ilevels of fictional reality. In order to maintain the
reader's objectivity, he is occasionally reminded of this
narrative distance. The traveler sees the ghost of Hauke
Haien on his white horse, the teacher and his audience see
lit also at the inn, and the teacher then tells the traveler,
ifirst in company, later alone, the story of the man who
built the dike. At the end, two other people interrupt the
i
!
I
linner and outer narrators to report that they, too, have
| :
jseen the ghostly figure. Thus the supernatural elements
pervade the entire novella, not merely the inner story.
The interest of Per Heilige lies in its tension between
I
jtwo fully developed characters, Thomas and Henry, who do not
I
I
'change during the course of events but are gradually and
Constantly revealed so as to deepen and broaden the reader's
understanding of them. The characters clearly dominate the
events. In Per Schimmelreiter also, despite the mysterious
iorigin of the white horse and the initial curse, it is
44
Hauke1s personality which dominates the action. The love
and hatred in his heart lead to his isolation and eventually
to the hubris which destroys him. His character, therefore,
is parallel, not subordinate, to the supernatural circum
stances. And the significance of Thiel's struggle against
his own passions and against forces beyond his understanding
or control derives from the mixture of base and spiritual
elements in his personality. Psychological interest thus
dominates these later novellas. Indeed, as mentioned above,
it is difficult to find many novellas of the late nineteenth
or the twentieth century that subordinate character to ex
ternal patterns. And yet the criterion of fate or event is
4
still indispensable to a critic as important as von Wiese.
I
These novellas range in length from the short Bahn-
I warter Thiel to the rather long Per Heilige. The number of
characters is limited in the former, but in Per Heilige and
Per Schimmelreiter there are many subordinate characters.
However disparate these works are in technique and style,
jthey are generically allied by their narrative purpose. The
techniques in each case are used to produce the same double
aesthetic effect on the reader— simultaneous intensity and
4
Benno von Wiese, Novelle (Stuttgart, 1965).
expansion. The difference among them lies only in subject
j
j
;and the characteristics of their literary period.
Meyer does not divide Per Heilige into major parts but
uses numerous narrative breaks in his chapter divisions. In
the first half of the novella, after Gnade's death, the
problem of Henry's clergy is already fully developed. Henry
then sums up his sentiments about Gnade's death. He is
sorry that the bowman let her get killed, but he does not
regret having made the child his mistress, nor does he per
ceive that he has wronged Thomas. In the subsequent scene,
Henry insists that Thomas become bishop of Canterbury. His
reasons for wanting the clergy subordinated are already
known to the reader, but his insistence on Thomas as the
j
agent is due to his lack of perception, already attested to
i
by his insensitivity in expecting Thomas's ready forgiveness
!
for Gnade's corruption. The structural intertwining of the
Gnade and Archbishop situations, as well as the concentrat
ing focus in each, makes of them not two events in a series,
i
bur rather two perspectives on the same conflict between
i 5
Henry and Thomas.
5
W. A. Coupe, ed., Per Heilige by Conrad Ferdinand
Meyer (Oxford, 1965), in his introduction to this Black
well's text, pp. xi-xxxvi, supports more fully the basic
46
| This novella provides a clear example of repetitive
i
;
structure. The first half of the novella shows the basic
character conflict through the Gnade situation, and the
second half delves deeper into this conflict in a second
i
situation, Thomas's behavior as Archbishop. Both situations
intensify the conflict between Henry and.Thomas. In both
cases, Henry's position is defined by the bowman's sympa
thetic report, whereas Thomas's remains ambiguous. In the
Gnade situation Henry betrays Thomas without knowing it, as
he thinks she is only Thomas's mistress. In the second
^situation, Henry thinks Thomas is betraying him. Thus the
second situation is an ironic reversal of the first. The
conflict is portrayed first on a personal, then on a politi
cal, level and the elements of the conflict do not change,
| ;
jbut are redeveloped, in the second situation. Although j
Thomas and Henry undergo some changes in attitude, their
characters are constant. Thomas does not change in his
I essential attributes— the same delicacy of mind and body
interpretation offered here, that the character conflict is
the primary element of the novella and that the Gnade epi
sode does not initiate a revenge plot. Coupe gives a full
explanation of the Gnade episode as an indication of char
acter in both Henry and Thomas: Henry loses "Grace" and
I Thomas, with his typical fatalism, leaves him to God's jus-
!tice.
47
Which makes him a stranger at this lustful, rowdy court
i
prevents him later from sealing the kiss of peace when Henry
eagerly extends his bloated face. And later, when Henry
becomes increasingly religious and undergoes penance for
wishing Thomas dead, he is still the same temperamental and
Uncontrolled person he was at the beginning, as witnessed by
his fits of temper and his apoplectic death, in rage. By
showing the same opposition of characters in two different
situations, Meyer creates an intensity similar to that al
ready observed in the other novellas.
Although the specific subject is the conflict between
the thoughtless, lusty king and the sagacious, refined
chancellor, the ideas and themes surrounding this central
i
conflict enlarge its sphere. The two major components of
the theme-complex are Christian vs. pagan and Norman vs.
i 1
Saxon motifs. In the context of the narrative these are so
interwoven that though some of these motifs are religious
jand others political, they cannot be separated from each
!other. Thomas's Moorish lineage, his Moorish retreat in the
f ;
forest, his empathy with Hans because of the latter's knowl
edge of the Arabic language and Moorish customs, are pagan
aspects of this theme. The frame establishes the Christian
counterpart, as does Thomas's identification with his later i
role as Archbishop, which follows his attempt to be Christ-
like and forgive Henry. Henry, even before appointing
Thomas, has been the cause of Thomas's suffering, but Thomas
has not become disloyal. He warns Henry to appoint someone
else and let him continue serving the king's interest as
chancellor, at the same time that he is struggling to for
give Henry the man. Henry's non-Christian conduct in regard
to Gnade is an ironic counterpart to Thomas's Christian
spirit. The martyrdom of St. Felix and St. Regula, often
referred to in the frame, is another aspect of this theme.
It parallels the physical martyrdom of Thomas, and also the
spiritual one of Gnade's loss. Finally, Thomas the Moor is
the one who conducts the escape of Black Mary, a tried and
;convicted witch, and tries to rid her of the delusion that
ishe is possessed by Satan. Henry, under the influence of
:Christian superstition, wants her burned.
The Christian-pagan motif is joined with an underlying
i fate symbolism, which contributes an additional level of
i ;
jcomplexity to the narrative. Hans rejects a Moorish
i
I astronomer's fatalism but then blames the stars for the fate
i ,
t
that befalls Henry, Thomas, and himself. VJhen Richard seeks
lout Thomas at his monastic retreat to plead for a reconcili-
I i
!ation with Henry, Hans is dismayed to see that the agreement
; 49
has been made under a mocking, toad-like creature, instead
j £
of under the next figure, a benevolent angel.
The religious and fatalistic motifs have cultural and
political associations as well. As Thomas becomes increas
ingly ascetic, if not Christian, he attempts to create a
just kingdom in which the Saxons will be free and equal
citizens. Henry regards this as a personal betrayal as well
as an attack on himself as king. The Normans, too, are
alarmed at this threat to their privileged positions. The
■Norman-Saxon conflict is mainly political in the second part
of the novella, but in the first part Hilde, the daughter of
a Saxon bowman, is abducted by a Norman, a situation which
is later paralleled by Henry's exercise of privilege, his
seduction of Gnade.
t
I
! All the aspects of the theme-complex lead back to the
basic conflict. Even the interest of the Gnade episode re
volves around the Henry-Thomas conflict and produces the
effect not of a tangential, but of a reinforcing, develop-
i . ;
jment. The end of the narration serves the same function—
iHans fights Hilde's ex-suitor, Thomas's cross-bearer, thus
i
6
See Coupe for a fuller analysis of fate motifsj for
example, the Fauconbridge incident as a means of illustrat- ■
ling Thomas's fatalism.
50
indicating that Hans is pro-Henry and that he has not under-
i
stood the basic conflict.
The novella as a whole presents the same opposition
twice, in different terms. The conflict is sustained by
narrative suggestions which call to mind myriad associa
tions. The theme-complex, while adding new levels to the
main conflict, continues always to reinforce it. The in
tensity gained by the redevelopment of the Henry-Thomas
conflict is expanded by the associations built into the
narrative, but since these are not developed or analyzed,
they broaden the main conflict without even momentarily sub
ordinating it to any new elements. It is this double aes
thetic effect that is apparently essential to the novella.
|Since all the techniques examined serve this end, we can
ideduce that producing this double effect is the particular
narrative purpose of the novella.
Bahnwarter Thiel is divided into three parts. In the
i
first, Thiel loses control over Lena but still maintains his
iisolated hut as a chapel, consecrated to Minna, his first
jwife. In the second part, Lena's talk of needing land to
plant a new potato patch threatens this privacy. Thiel's
helplessness here is emphasized immediately. Returning home
j ' 1
jfor a forgotten lunch, Thiel finds Lena beating his son, but;
in a feeling of spiritual exhaustion, does nothing. The
controlling image of the novella is given here: his feeling
of lust for her is like a cobweb of steel mesh. In the
third part, the railroad tracks are an iron net. Thiel
realizes, in a moment of insight, his past resignation to
Lena and his submission to the force of his sexual passion.
This insight is then dramatized in his dream, but later
events show the limits of his perception. When Lena announ
ces her intention of planting potatoes at his hut, once more
his passions prevent him from protesting. At the lot,
Tobias is hit by the train, just as in the half-understood
dream. Lena is thoroughly affected by this event, which
makes the subsequent murder ironic. The murders are re-
|
jported and Thiel is sent to a psychopathic ward.
i
I
i j
| Again, the situation is presented in microcosm, and in
;the last part, redeveloped. The motifs of net, cobweb, and
tracks become associated with blood and are in opposition
jto Thiel's visions of Minna, the Church, his private sanc-
j I
|tuary, and the religious sounding, tonal echoes of the tele-;
! i
jphone poles at the tracks. The internal conflict between
i
jhis spirituality (Minna) and his sexuality (Lena) unifies
the work but the thematic context enlarges it at the same
time. The train, a symbol associated with both Minna and |
|Lena, is an external force, analogous to Lena's power over
I
Thiel, and both together crush him. Although only about
one-eighth the length of Per Heilige. this novella follows
the same pattern of composition and its selection of detail
is accounted for by the same narrative purpose, to achieve
concentration and expansion.
Per Schimmelreiter shows Hauke1s relation to the sea,
the old woman's curse when he kills her cat, and his mar
riage i his conduct as dikemaster then constitutes a re-
'development of the preceding material. The initial solitude
of man against nature becomes a social loneliness, as
Hauke's reforms cause hostility among the villagers. Hauke
finally weakens in his constant opposition and lets the dike
jgo without necessary repairs. Later, realizing his mistake,
i ;
jhe confesses his failure to God, and again confronts nature,;
I !
to his doom. The novella owes its unity to the concentra
tion on Hauke, but includes also Hauke's relation to both
nature and society. Recurrent associations are the signs of
i J
ifate: the herons (ghosts), the horse (ghost), the retarded j
j )
! child (perhaps caused by the curse), the yellow dog who was
i
supposed to be buried alive in the dike, and Klaus, the sea
gull who is trampled by Hauke's horse. The folk legend that
i ;
| a live child must be buried in a new dike in order for it tq
53
last parallels the curse on Hauke. They operate together to
i
work Hauke's doom on a symbolic level, while the presenta
tion and redevelopment of Hauke's character provide a real
istic explanation for his doom.
This sampling of the German novella shows that its
treatment of structure and theme to produce the effects of
intensity and expansion establishes it as a distinct genre.
The aesthetic effects defined here and the narrative purpose
which produces them are not applicable solely to the German
hovella, however. Regardless of national literary trends,
writers of the nineteenth-century novella continue to use
various techniques for the same developmental goals. Meri-
imee's Carmen (1847) and Melville's Bartleby the Scrivener
j ' |
1(1853) will briefly illustrate the generic similarity, which
imay remain obscured by differences in their literary conven-
l
tions and style.
Repetitive structure, present to some degree in all of
the novellas under consideration, is apparently a major
means of achieving the novella's narrative objective, to
compress and delimit and also to expand. Presenting the
same situation twice in different terms enables the writer
to develop more intensively without necessitating progres
sive, sequential development as in the novel. Carmen does
not have exactly this type of structural repetition, how
ever, and, indeed, Merimee avoids parallelism, as his chief
concern is to produce the illusion that the story really
happened. His concern with illusionism explains the scien
tific account of Bohemian characteristics that follows the
narration proper, for it validates the character of the nar
rator and, consequently, the reality of the events. The
noting of Spanish mores and the interspersed historical
anecdotes serve the same purpose. Structural repetition,
being a noticeable artifice, would work at cross-purposes to
7
Merimee's illusionism. However, the narrator's separate
meetings with Jose and Carmen serve a function equivalent to
that accomplished by repetitive structure in the other no
vellas. By portraying the two protagonists before they
participate in the inner story, Merimee creates not only
|
their real identity, but also that intensity which results
from a continued focus on the same conflict or situation.
In the first section the narrator saves the life of a
man he knows by reputation to be a ruthless bandit. In the
next section the narrator meets Carmen, who tricks him. In
|
7
; I am indebted to Professor Robert C. Dale of the Uni
versity of Washington for the above remarks on Carmen.
55
the third section the narrator learns from Jose, now await
ing execution, the story of his relationship with Carmen.
In the last section the narrator describes the origins and
habits of Bohemians from a scholar's point of view. Here he
shows that Carmen belongs to a race of cheaters, not sor
cerers, with the result that Carmen's extraordinary power of
attraction is reduced in stature. In this treatise on Car
men as a type, which parallels the narrator's earlier ex
perience with her, the reader is provided new perspective on
her powers of enchantment in addition to that provided by
Jose's story.
The several stages of Jose's ruin begin with his demo
tion and the disappointment of his hopes for an army career.
He then becomes a social outcast, wanted for murder. He
turns to smuggling under Carmen's influence and because it
is the only outlet left him, and this leads him to highway
robbery. Finally, in refusing Jose's desire to start a new
life in the New World, Carmen exasperates him beyond endur-
i
ance, and he kills her. Thus his social and personal ruin
jis complete. At the same time, however, fate is an impor
tant factor in his motivation, for in addition to Carmen's
attraction, a mysterious midnight mass and a magic charm are
i
the setting for the murder, and Carmen's feeling of
56
inevitable doom and her reputation as a sorceress reinforce
the supernatural and predestined nature of the outcome. The'
theme-complex (sorcery, witchcraft, the devil, fate) and the
narrator's own horror of Carmen contrast with the scholarly
tone. The moral issues raised by the history of Jose are
Igiven parallel examples in the cases of Garcia, Carmen, and
the narrator himself. The narrator had taken pity on the
bandit and, reacting to the guide's treachery, had warned
Jose of his danger. Carmen is amoral and Garcia, her hus
band, is a deceitful killer. Jose, though society considers
him a criminal, has remained' ethical throughout, as the mur
ders of which he is guilty have been committed in self-
defense or accidentally and he has remained loyal to friends
i
jand to Carmen.
■ Thus the story of Carmen's fateful influence is set off;
by these parallel examples of moral attitudes. The narra
tor 's increasing involvement with her character also helps
to achieve the intensity of focus already observed, for ex-
I ;
ample, in Brigitta. The distancing accomplished by the
scholarly background at the end of Carmen is similar in
function to Meyer's spatial withdrawal from the scene of the
events, and both novellas use temporal distancing and compli
cated chronology to achieve intensity.
Melville subtitles Bartleby the Scrivener "A Story of
! i
I i
Wall Street" and the narrator calls it a history at the
beginning and the end. But this is not just an account of
an unusual person or place, for a great deal of the develop-;
ment has to do with the narrator' s attitudes in general and |
his reactions to Bartleby. Melville includes material which
is not essential to the story of Bartleby in developing the
office personnel, and calls attention three times to the
comic relationship between Turkey and Nippers— first in the
exposition he tells us of their morning-afternoon idiosyn
crasies, and then in two confrontations with Bartleby each
character behaves according to the information Melville gave;
us. The purpose of this apparently extraneous material is
to reveal the narrator's character, which would not be nec-
lessary if Melville's focus were primarily Bartleby. The
narrator is able to adapt to the eccentricities of Turkey
and Nippers partly because they still conform to office rou-j
tine and are therefore useful, and partly because they ap-
|peal to his "fellow-feeling." However, he cannot adapt to
‘ I
! Bartleby, and the details of the novella are chosen in order!
! j
to develop the real subject, the extent of the narrator's |
ability to adapt and accept. Upon analyzing Bartleby struc
turally, it becomes even more evident that the narrator i
58
provokes Bartleby's further withdrawal from both commercial
and personal relationships, and that it is the narrator who
is the main source of interest.
Although Melville marks no structural divisions except
for a narrative break before the last page, the stages of
the action are discernible. In the first section the narra
tor introduces himself, describes the physical attributes of
his office— it is closed in by walls and located on Wall
Street— and at some length gives general and specific de
tails of his employees. The exposition is rounded off by a
return to the narrator and his need for a new scrivener.
In the next section the Bartleby situation is devel
oped. First the narrator repeats the wall image by mention-
i ■ ;
ling the folding doors which separate him from the employees.
|He then reinforces this image when he installs a screen to
isolate Bartleby from his sight. Thus, in the proximity of
this small, enclosed office, each employee is isolated and,
furthermore, although his functions are regarded as impor
tant, the employer values him only for his utility. In thisj
\ i
icommercial situation, certain exploitative relationships
appear. The narrator wants Bartleby to perform "trifling"
and "trivial" functions and to be close at hand in order to
;respond immediately when needed. There is an innate lack
of respect in the narrator's normal, unreflecting attitude.
The narrator has no personal feeling for his employees but
says several times that they are valuable acquisitions and
useful to him. Bartleby apparently refuses to accept this
system of relationships, for as we learn at the end, he has
been dismissed from his former job as a result of a change
an administration; and it is probably the sense of his dis
pensability, not the inherent nature of his former job,
which has caused his retreat. At any rate, he is still a
participant to the extent that he has applied to the narra
tor for a job and does for the first few days copy prodi
giously. However, soon he refuses to proofread. Melville
jshows him refusing twice— each time the narrator appeals to
icommon usage and common sense and ends up postponing further
action, for at least Bartleby is still useful. Thus the
narrator's wish to accommodate himself emerges from these
incidents. But then he provokes Bartleby three times, ask-
jing Bartleby to examine work, to run to the post office, and
|to call Nippers. Turkey and Nippers participate in the
|
jfirst two refusals and these last three provocations; by
i
l
’ this contrast the reader is able to see that the narrator
ican handle the drunken and irritable clerks and that he
!
I
jtries to tolerate Bartleby's eccentricities as well. The
60
^conclusion is that Bartleby is to be exempt from proofread
ing and from errands .
The narrator is reconciled to Bartleby, and even ac
cepts a new element, Bartleby's wall reveries, for Bartleby
is a valuable acquisition. The relationship changes from
employer-employee and becomes more personal when, on his way
to church, the narrator discovers that Bartleby lives in the
office and suddenly recognizes his solitude. For the first
time in his life, the narrator feels a melancholy which is
allied to his feeling a bond of humanity with Bartleby. He
looks in his desk in an effort to learn more of the man.
However, his Sunday mood deserts him, common sense takes
over, and he resolves to send Bartleby away, soothing his
own conscience with an offer of money.
| At this halfway mark, the narrator has become more per-;
sonally involved with Bartleby but wishes to free himself
from what he begins to feel as an obligation. Now the situ
ation is redeveloped, as the narrator is still faced with
|the problem of what to do about Bartleby. Bartleby refuses |
j
;the narrator's offer and for the second time Turkey and
iNippers act in character. To this comic effect Melville
adds a new one. The narrator resents his involuntary use
I of the word "prefer" and notices that Bartleby has caused
61
the others to imitate him also. He is more than ever re-
i
solved to rid himself of Bartleby.
Now, however, as a consequence of the narrator's at
tempt to penetrate his wall of isolation, Bartleby refuses
to write altogether. After feeling sorry for Bartleby once
more, in the interests of business the narrator gives him
six days' notice. He is shocked to discover Bartleby still
there at the end of the time, but recovering himself, the
narrator recalls the commandment to love one another. He
makes a further attempt to reconcile himself to Bartleby,
considering him now, with the aid of writings by Edwards and
Priestley, as a predestined trial, but the pressure of his
scandalized colleagues moves him again to get rid of Bar-
itleby, who is no longer a "millstone" but an "intolerable
jincubus." After having tried all the traditional means of
i
solving the problem— common sense, religion, science— he
^consults his conscience, but then resolves, since Bartleby
jWill not leave him, to move his office. This is the turning
| ;
Ipoint of the narrator's development, for despite his at
tempts to be charitable, he is now giving Bartleby up to
persecution. When he leaves, Bartleby takes up residence in
the hall of the building, and from being the narrator's
personal problem becomes a social problem, involving all thej
62
tenants. When consulted, the narrator returns to offer
Bartleby a choice of jobs. Bartleby's refusal is the turn
ing point in his development, as it is at this point that
his passivity becomes total. The narrator loses patience
and deserts Bartleby, leaving him finally to that unkind
treatment of unsympathetic strangers which he had wanted to
avoid.
The resolution follows with Bartleby in the Tombs
(Halls of Justice), again enclosed by walls. And now the
personal and social problem has become universal. Everyone
is looking out through slits in the walls, everyone is iso
lated] but now it is the accommodating and impersonal
jailer, instead of the narrator, who is in charge. The
I
constant noisy munching of ginger cakes is replaced by the
i
! silent consumption of dinners provided by the grub man,
Ginger Nut's parallel. Everyone continues to eat except for
Bartleby, who is found dead, curled up in a pre-natal posi-
ition. Thus the narrator's early fear for Bartleby has come
I
j
; to pass.
The short epilogue resolves the narrator's development
separately from Bartleby's, for the narrator now attributes
Bartleby's strange passivity to the effect of his former job
jas a dead letter clerk. The narrator becomes indignantly
63
sympathetic to the destinies of the unknown intended recip-
i
ients of the letters, remaining unaware, however, of his own
role in Bartleby's doom.
The dominant motif is, of course, walls— the walls of
Wall Street, of the office, the prison, the tomb. The sys
tem of exploitation and concomitant isolation is allied to
the wall motif, and also associated, in counterpoint, to the
motifs of fellow-feeling and charity. Thus this work, an
expanded anecdote of an unusual event, actually focuses
throughout on the narrator and implies the narrator's fail
ure of humanity. And in the prison scenes and the last line
— "Ah, Bartleby! Ah, humanity!"— the problem is made uni
versal, to include a generalized failure of humanity on the
part of all men who, like the narrator, think of themselves
as men of good will.
This novella consists of a continued scrutiny of a
specific situation, while Carmen is a study of a character
:in several situations. Both works probe the subject inten
sively, avoiding the novel's discursiveness and its sequen- ;
tial development. The second half of Bartleby goes back
over ground previously covered: Bartleby presents the same
problem, the narrator continues to use the same approaches,
his other employees are still participating as contrast to
64
Bartleby. Bartleby's resistance increases, certainly, but
until the last pages, the motive force of the plot continues
to be the narrator's attempts to cope with Bartleby and the
reader's increasing understanding of the narrator. Carmen.
too, is non-progressive, for the narrator brings the reader
back to the phenomenon of Carmen's mysterious attraction at
every stage of the action.
Melville does not bring Wall Street directly into the
narrative except by implication; similarly, in Briqitta the
Hungarian setting remains subordinate. In his short novel
Washington Square (1881), James is more explicit about the
background circumstances which contribute to the characters'
attitudes and social relations and discusses the New York
I ^ ^
value of money. While Merimee refers consistently to Span
ish mores in Carmen, he, no more than Stifter, allows these
references to milieu to capture the reader's attention, ex
cept to illuminate the subject. In a long novel, it is cus
tomary to treat background elements more extensively in
order that the reader involve himself in the character's
social reality. In a novel the author changes focus to
bring to his plot the added richness of social background
and to propel the plot with new characters and situations.
There is no such shift in the novella, and consequently more
65
intensity.
On the other hand, Melville produces more complexity
with his steady focus than does James in his short story The
Real Thing (1892). During the examination of the narrator's
difficulty in Bartleby, the reader understands the degree of
charity of which the narrator is capable, his unconscious
materialism, and the failure of the social structure in
which he participates successfully as a normal citizen.
This complexity is not produced by The Real Thing, for the
story structure aims to illustrate something specific.
Whether it is a basic truth or a superficial human, social,
or natural phenomenon, the subject of a successful story
jinakes a specific point without expanding its implications.
jBartleby's withdrawal from society could be the subject for
! :
|a short story, but the intensive study of the narrator's j
j i
reactions to Bartleby produces a thematic complexity which
marks the narrative as a different form. In addition to the
narrator's attempts at charity and the contrast of his con
cern for Bartleby with the coldness of the new tenant,
Melville gives us also the jailer and grub man, both of
whom are impersonal but certainly not cruel. By these in
clusions Melville has us interpret Bartleby's tragedy as a
iphenomenon of a society which lacks personal relationships.
66
He also includes the anecdote of the man who committed mur
der in a deserted office. The narrator, though aware that
people need companionship and the civilizing influence of
social relationships, is unable to befriend Bartleby, in
good part because of the pressure of his colleagues. Thus
the specific study implies a social indictment. The narra
tor is unable to remain sympathetic to a specific man, while
retaining his human feelings only in the abstract and at a
distance. In The Real Thing a social indictment is implied
by the Monarchs' ambivalent social role. However, the
criticism of the social class they represent is less organic
to the material of the story than is the social criticism
implied in Bartleby. The story essentially makes the point
jthat in art the appearance, not the reality, is significant.
i
’ Although a moral issue is raised by the narrator's sympathy
for these people with no function, and by his sense of re
sponsibility to them, James does not present an intensive
study of the painter's relation to them except in the lim
ited area of his professional integrity as artist.
The narrator, like the one in Bartleby, is confronted
with an undesirable presence. Whereas Melville continues to
explore the various aspects of the situation, James develops
an understanding of the difficulty more quickly and then
67
immediately resolves it. In the first part the narrator
understands, after a brief misunderstanding, that Major and
Mrs. Monarch do not wish their portrait painted, but jobs
as sitters. In the second part the narrator expresses his
aesthetic values, continuing to provide necessary background
for the story. As an artist, he prefers the represented
subject over the real one. He is in a critical position,
for he is to illustrate the first book of a deluxe edition,
and the additional volumes, as well as his professional
reputation, rest on his present performance. The Monarchs
hope that, being really a lady and gentleman, they would be
well suited to pose for upper-class figures in the deluxe
edition. The conflict is clear. The narrator's present
model, though a freckled cockney, has a mimetic ability
which the Monarchs neither perceive nor possess. Thus the i
narrator's values as well as his career are at stake. He
must choose between the representation— the cockney, posing
|as a princess— and the real thing— the Monarchs, playing
| j
jthemselves. I
In the next part Mrs. Monarch poses too stiffly and is
more suited for photographs than for paintings: "She was
always a lady, the same lady. She was the real thing" (p.
68
Q
140). In an impulsive return to his aesthetic principles,
the narrator hires Oronte, an Italian street vendor who,
like Miss Churm, possesses the ability to imitate. In the
last part the narrator secretly uses Oronte for the key
figure in the deluxe edition. A fellow painter returns from
:abroad and warns him that the Monarchs have been ruining his
style. The publishers also send him a warning that they do
not like his drawings. This forces the narrator to choose
ibetween the unfortunate Monarchs and the models which in
spire his best painting. He completes the replacement of
the Monarchs by re-employing Miss Churm as model for the
deluxe edition and insults the Major when he protests. The
couple returns later, however, to assume the role of ser-
ivants, since the servants are posing as lady and gentleman.
!lhe narrator dismisses them after a short time, since he
finds the reversal of roles too painful to observe. He
succeeds in gaining the commission for the remaining books,
ihaving re-established his authentic course as painter, i.e.,
the transformation of reality.
Although James's story does not lack depth, his manner
g
Citations from The Real Thing in my text are to The
Novels and Tales of Henry James (New York, 1909), XVIII.
69
of compressing the fiction differs markedly from that we
have been observing in the novella. The Real Thing primar
ily illustrates the importance of appearances in art. Al
though it also implies an ideal of artistic integrity and a
social criticism, these ideas are not examined in depth.
Furthermore, James's construction is not designed to explore
the narrator's aesthetic-moral problem thoroughly, but to
present the problem effectively, but in a single aspect, to
the reader. James does this by contrasting the Monarchs to
an opposite couple. In contrast to the limitation of The
Real Thing, Brentano raises the question of honor and ex
amines it intensively through the examples of Annerl and
Kasper and through fragmentary representations of other
aspects of the concept. In the foreshortened portrayal of
Brigitta's life Meyer strengthens the intensity of focus,
while expanding the general implications of her life through
the related motifs of barrenness and amplitude. The
twentieth-century novellas to be analyzed in the following
i
chapter develop their narrative in similar manner.
The general themes in each novella are established by
a specific situation and arise from it. The themes are or
ganized into a central conflict or dialectic and are widened
by the various associations that make up the theme-complex
70
or groups of theme-complexes. While these techniques are
not peculiar to the novella, they occur in a special propor
tion in this literary form. Whereas the novel focuses on
several motifs in succession so that the themes are inter
related and woven into the plot, the novella maintains a
single focus. The themes, emanating outward, are not ex
plicitly developed by the plot, so that the subject remains
in constant focus. The short story also maintains a single
focus. The novella differs from the short story, however,
in the extent of its thematic implications, for the short
story implicitly relates to an attitude toward only a lim
ited area of experience. The unique quality of complexity
that distinguishes the novella from the short story on the
|
.one hand and the novel on the other can be most effectively
'demonstrated by more detailed analysis of some further ex-
[
amples of short fiction.
CHAPTER II
THEMATIC COMPLEXITY IN THE NOVELLA
Several comments on the novella's handling of theme
have been made by other critics and these observations
should be reviewed as a prelude to the discussion of the
novella's particular type of thematic complexity.
James himself was conscious of the genre of the "nou-
yelle, " and, unlihe Mann, he discussed and defined it.
James's definition, which is apparently based on French and
Russian models, is very similar to that of Walter Silz, who
!
jbased his on nineteenth-century German novellas. James de
fined the nouvelle as a "picture" consisting of "richly
summarised and foreshortened effects"; a "fine type of com
position" permitting "shades and differences, varieties and
styles, the value above all of the idea happily developed";
I
! . .
its "main merit and sign is the effort to do the complicated1
I thing with a strong brevity and lucidity— to arrive, on
; 72
behalf of the multiplicity, at a certain science of con-
i 1
trol." Thus James admired the form for the opportunity it
affords to develop a large theme (the complicated thing)
while observing the strictest economy. My theory of expan
sion and intensity is simply a restatement and elaboration
of James's "rich summary." In this chapter I shall try to
show how theme-complex contributes to the over-all effect of
complexity by expanding the implications of an otherwise
foreshortened and limited subject.
Walter Silz is very close to James in his observation
of the novella's narrative purpose: "... the Novelle has
offered a salutary challenge to delimit, to compass infinite
2
riches in a little room." Although this description may
apply to any compact narrative, this notion of richness and
i
limitation suggests a critical approach new to novella
theory. In examining how the novella compresses and expands
the elements of the fiction, it becomes possible to differ
entiate this form from other genres of fiction. I find that
itheme-complex exists in the novella because the writer is
^The Art of the Novel, ed. Richard P. Blackmur (New
York and London, 1962), pp. 139, 220, 231.
2
Realism and Reality: Studies in the German Novelle of
Poetic Realism (Chapel Hill, N. C., 1962), p. 10.
73
developing his "rich" theme by multiple associations, con
serving both time and intensity by not spelling out but only
suggesting the several aspects of the theme. Since the
novel does not try to produce an effect of intensity, it
develops explicitly several aspects of the theme. In the
novellas already discussed and in those we are about to
analyze, the complex of themes surrounding the specific sub
ject is not developed; rather, it achieves, through what
James calls "science of control," that "richly summarised
land foreshortened effect" which arises from focus on a sin-
i ;
Igle subject in the context of several allied motifs. The
short story, on the other hand, does not try to develop the
I thematic richness of the novella.
Gerald Gillespie suggests that the novella tends to
l ’
!crystallize a large segment of experience, often a whole
lifetime, by selecting important moments of that life or by
selecting an event which alters its total pattern (pp. 226-
1227). His suggestion states, repeating James, that the
i
I selection of important events permits the "complicated
thing" to be presented with brevity, for while limiting the
action to the important event or events, the writer implies
I the total pattern of experience. It also seems to be the
i case that the total pattern, of which only key moments are
74
included in the narrative (as in the novel and short story),
l
implicitly relates to an attitude toward some large area of
experience. Whereas the novel explicitly discusses various
aspects of experience until the reader is involved in the
fictional reality, the novella involves the reader in a
large area of experience without explicitly developing its
facets. The short story discusses or suggests a limited
area of experience, usually implying the universality of the
experience related but not its associated aspects.
The novellas which are about to be discussed have in
common a single, limited subject, from which emerge implicit
thematic associations. After considering the nature of the
subjects and resulting themes, we can discuss each work in
detail.
! ;
| In The Bench of Desolation the main conflict is between;
vulgarity and refinement. Herbert chooses Nan at the be
ginning because she seems more refined than Katej he has
always prided himself on knowing how to distinguish between
yulgarity and refinement. When Kate later seems to be re
fined, he must re-examine his previous conclusion. The sub
ject of The Bench is the problem of a romance gone wrong,
even more specifically, Herbert Dodd's particular response
i
to life. The mam theme is desolation. Associated themes
75
are the relationship of experience to vulgarity, the nature
I
of the social relation, and the nature of human suffering.
All of these themes are organized into a conflict between
vulgarity and refinement, but Herbert Dodd is the subject
always in focus.
In Per Tod in Venedig the main conceptual conflict is
between the Dionysian and Apollonian impulses in Aschenbach,
and by implication the conflict of those impulses in civili
zation. The concepts emerge from constant focus on Aschen
bach as the specific subject.
The central conflict in a novella is often conceptual
and does not necessarily coincide with what I call specific
situation in focus. That is, we are made aware of the cen
tral conflict only by its various fleeting representations.
iSome specific situation is always in focus as the subject ofj
the novella and the fleeting, interlocking thematic associa
tions give the central conflict its only development.
The novella Die Betrogene deals specifically with a
i :
Imiddle-aged woman who feels the impulses of youth. The !
Ithemes manifested in the novella revolve about life, in
sexual impulse and in artistic creativity, and death, in
crippling or physical disability of varying degrees. The
iquestion of the mind's relationship to the body is briefly j
discussed by the two main characters, but its main develop
ment is through the implications of the theme-complex of
life-art-death. The conflict is between sickness and
health, between two manifestations of nature. Representing
Rosalie as having cancer enables Mann to unify the themes.
In La Symphonie Pastorale the conflict is between per
ception and blindness. The basic situation is the pastor's
relationship to the blind girl. In The Go-Away Bird the
subject is a girl's search for a home and the conflict is
between her trusting nature and the exploiting world. Dif
ferent forms of exploitation constitute the motifs of the
novella (colonialism, war) and suggest the large theme of
savagery.
The plot of The Bench of Desolation (1910) can be sum- ;
| j
jmarized as follows: Herbert Dodd broke his engagement with ,
Kate Cook because Nan seemed more refined. After many years
of poverty Herbert meets Kate again. She appears to him now
not only as a woman of character, but also as a "lady." She;
rescues him from poverty and at the same time provides Her
bert with an opportunity he is "refined" enough to recog
nize, the opportunity to recover spiritually as well as
economically from his past.
Herbert's early attitudes are shown in the first
section and re-examined in the second. Kate's vulgarity,
Nan's refinement, Herbert's superiority, all are reversed at
the meeting with Kate. Now wearing the type of veil pre
viously associated with Nan, Kate's appearance contrasts
with Herbert's present shabbiness. His feeling of inferior
ity at this moment shocks him and the reader into a re-
evaluation of his previous ideas. When their positions be
come redefined, a state of equality between Herbert and Kate
is possible because Herbert realizes that they both synthe
size the vulgar and the refined in their circumstances and
their characters. Thus his original false division of the
vulgar and the refined has been obliterated by his experi
ence. Now the bench of desolation is a symbol of spiritual
fulfillment.
I
| Altogether the bench is referred to nineteen times, and;
i
fifteen of these are direct references to "the bench of
(desolation." Furthermore, the title of the novella (The
Bench of Desolation) guides our attention to the effort of
i #
junderstanding not only the process of correcting desolation,:
a process which is the substance of the novella, but also to
the effort of understanding the nature of that condition.
The bench keeps accumulating layers of association, changing
its function in response to Herbert's consciousness, with
78
the result that the bench represents the entire progress of
j
the segment of life presented. The action moves away from
the bench just once, but even Kate's hotel overlooks the
waterfront promenade so that Herbert is looking down at his
bench from above. The scene itself becomes a symbol both of
Herbert's isolation and of the restoration of his inner and
outer resources. Technically, the recurring image forms the
pattern of the novella, since it brings to the foreground
the exchange of roles between Herbert and Kate, that between
Kate and Nan, and the final equality of Herbert and Kate.
The symbol binds the novella into an aesthetic unity, con
taining all the associations that have been built into it
^during our unfolding comprehension of the situation and
I
characters.
|
Although James's symbol of the bowl functions in the
i
same manner as the bench, the extent of narrative develop
ment is otherwise quite different in The Golden Bowl. While
Ithe novella achieves unity through the bench symbol, the
I
ithemes are also bound by the tension between illusion and
reality, theory and experience, vulgarity and romance. This
tension permits James to develop fully the various aspects
of the theme by quick illustration and little exposition.
;Nan becomes defined more and more precisely as we find what
79
Kate is not; therefore, little exposition is required for
i
Nan. The dialectic thus permits narrative economy. In The
Golden Bowl James uses four characters in a four-way dia
lectic and a confidante to permit further explicit develop
ment. In developing the theme of American illusions in con
frontation with European experience, James concentrates on
Maggie but also portrays her father's situation, the father-
daughter relationship, Maggie's marriage, and her friend
ships . The plot structure includes these various perspec
tives, while in The Bench of Desolation Herbert's other re
lationships are referred to and summarized without separate
development. In similar manner, Melville in Bartleby the
Scrivener focuses on the narrator without developing the
j
other characters and situations beyond their specific rela
tion to him. As in The Golden Bowl. James does not focus
steadily on Catherine in Washington Square. Although this
is a much shorter novel, its construction is similar to that
of The Golden Bowl and different from that of The Real Thing
and The Bench of Desolation. In Washington Square James
provides background for Dr. Sloper's attitudes toward women
and money. James portrays the doctor's consultation with
Mrs. Montgomery, which strengthens his resolve to prevent
i
the marriage, and also portrays Catherine's Aunt Lavinia in
scenes with Catherine and with Morris. Lavinia's scenes are
designed to develop her romantic notions in contrast with
Morris's scheming and with Catherine's instinctive honesty.
The doctor's scenes develop the idea of his moral code. The
effect of these inclusions is not simply to intensify Cath
erine's isolation as she is victimized on all sides by those
closest to her. Brigitta's isolation is made clear without
all this development. Rather, James is extending the scope :
of his narrative. His inclusion of Morris's brother, who
has adapted to New York values, is indicative of this.
These shifts in focus dissipate the intensity which would
otherwise be concentrated on Catherine, and obviously it is i
James's intention to portray not only her character, but a
particularly anomalous setting for it as well.
In the other two works James concentrates on the main j
i
subject, portraying the narrator in The Real Thing in rela- j
tion to the two sets of models and to his fellow-painter,
and portraying Herbert in relation to Kate. While he gives
much less background in the story— only the hint of other |
types of painters— in The Bench of Desolation James suggests
much more detail. Herbert's attitude toward life is fully
developed through the contrast between Kate and Nan, neitherj
I
of whose ideas are explained as much as Herbert's. Bill
Frankie, Captain Roper, the absconding Darcy, are sketched
in or typed enough to make Herbert's background circumstan
ces clear but not enough to claim any separate interest on
their own account. Thus the psychological events, Herbert's
struggle for equilibrium, the tension between Herbert and
:Kate and between Herbert and the rest of society, are fig
ured, before a present but highly controlled background which
does not usurp the reader's interest but which contributes
to his understanding of the characters and to the complexity
of the novella structure.
In The Bench of Desolation the setting, the Cornwall
coast, is relevant to the foreground action in two ways.
The seaside vacation spot seen in the off-season, inhabited
j
by people who are struggling not for relaxation but for a
jdecent existence, is the setting for the culture-vulgarity
dialectic. And the natural.aspects of the setting, the
remoteness of the beach promontory, the closeness to ele
ments of nature, particularly the sea, are the setting for
jthe personal struggle taking place within Herbert's con
sciousness. The setting is thus distinct from the social
background. In The Real Thing we receive fewer intimations
of social background than we do here.
Had James been writing a novel, the same plot would
server but the development of the story would have been
i
expanded, explained, and put into relation with outside
forces in much greater detail. Kate's and Herbert's back
grounds, family life with Nan, the mode of life in a society
made up of Bill Frankie, Captain Roper, and Darcy, would
have been given more attention. But James summarizes these
aspects of the world in which the main characters are situ
ated in order to focus intensively on Herbert while at the
same time producing the effect of a complete picture.
Despite the constant focus on the same subject, which
is in itself of small compass, James is able to develop the
idea of refinement and to illuminate the nature of produc
tive suffering by suggestion and contrast with wasteful
jsuffering, or desolation. This is not just the story of
|
jmisunderstanding corrected, but the full development of all
i
the themes closely connected with it, representations of all
the important aspects of the idea, as well as quick sketches
i
of its secondary aspects. In contrast, James avoids raising
the subsidiary problem of the Monarchs' plight in The Real
Thing, concentrating instead on the narrator's need to free
himself of them.
Herbert's attempt to avoid the vulgar in life has
proved a disastrous failure. His education is twofold: he
83
learns that he has misjudged Kate and also that he has been
i
j
wrong to construct a dividing line between vulgarity and
romance-refinement-beauty. James denies this conventional
polarity, not by discussing it, but by presenting Kate as an
embodiment of both extremes. She appears, after the long
absence, wearing a veil similar to the one Nan used to wear.
As Herbert later discovers, Nan has only the appurtenances
of refinement, which she uses as a screen between herself
and the real world. Nan's veil masks her vulgarity, whereas
Kate's is a true sign of her gentility. Her veil partially
iconceals a face "marked by experience, " the sign of inner
3
substance. James is hereby equating depth of character and
refinement by defining Kate's present gentility in terms of
■her acquired experience. Kate's down-to-earth action— her
promise to go to the extent of a vulgar court scandal,
should Herbert fail to pay for the broken engagement— is the
manifestation of spiritual beauty, which Herbert gradually
j
|comes to recognize when he understands her motive. Her
inner beauty, however, is first apparent to him at this
later meeting in her face, voice, and general demeanor.
3 . .
Citations from The Bench of Desolation m my text are
to The Complete Tales of Henry James, ed. Leon Edel (Phila
delphia and New York, 1964), XII.
84
The basic idea sustaining the novella is James's demon
stration that vulgarity and refinement are not diametrically
opposed. Carried to its logical conclusion, the dialectic
is resolved in a defense of experience and a distinction
between that experience which is meaningful and that"which
is not. Meaningful experience depends on perception and
acceptance of realityj meaningless experience, the truly
vulgar, results from avoidance and distortion of reality.
Herbert's initial attitude falsified his perception and
blurred his judgment of both women. From that followed his
misunderstanding with Kate and his subsequent unhappiness.
Nan becomes increasingly vulgar, tiresome, and incapable of
happiness. Kate's immersion in reality, on the other hand,
is precisely what enables her to become a lady— because she
does not consider reality ugly and does not indulge in self-
pity. During the fifteen years' separation she is "trans
formed" into a person with "a rich accumulation of manner"
;(p. 391). This experience produces an equality of suffering:
j
^between Kate and Herbert and enables them to make a new
i
start. It should be noted that at this meeting Herbert sees
Kate as transformed. Since the reader has seen her only
through Herbert's emotional description, he is not sure that
IKate has ever been physically or spiritually ugly. He is
85
even inclined to believe the opposite because Herbert's
4
severe charges, given the circumstances, make him mildly
ridiculous and thus incredible. James is openly exercising
here the same irony he used earlier, in giving us Herbert's
judgment that Kate was vulgar. Both times he reveals Her-
!
ibert's state of mind without endorsing it.
In order to understand why Kate has flourished while
Herbert has grown increasingly desolate we must remember
that while Kate has immersed herself in reality, has taken
distasteful jobs, has invested Herbert's money, Herbert has
"cultivated ignorance" and has ignored the puzzle of Kate's
motive, the key to which is contained in her last words to
him:
i "It's just as much my dream as ever it was, Herbert
j Dodd, to take up mine [my life] with you I Remember
| for me that I can do with it, my dear, that my idea
is for even as much as that of you! . . . remember
that for me, Herbert Dodd, remember, remember!" (p.
372)
That Herbert can persist in the idea of her vulgarity, her
being after him as "out for a rare prize"— that he fails to
consider this message, much less analyze it, during the fif'
teen years— can only be attributed to his unwillingness and
inability to face the truth, which would involve the recog
nition of his own inflated ego. Thus Herbert's desolation
86
'is not, as he thinks, the condition of the noble soul which
i
|
suffers as a consequence of its refinement the buffeting of
the world. It is rather a state of spiritual depletion
’ caused by his avoidance of reality.
| The single manifestation of Herbert's avoidance of
j
reality is his choice of Nan over Kate. The novella inten
sively examines this choice and Herbert's reasons for it.
James does not actually define Herbert's idea of the vulgar
or its oppositei he suggests vulgarity by a runny nose, re
finement by a dotted veil. Thus the reader must intuit,
through James's physical representations, the categories by
which Herbert responds to life. In forcing the reader's
participation, James makes him associate several aspects of
ithe vulgarity-refinement dichotomy. Thus James is able to
j
jbring forward a number of themes which, though not treated
; explicitly, broaden the implications of the situation in
focus and are resolved simultaneously with it. While any
! successful work has a suggestive impact beyond its explicit
!
{presentation, the novella depends heavily on suggestion for
its effect. The novel spins off into its various themes,
weaving them into the structure. On the other hand, it is
; a fault in a short story to introduce more than its single
I theme, although it can be broadened by several subordinate
motifs. In The Real Thing the narrative is limited to the
single artistic theme. In Washington Square James not only
describes Lavinia's penchant for romance, but he also places
her in a clandestine tryst with Morris in an oyster shop
iowned by a Negro. He further develops her silly egoism by
ithe additional examples of her advice to Catherine and to
Morris. Her characteristics are integral to the plot, as
her scheming causes Catherine additional suffering and causes
Morris to waver in his resolution. In The Bench of Desola
tion James refrains from this type of explicit development,
depending instead on theme-complex to develop the idea of
vulgarity and its ramifications.
Just as James's novella, despite its focus on charac
ter, embodies recognizable novella traits in addition to
sharing novella narrative purpose, so Mann conforms in part ;
to nineteenth-century critical demands for the novella in
his handling of point of view, character, and event. Al-
[
jthough much of the content of Per Tod in Venedig (1911) is
!
[subjective, the point of view and other narrative devices
are objective. Mann still uses the traditional frame, or
J
Rahmen, to achieve objectivity. The first sentence of the
inovella gives the general European situation that is the
iframework for Aschenbach's story. He goes for a walk that
: 88 !
is supposed to restore his spirit "an einem Friihlingsnach-
mittag des Jahres 19.., das unserem Kontinent monatelang ;
4
eine so gefahrdrohende Miene zeigte" (p. 444). The threat-;
ening visage of Europe denotes literally the threat of wide
spread plague, and symbolically, the threat of a general and!
5 !
inner tendency toward barbarism. Aschenbach is thus a rep
resentative of a certain historical and cultural moment.
The relationship between the general background of Europe,
which in turn is set against the background of cultures no
longer at their peak, and the specific subject, Aschenbach,
is drawn in the foreshortened history of Aschenbach's liter-!
ary career and the critical response his work has evokedj
and it is drawn again in the progress of the plague in
j
jVenice and the several instances of its presence in Europe. j
i
The first line of Tod in Venedig is recalled in the account i
i j
; !
of the plague's westward advance: "Aber wahrend Europa j
: I
^Citations from Tod in Venedig in my text are to Thomas;
Mann, Gesammelte Werke (Berlin, 1960), VIII. |
^Translations indicate that the threat is external:
"When our continent was threatened by storm clouds ..."
Kenneth Burke, trans., Great German Short Novels and Sto
ries. ed. Victor Lange (New York, 1952), p. 401. See also
H. T. Lowe-Porter's translation: "... when Europe sat
upon the anxious seat beneath a menace that hung over its
head for months," in Thomas Mann, Stories of Three Decades j
(New York, 1936), p. 378. j
zitterte, das Gespenst mochte von dort aus und zu Lande sei-
nen Einzug halten, war es, von syrischen Kauffahrern ubers
Meer verschleppt" (p. 512). Reference to the frame, the
European background of Aschenbach's situation, occurs again
at the end of the novella: "... empfing eine respektvoll
erschiitterte Welt die Nachricht von seinem Tode" (p. 525).
The third-person narration lends a spirit of objectiv
ity which is reinforced by the curt ending as well as by the
sole witness to Aschenbach's death, the symbolic camera,
whose function the Naturalists tried to imitate in their
impartial recording of reality. The camera and the point ofj
!view cast an ironic light on the novella, for the subject
has been the inner disintegration of an individual, a his
tory of his aspirations, desires, and dreams, all of which
constitute highly subjective content. The subjective nature!
of the content is objectified, however, by its applicability!
• I
to Europe as a whole— to the disintegration of Western civi-|
j
lization as it existed before World War I. Furthermore,
■ I
|Mann shifts from the omniscient point of view to indirect I
-discourse, so that the distinction between the objective
j 1
'narrator and the subjective content of Aschenbach's thoughtsj
is not easy for the reader to maintain. The narrative shift
indicates that Aschenbach's reaction to the first Death fig-!
ure is a rationalization. The narrator describes Aschen- j
bach's thoughts first: "... eine seltsame Ausweitung
90
seines Innern ward ihm ganz iiberraschend bewuflt, eine Art
schweifender Unruhe"; but the narrator then shifts from the
omniscient viewpoint to interior monologue: "Es war Reise-
lust, nichts weiter" (p. 446) . At the end of the novella,
when Aschenbach is dying, the narrator maintains third per
son :
Ihm war aber, als ob der bleiche und liebliche Psychagog
dort drauBen ihm lachle, ihm winkej als ob er, die Hand
aus der Hiifte losend, hinausdeute, voranschwebe ins Ver-
heifiungsvoll-Ungeheure. Und, wie so oft, machte er sich
auf, ihm zu folgen. (p. 525)
Mann begins with "ihm war, " leaving in doubt whether the boy
actually beckons to Aschenbach or whether it seems so to
him.
Although Mann focuses on fate rather than character,
jstill his technique of presenting Aschenbach's fate is new.
(
‘ In Hoffmann's Bergwerke zu Falun, a typical Romantic no-
jvella, the fate figure is completely unrealistic. Mien the
hero follows the figure on the road to the mines and his
Ifate he recognizes the figure for what it is:
j
| Elis wuBte, deutlich, daB er sich auf dem Wege nach
j Falun befinde, und eben dies beruhigte ihn auf besondere !
I Weise, denn gewifl war es ihm, daB die Stimme des Ver-
hangnisses durch den alten Bergmann zu ihm gesprochen,
der ihn nun auch seiner Bestimmung entgegenfiihre
] £
| E. T. A. Hoffmann, Die schonsten Erzahlungen (Munich,
11962), p. 202.
91
Mann makes no such explicit explanation of the characters
i
who symbolize fate; they even have completely realistic
roles in the story on the literal level, in addition to
their symbolic functions. The death figures are signposts
on the road to Aschenbach's dissolution, but they do not
cause his death. Rather, they appear momentarily as objec
tive manifestations that parallel his inner process of dis
solution. Mann is careful to maintain this double level,
7
the literal and the symbolic, in his narration. Instead of
the traditional fate pattern of a man being entrained by a
symbolic figure, Mann is constructing a new pattern in which
impulses from within and impetus from without are inter
woven .
Aschenbach's death is prepared in the first paragraph
|Of the novella, when we learn that he takes midday naps to
compensate for the "zunehmender Abnutzbarkeit seiner Krafte"
(p. 444). Aschenbach is past his prime; he is running down.
Thus his inner impulses are explained literally by his de
creasing strength to resist the impulse of idleness and even;
7
See Andre von Gronicka, "Myth Plus Psychology: A
Stylistic Analysis of Death in Venice," Thomas Mann: A Col
lection of Critical Essays, ed. Henry Hatfield (Englewood
Cliffs, N. J., 1964), pp. 46-61.
92
barbarism. The death figure objectifies this desire for
i
release. His invitation, which Aschenbach explains to him
self as nothing more than a desire to travel, coincides with
his creative slowdown. In this way, Mann keeps open two
levels of interpretation of Aschenbach's desire to release
himself from creative effort: his natural need to rest and
the irresistible call of a supernatural force.
Another innovation in the pattern of the traditional
fate figure is that the characteristics of the figures are
8
recurrent, but the figures are not physically identical.
Also, the other figures are repulsive to Aschenbach, but
Tadzio lures him on, thus constituting a variation on the
expected pattern and contributing to the implication that
jart and death are closely related. These innovations once
|more indicate the inadequacy of traditional prescriptions,
| i
for in this novella fate is not a pattern of events (as in
Kleider machen Leute) but instead an objectification of the
i
[character's inner impulses.
i ;
| Der Tod in Venedig, as von Wiese points out, is built
laround a double unheard-of event, for the connection between
8
Hellmuth Himmel, Geschichte der deutschen Novelle
(Bern, 1963), p. 372.
93
Aschenbach's death and the plague, both of which events
' . 9
occur in Venice, is that they are actually identical.
While event is more important than character, still there is
no central event. In fact, narration is more important to
Tod in Venedig than plot. The line of events that consti
tutes the novella is reducible to a Heysian "silhouette,"
but the meaning of the whole novella is apparent only when
we understand the symbolic nature of the events. And this
symbolic meaning is cumulative, not so much through the
mirror of events, as in the nineteenth century, but through
the use of language, and especially theme-complex. It will
soon be evident that Tod in Venedig can be classified as a
novella, not by virtue of its "characteristic" techniques,
but by the objectives which its architecture and language
are designed to attain.
I ;
The method of narration implies both literal and sym
bolic interpretations of what is happening. Literally,
Aschenbach is a German tourist who dies of the plague during
an epidemic. As an artist, however, his search for beauty
9
Benno von Wiese, Die deutsche Novelle (Diisseldorf,
1959), I, 323: Der Tod in Venedig fulfills the law of the
novella genre, for one unheard-of event is told: the plague
in Venice and the Eros of the aging artist are both manifes
tations of the jungle. (My translation.)
94
creates in him an affinity for death, the final perfection.
Symbolically, then, his death is a culmination of the art
ist's search for beauty. There is still a third level of
interpretation. Aschenbach died of the plague. The plague,
coming from the East, represents the encroachment of barbar
ism and its infection of Western civilization. Aschenbach
is representative of Western civilization and he chooses to
remain in the infected atmosphere. Thus the whole narrative
becomes an allegory of decay in the civilized world.
In Der kleine Herr Friedemann (1897) Mann simplifies
the story by using straightforward third-person narration.
Instead of expanding the general applicability of the pro
tagonist's fate by developing a symbolic parallel for his
weakness such as the plague represents for Aschenbach, Mann
llimits the narrative to Friedemann. He implies the gener-
I ;
ality of the. point illustrated by Friedemann's story— that
no one can exist only in the mental and artistic realm— but
he limits the motifs so that they do not suggest the addi
tional ideas embedded in the narrative of Venedig. While
i
i 1
jthe imposition of the will on physical impulses is the basis
t
'for both narratives, in Friedemann Mann develops only the
idea of the impossibility of this type of discipline. In
i
Venedig Mann expands outward to suggest the corollary to
95
Friedemann's position, cultural barbarism. Instead of
^limiting the situation to one who compensates for his physi
cal deformity, he presents a character who has chosen to
repress part of himself. Mann produces a complex structure
in Venedig by suggesting that all civilization follows the
jdownward path Aschenbach is on and by developing several
i
aspects of this broader theme.
Venedig manifests a narrative control similar to that
maintained by James in The Bench. James focuses on Herbert
against the setting of the seaside resort. Like James, Mann
stratifies the narrative elements so that the specific sit
uation is always in focus and the thematic implications
emanate from it. The furthermost background is all of West
ern cultural history, the background is the cultural moment
tin Europe, the setting is Venice. Aschenbach is in the
foreground, and the middle distance consists of Tadzio, the
other death figures, and the population. This strict sub
ordination of narrative elements permits a compression typ- ;
i i
jical of the novella. Similarly, Melville keeps his narrator!
! i
i ;
;in the foreground in order to expand only those motifs which
arise from his specific problem. The implications of the
jail, for example, are developed only as they relate to his
jexperience there. Because of this intensive focus, the
joutward expansion is greatly compressed, being bound by the
I
limits of the central situation, the lawyer-narrator. On
the other hand, the painter-narrator1s situation in The Real
Thing is not the focal point for outward expansion. All
things work toward demonstrating a single truth to the nar
rator. In Friedemann Mann focuses on those events in
Friedemann's life which illustrate his increasing separation
from life. He permits only the background detail that most
of the men are also attracted to Gerda, and allows the sis
ters to illustrate a position not so extreme as Friede-
mann's. But in Bartleby, while working on one problem,
Melville makes its implications broader, not narrower, and
the same expansive growth occurs in Venedig.
Mann isolates the Greek basis of Western civilization
I :
i ' :
las containing a dialectic composed of both decadent and
humanistic elements.The Greek theme-complex itself con
sists of three levels of myth: Apollonian-Dionysian,
i
|
' 10
i See also L. Gustafson, "Xenophon and Der Tod in
Venedig,1 1 Germanic Review, XXI (1946), 209-214j Fritz Mar-
Itini, "Der Tod in Venedig," in Das Wagnis der Sprache
(Stuttgart, 1964), 176-224); Fr. H. Mautner, "Die griechi-
schen Anklange in Th. Manns Tod in Venedig, " Monatshefte,
XLIV (1952), 20-26; and W. Pabst, "Satan und die alten
;Gotter in Venedig," Euphorion, XLIX (1955), 335-359.
97
Homeric, and Platonic. Some of their manifestations are as
i
follows: Apollonian and Dionysian metaphors ; mythological
references such as the Hyacinth passage; Greek concepts such
as the idea of perfection, represented by the Venus figure
arising out of the nothingness and consisting of insubstan
tial form; quotations, such as the Phaedrus passages, the
quotation from Xenophon; the reworking of the Odyssey.
Since Andre von Gronicka (q.v.) and others have done ex
cellent stylistic analyses of Tod in Venedig, this discus
sion will limit itself to Mann's narrative and stylistic
techniques from the standpoint of their contributions to his
generic achievement.
It is only by keeping Aschenbach always in focus as a
man who wants to let go that Mann is able to suggest these
iassociations without either creating confusion or embarking j
i '
on full explanations and presentations. All the motifs ema
nate from the narrow base of his particular situation. It
i
|is Aschenbach's inner crisis that unifies the other con-
i
j
iflicts established in the narrative. The conflict between
j :
i
jthe civilized and uncivilized, for example, does not encom-
) ;
pass some elements of the novella, such as the motifs re
lating to beauty and the artist, and is thus not the basis
of the narrative. Rather, this conflict emanates from
Aschenbach as the focal point of the novella; and along with
it, the artist motifs, the fate figures, the symbolism of
Venice, the Dionysian visions— all the narrative elements—
develop Aschenbach's specific situation. Although all the
elements relate closely to each other, as aspects of a con
trolling theme-complex, the various motifs are not hierar
chical. They all serve to expand the implications of
Aschenbach's situation in relatively fleeting and undevel
oped associations.
The Christian base of Western civilization is also a
theme-complex, manifested in Aschenbach's approximation to
Saint Sebastian, the two apocalyptic beasts at the Mauso
leum, the crosses at the Munich graveyard, the church to
which Aschenbach follows Tadzio, and certain aspects of the
jrecurrent Platonism.
Another interlocking theme-complex consists of the
Oriental-Indian-Byzantine-Arabian complex, represented by
jMann as cultures which, behind a fagade of beauty, are de
clining and rotten. The Orient is the source of the plague,
imoral decay, and cultural breakdown. The architecture of
Venice is Byzantine and Arabic, over-refined, overly sen
sual, and rotting.
; This theme-complex interlocks with the Greek complex
99
to develop the artist allegory, for both complexes bear on
separate but allied aspects of the artistic problem. The
Greek, especially in the Phaedrus passages, develops the
Platonic concept of the artist's relationship to absolute
Beauty, which is the only Idea represented physically.
Since the artist is sensitive to the physical manifestations
of this Idea, he, more than the philosopher, is particularly
apt to be led astray by his senses. The Oriental complex,
on the other hand, develops the concept of dissolution from
within, the condition for the existence of beauty, a concept
which is demonstrated by Venice itself, situated as it is on
the formlessness of water— of water, furthermore, that is
contaminated. Venice, however, is also related to the Greek
;concept of beauty, since it is named after Venus, and like
jher, represents beauty rising from nothingness. Venus is
not only beautiful, she is also the goddess of love, leading
back to the Oriental-decadent-erotic motif again. The three
itheme-complexes are practically inseparable, but all emerge
I from Aschenbach's search for beauty and death. j
In Die Betrogene (1954), which has already been dis
cussed as a companion piece to Venedig,^ Mann expresses a
11
Joseph Mileck, "A Comparative Study of Die Betrogene
100
Isimilar view of the relation between physical and spiritual
reality. Again he raises the question of whether inner
mental corruption leads to the decline of the body and so to
death or whether physical decline influences the spirit.
Here too the character's doom is associated with increasing
;sexuality. In this late novella Mann develops instead of
the Christian-Greek motifs of Venediq the motifs of fertil
ity and disease which were implicit in the Dionysian land
scape envisioned by Aschenbach. Pink-cheeked Rosalie, child
of the spring and possessed of an instinctive understanding
of other women, has always been aligned with nature. In
contrast, her daughter Anna is physically maimed by a club
foot, suffers intense pain from menstruation, the natural
iphenomenon of her sex, and is always attempting to control
nature in her art. Anna's past entrapment by the senses—
her previous attraction to Brunner— has caused her to try to
compensate for life with art. Still, she has learned the
power of the physical impulses and believes that the body
|
dictates the unity of body and soul. Therefore she believes!
that her mother should try to adapt mentally to her body's
condition.
;and Per Tod in Venediq." MLF, XLII (1957), 124-129.
101
Realizing that she is entering menopause, Rosalie
psychologically resists nature, in the process of which she
meditates on the relationship between body and soul. As she
resists the idea of sterility she is fascinated, perhaps
overmuch, with nature's manifestations of fertility. Both
women are deceived by their senses early in the novella, as
following the odor of musk, they discover not flowers but
excrement. Despite this mistake, Rosalie believes in na
ture's signals, citing nature's use of pain as a warning to
creatures and men of danger. Rosalie's attitudes are al
ready the focal point of two dimensions of the theme-
complex: she is trying to impose her spiritual youth on her
body, and she trusts in the senses as the manifestation of
ja benignant nature.
| When she feels an upsurge of passion for the American
j *
boy— a desire as illicit as Aschenbach's for Tadzio or
Friedemann's for the young wife of the Commandant— Rosalie
:is convinced that her soul is independent of her body's
I sterility. Misinterpreting the signals of her body, she
[associates the "sweet drenchings" with passion, and is
grateful for what she considers a sign of both spiritual
and physical renewal. Anna, having already experienced the
conquest of reason by the senses, urges her mother to fight
102
this attraction and her rebellion against inevitable aging.
Rosalie, more than ever convinced of the power of the
mind over the body when menstruation resumes, nevertheless
tries to renounce her passion. Her body does not accept the
soul's dictates this time and she becomes sick. Giving up
the idea of repression, she confesses her passion to Ken at
the chateau whose erotic surroundings are mixed with images
of corruption and death.
Rosalie dies suddenly, feeling still that nature has
not betrayed her, even though her cancer manifested itself
not in pain, but in heightened eroticism. The surgeon's
emotionless tears also belie her claim that physical mani
festations are trustworthy signs of inner reality. However,
ithe doctor claims that mental excitement caused the ovary to
produce the fatal estrogen. Thus Rosalie's belief in the
t
mind's power over the body is borne out.
The situation is limited to Rosalie's eroticism and
ideath and to Anna's contrasting avoidance of sensuality.
iThe themes expand to include several conflicts: that be
tween the intellect and nature, soul and body, mind and
senses, health and disease, life and death, sterility and
fertility. Complete harmony is reached only in death.
In Friedemann Mann also explores the concept of body
103
and soul but limits himself to the specific problem without
raising the manifold associations of the two novellas. In
the story his use of leitmotif is mechanical, not organic.
That is, he uses several recurring phrases to describe the
character, but does not use the interlocking of motifs which
helps him achieve thematic complexity in Venediq or Die Be-
I trogene. Herr Friedemann, on account of his deformity, has
renounced the normal relationships— companionship and love—
and has cultivated the arts. Like Venediq, the story re
counts the collapse of the protagonist's resistance. But
instead of examining the situation intensively, here Mann
simply selects a few incidents in Friedemann's life to il
lustrate his renunciation, introduces Gerda, and shows
jFriedemann's weakness. The climax occurs when Friedemann
i
jloses control and reveals his desire to Gerda. Her scornful
I
repulse completes the breakdown of his willpower and he
drowns himself without even a reflex struggle against death.
Thematic associations have not prepared or intensified the
idenouementj the forewarning comes in the brief, explicit
scene when Friedemann, on the opposite bank of the river,
admires nature's participation in the over-all inevitable
system, and decides also not to fight his fate. This refer
ence to external nature deepens the meaning of the story but
104
does not expand its significance beyond the obvious, ex
plicit level. Furthermore, the story is limited to illus
trate the basic fact, as Mann sees it, that when it breaks
into such an alienated existence, life moves toward death.
This is also the idea sustaining Mann's novel Buddenbrooks.
There, however, he explicitly demonstrates the idea by trac
ing the family's movement from physical health to spiritual
and artistic ability which progressively overbalances the
physical, until finally the offspring is too weak to support
life. The major leitmotif in Friedemann is the recurring,
mocking laughter which Friedemann hears as a child and
throughout his brief relationship with Gerda. Thus neither
the structure nor the thematic treatment is designed to
produce intensity or expansion, and like The Real Thing,
Mann's story is constructed to illustrate an isolated and
specific truth.
Just as James and Mann in their novellas organize the
experience of their protagonists in such a way as to sum up
land penetrate the essence of their inner lives, so does Gide
in La Symphonie Pastorale (1925) present the pastor's ex
perience with the blind Gertrude in a manner which permits
his attitudes to be simplified and compressed. Without
going beyond the bounds set by the relationship between the
105
pastor and the girl, Gide still contrives to bring in asso
ciated elements in the pastor's life which reveal him to the
reader. Again a well-limited subject is the focus for
thematic expansion. Mann concentrates on the situation of
Aschenbach in Venice, and while keeping this single situa
tion in narrative focus is able to suggest the basic con
flict in Aschenbach1s soul, the Dionysian impulse in con
flict with the Apollonian, as well as a number of associated
motifs. James, with different subject and techniques, does
essentially the same thing: in compressing Herbert's life,
he maintains narrative focus on the specific conflict be
tween Kate and Nan, while suggesting its additional implica
tions of vulgarity, isolation, and suffering.
1 The first entry of the pastor's journal describes the
j ,
■conditions under which he finds Gertrude and her reception
at his home. The journey to the unknown woman's cottage,
beyond a mysterious lake, sets a tone of spiritual adven-
jture. In praying at the foot of the dying woman's deathbed,
i
jthe pastor feels that God tells him to care for the "lost
jsheep," the woman's niece, Gertrude. Whereas he thinks of
i
!
his action as an act of charity similar to rescuing the lost
:sheep, his wife, according to his journal, thinks only of
the inconvenience involved. Thus he sees himself as Pastor
idealized,, surrounded by the annoyances of petty domesticity
and brawling children. The pastor does not count either on
the goodwill of his five children, as, he feels, each has
"donne le change"; that is, having given the impression of
a charitable disposition, each has later grown into some
thing less admirable. The motif of "faux-monnayeur" which
Gide is always concerned with appears now rather innocu
ously, but after a while the reader begins to realize that
the pastor's self-portrayal may not be accurate.
The Biblical allegory of the lost sheep is an important
element of exposition and will recur in the text several
more times. This and the idea of the children as "counter
feit" establish the theme-complexes of truth-lies, con
cession-deception, perception-blindness, which are the basis
'of the novella. In the first entry, when the pastor insists
j
that for the sake of truth he will include the failure of
charitable emotion on his wife's part, he is making the
I
first of a series of statements in which he tells the
i"truth" about other people for the sake of total sincerity
|in his journal. The journal is, after all, the archetypal
genre of sincere writing, but one which usually involves
self-examination, not the exposure of weakness in other
people. The words "avouer" and "deception" occur
107
frequently, but the narrator's confessions take the form of
rationalizations, while his deceptions are increasingly
clear to the reader. Already, for example, he excuses his
neglect of his family on the grounds that the member of the
flock who goes astray deserves more attention.
In the second entry, the pastor is already becoming
discouraged at Gertrude's hostility, despite his lofty and
inspired intentions. Dr. Martins, in discussing with the
pastor the best means of educating Gertrude, mentions Con
dillac's animated statue, and related to that, the anecdote
of Laura Bridgeman, an English blind deaf-mute who was edu
cated by the sense of touch and written about in psychology
journals. These references are important because they in-
I
idicate the pattern for the pastor's emotional involvement
Iwith Gertrude, the Pygmalion pattern of egotistic attachment
to that which one creates. There will be several fleeting
references to Gertrude's stony expression and the trans
figuration of her statue-like face. Once this motif becomes
j
jnoticeable, the pastor's motivation is quite apparent. Ger-
jtrude's education interests him more than that of his chil
dren precisely because she is blind and therefore fully
dependent upon him as a source of knowledge, whereas the
children escape his authority and so do not nourish his ego.
; i o 8
Closely related to the Pygmalion motif is the motif of the
|senses, which is developed on three levels: as opposition
to the pastor's spiritual obligations, as Gertrude's depri
vation, and as the pastor's sexual attraction. The pastor
;tries to avoid sensuality, first by denying his attraction
!
i
ito Gertrude, and later, in his prayers, by trying to believe
that she needs his love, despite her own admissions that her
love is not strictly spiritual.
The motif of deception is also implicit in this second
gentry of the journal. In speaking of The Cricket on the
Hearth, in which a blind girl's father gives her the illu
sion of being rich and living comfortably, the pastor re
jects sentimental deceptions and resolves never to keep the
jtruth from Gertrude. As we soon discover, however, he with-
i
I
i
holds certain parts of the Bible and indeed prefers that she
|
!do her reading (in Braille) only when he is there to guide
i
or, as it turns out, to manipulate her thoughts. In fact,
the pastor's actions will frequently contradict this deci
sion to be truthful.
In the same entry, after a break, two aspects of the
! theme-complex are reinforced. The pastor forgives Amelie
for her reproaches as, he says, Christ preached forgiveness
i
iafter the parable of the lost sheep. He then tells the
109
parable. His perception of himself is clearly as a spiri
tual leader. He also reports that Gertrude smilesj her
face, which until now was like that of a statue, expresses
emotion for the first time. Without explicit development,
the juxtaposition of the lost sheep motif and the statue
motif condenses both aspects of the situation, the pastor's
conception of his spiritual role as shepherd to the flock,
and his other, unacknowledged motive, the pride of creation.
In this manner Gide establishes the theme-complex which will
'unify the narrative and expand the interpretive levels of
the plot.
Muriel Spark's style, generally witty, tends to give
the impression of complexity in even.her shortest stories.
However, her various short works, all of about the same
i
ilength, follow the different generic patterns of construe-
j ;
tion observed in the works of James, Mann, and Gide. In
Memento Mori she follows the nineteenth-century novelistic
pattern of construction, shifting focus from one set of
'characters to another to produce a portrayal of the condi
tion of old age. Again in The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie,
instead of focusing on Miss Brodie, Spark shifts her focus
to several of the students. She portrays progressively Miss
Brodie's ideals of leadership and heroism and later her
adoration of Mussolini and other Fascists. In addition, ,
Spark develops another plot, Sandy's history from childhood
to her present fame. Clearly, it is her experience of Miss j
: . |
Brodie that has enabled Sandy to write her monograph on the I
transfiguration of the ordinary, and it is probably on |
i
account of her betrayal of Miss Brodie that she has become
a nun. Thus Spark develops several large themes explicitly j
i
in the novels. i
In The Black Madonna, on the other hand, she illus- |
trates the single point, the racial prejudice of the pro- |
tagonist. The first half of the story gives exposition of j
Raymond and Lou Parker, a childless couple. Lou considers
herself free from prejudice, but her condescension and self-;
; conscious liberalism in relation to the two Jamaicans indi- j
: I
jcate that she is imposing on herself the attitude she feels
i
is most socially advanced. When she visits her widowed
I
sister and Henry, a black, looks down on her poverty, Lou
i
;takes umbrage and her true feelings burst out: at least her
i
sister is white! j
!
Lou prays to the black madonna that the other black man
will move to another city and her prayer is answered. Her
prayers for Henry's health also seem efficacious. She then
decides to "put in" for a child, in order to be the same as
Ill
the other women. The prayer works once more but when the
child is born it is black. The poor sister reveals that
there has been black ancestry in the family and is both
thankful that her children are white and glad that Lou has
been punished for her previous parsimony.
When the couple give up the child for adoption, the
priest tells them that it would have been a good thing if
they had kept it; but failing that, they are doing the right
thing. Thus the story illustrates Lou's limited ethical
perception, partially in her attitude toward her sister, but
primarily in her racial attitude.
In The Go-Away Bird there is the equivalent of a curse
on Daphne, in Tuys's hatred of Chakata. Tuys makes four
threats on Daphne's life in part one, one an actual attempt,
land finally kills her in part three. Ironically, when Tuys
succeeds in shooting her down at the end of the novella, the
reader is not sure that the murder is intentional, for old
Tuys may really believe he was killing a bull.
The same fate pattern which occurs in part one in
Tuys's threats recurs in part two, but here the pattern
takes different expression. Daphne is victimized five
times: by her relatives, other people, and boyfriends.
One of the motifs of the novella is Africa as an
’ * ’ 112
. 1
I
English outpost and England as a real home. Spark suggests
; j
that the colonials' illusions about England are responsible
both for Daphne's inability to acclimatize in Africa and her;
inability to survive in the realities of English civiliza
tion. The relatives have names from The Wind in the Willows
‘(Mole, Rat) and from The Mikado (Uncle Pooh-Bah), but they
iare not charming, quaint people. Although this idea is not
j
explicitly developed, suggested contrasts are frequent be-
; t
tween the physical violence of Africa and the more refined |
savagery of England. Moses is killed by a leopard, while
Daphne's fiance is killed by the war, the civilized form of j
; |
violence. Chakata's concept of honor, out of place in Af- j
jrica, is responsible for some of the violence (Hatty's sui- :
cide) and is in contrast to Tuys's repeated attempted rape
jof Mrs. Chakata. The motif of violence between the African
natives and the Dutch is introduced early in the novella.
‘ Chakata has won a medal for model native villages, and there;
jis some discussion of whether the natives will rise up. ’
I
I
Dater a native questions whether he should help Daphne. j
;This motif develops briefly in part two, when the Mau Mau
rises up. Daphne's plight is to be unadapted either to ;
i
protect herself from violence in Africa or from social ex- j
ploitation in England. j
113
The violence of the natives and African animals and the
violence of the war provide an aura of danger and also sug
gest the theme of political and social exploitation. The
Europeans are a colonial power in Africa, while specific
[Englishmen exploit the African girl. Daphne, without par
ents, raised in the concept of English honor, regards Eng
land as her home. Hearing the sound of the go-away bird,
she takes it as an invitation to go away and also as a warn
ing to flee Tuys. With each new disillusionment in England,
however, the bird's call signifies rejection.
In contrast to Tod in Venedig and La Symphonie Pasto
rale , this novella compresses a whole lifetime, but the
techniques do not necessarily differ from those used to
jcompress only a major event. Spark still mentions only
|those incidents which relate to Daphne's isolation in both
cultures and surrounds the foreshortened history with motifs
of violence and exploitation which broaden Daphne's predica
ment. Spark sees certain weaknesses and strengths in the
[English character and when they are put into conjunction
'with the isolation from England and with the colonial ex
perience, the strengths themselves become weaknesses, e.g.,
Chakata's honor. Daphne, being one generation removed from
'England and being involved in the colonial experience, seems
114
to be the epitome of the weak character developed by these
j
social situations. The implications of Daphne's character
and fate are developed only in fleeting representations of
the social background. The Mau Mau's terrorism, for exam
ple, is mentioned only when her relatives are killed, and
the theme suggested by this event is not pursued explicitly
Thus Daphne is the focal point for the expanding themes of
savagery, exploitation, and murder and, as in the other
novellas, the themes expand outward from a specific subject
CHAPTER III
REPETITIVE STRUCTURE AND ITS FUNCTION
Walter Silz remarks, "That the distinction between the
Novelle and the novel is not simply one of length but of
inner organization has been pretty generally recognized"
(p. 6). But the critics, as the Appendix demonstrates, have
so far stopped short of analyzing the inner organization of
the novella.
Ludwig Tieck's notion of turning point has until now
been a major factor in confusing the question of structure
:in the novella. According to him, the novella makes ordi-
inary material new and surprising by turning the action into
a new, yet foreshadowed, line of development at an easily
distinguished point in the story:
! Eine Begebenheit sollte anders vorgetragen werden, als
eine Erzahlungj diese sich von Geschichte unterscheiden,
und die Novelle nach jenen Mustern sich dadurch aus
alien andern Aufgaben hervorheben, daB sie einen groften
oder kleinern Vorfall in's hellste Licht stelle, der,
so leicht er sich ereignen kann, doch wunderbar,
116
vielleicht einzig 1st. Diese Wendung der Geschichte,
dieser Punkt, von welchem aus sie sich unerwartet volliq
l umkehrt, und doch natiirlich, dem Charakter und den Um-
standen angemessen, die Folge entwickelt, wird sich der
Phantasie des Lesers um so fester einpragen, als die
Sache, selbst im Wunderbaren, unter andern Umstanden
wieder alltaglich sein konnte.x (My italics.)
i
Not only does he find this Wendung in the Cervantian no-
I
vellas, but he also claims that all novellas are distin
guished from every other narrative form by this striking and
extraordinary turning point:
Bizarr, eigensinnig, phantastisch . . . tragisch wie
komisch . . . alle diese Farben und Charaktere lasst
die achte Novelle zu3 nur wird sie immer jenen sonder-
baren auffallenden Wendepunkt haben, der sie von alien
andern Gattungen der Erzahlung unterscheidet. (p.
lxxxvii) (My italics.)
But every work has a turning point which occurs close to the
i
jresolution and which may be defined as the point at which
|
(the resolution becomes inevitable. The other three compo
nents of works of any genre are exposition of the situation,
complication of character or event, a crisis or turning
i
'point, which leads to an inevitable resolution. Despite
|
Itheir differences in narrative effect, all the genres of
fiction use essentially the same organizing procedure.
^Gesammelte Werke (Berlin, 1928), XI, lxxxvi.
117
Obviously the delimitation of the stages in the narrative
pattern differs among works of the same genre as well as
among different genres. Tieck's turning point is not a use
ful critical concept* for it applies only to works which
strive to create a special effect in their external pattern.
A surprising and ironic twist of fate which occasions a
change of direction around the midpoint of a work is not a
valid sign of the novella* for many works whose construction
differs markedly from that of recognized novellas use such a
technique. Tieck's observation is valid for some novellas
and may be characteristic of their authors* but it is not a
definition of what is generically essential to those works.
Mark Schorer discusses the different aesthetic goals
I
which lead as a consequence to different kinds of internal
structure* but he too shies away from any explicit discus
sion of how the novella and the novel accomplish their re
spective artistic ends in their structure. He finds moral
revelation in the story* moral evolution in the novel* and
|the third form* the "novelette*" "shares in the virtues of j
1 2
Iboth." How this can be he leaves to the reader to unravel.
2
Mark Schorer* ed.* The Story: A Critical Anthology
(Englewood Cliffs* N. J.* 1967), p. 331.
118
But this is the crux of the generic problem. For if the
novella does in fact have a double goal, it is the critic's
task to understand the construction that accommodates it.
; 0n his understanding of structure rests his comprehension of
the aesthetic unity of the work he is reading.
The other aspect of the novella's narrative purpose has
already been observed in Chapter II, where it was found to
be, on a thematic level, an effect of concentration and
simultaneously of wide implication, an effect of singleness
i
land intensity with manifold associations. For the most
Ipart, leitmotif serves to widen the sphere of association,
while parallelism brings the reader's imagination back to
the specific situation. As we have seen, the techniques
Ivary widely. The novella's treatment of theme is evidently
jdifferent from the limitation of the story and also from the
macrocosmic vision of the novel.
The apparently contradictory aesthetic effect of both
|smallness and fullness results not only from expansive
themes emanating from a specific focal point, but also— as
we shall see in this chapter— from the intensive presenta
tion of a specific situation. The typical novella structure
first builds to a revelation or recognition of a character
lor situation, but then achieves an effect of greater
119
intensity by redevelopment. In continuing to develop the
situation, the novella also reinforces the motifs already
established. Instead of portraying an isolated truth, the
novella expands the short story's revelation so that the
characters and situation are also seen evolving. Schorer's
statement applies in this way: without undertaking the ex
tensive development of the novel, the novella still develops
its material, rather than merely presenting it. In its
presentation and further examination of something problem
atic, the novella uses a structure particular to itself.
!
The novella's double aesthetic goal is to be both micro-
and macrocosmic, to go beyond revelation to a testing out,
to a novelistic treatment (in microcosm) . It is this func
tion that the technique of repetitive structure serves, for
i ■
the first part of the narrative serves as exposition which
leads to revelation or recognition and then the reworking of
the situation and motifs not only intensifies the examina
tion, but gives it further development as well.
The novel uses a series of complications. This is •
Clearly evident in the picaresque novel, in which the hero
has a series of encounters, during which he learns to cope
with the rules of his world. He usually has a successful,
upward career. But other types of novels may substitute for:
120
'the separate encounters of the picaro, different angles of
i
vision, a multxtude of characters, or re-examination of a
situation from different points of view. These plot ele
ments require resolution— one of the problems of novel con
struction is to tie up all these loose ends. Because of
these various subordinate resolutions, the novel produces an
effect of diffusiveness, for the reader is generally follow
ing several "stories" at the same time. The short story
works toward a single resolution; hence its effect of limi
tation .
The novella's repetitive structure permits a pattern
of exposition, complication, and resolution like that of the
story, followed by a re-examination, in different terms, of
the same situation. Thus the nature of the internal reso
lution (the revelation or the recognition) is not so strik- j
ingly revelatory as the final revelation in a story. Nor is
the development which follows so extended as that which
ioccurs in the novel. By combining the two narrative tech
niques, revelation and development, the aesthetic effect of !
the novella is quite different from the effect achieved by
i
i
either technique in isolation. This is a natural result of
!the change in proportion within the works. The novella
!
I revelation serves as the basis of the redevelopment
121
I
immediately following. By contrast, the exposition of a
novel becomes submerged in the ensuing series of complica
tions and no longer retains any importance in its own right.
The author's vision of the world becomes important in the
novel, a total experience whose effect depends on the series
‘ of examples or points of view. In the novella, however, the
particular experience is examined intensively, not exten
sively, which brings about an effect of concentration. The
very intensity of examination is what makes the novella a
more exhaustive, i.e., encompassing, genre than the story,
ifor what is laid bare and revealed as truth in the story is
revealed and re-examined in a new light in the novella.
The "novella turning point," where redevelopment be-
i
gins, differs considerably from Tieck's "turning point," as
|the latter is the point at which a major change in fate
i
occurs. It is supposed to be striking and surprising,
whereas the novella turning point is usually subtle. And
Tieck's point is supposed to cause a new direction in plot
|to unfold, whereas the point of redevelopment is not causa
tive .
The rest of this chapter will explain how this struc
ture works in a number of novellas. Before beginning de
tailed analyses of novella structures, however, it would be
122
appropriate to make these theoretical distinctions clear by
briefly showing how L1 Stranger as a structural unit is a
novel, not a novella.
According to traditional theory, L'frtranger would be
eligible for classification as a novella because of its
t
|shortness and central striking event. The shooting of the
j
Arab at the end of part one appears to cause a reversal in
Meursault's fate in part two and might be Tieck's turning
point. But the reader later shares Meursault's recognition
jthat circumstances have been bringing him in a straight line
to his present situation. Meursault's fate undergoes no
reversal at the shootingj but later, when his understanding
changes, he has to decide what conclusions to reach on the
i
basis of his experience. During the series of circumstances
his attitude has changed so that his initial indifference
i
becomes an intense acceptance of life, by virtue of values
which he has recognized. This reversal, however, occurs in
i
|the last pages of the novel, and is the decisive moment
immediately preceding resolution. The shooting is only one
circumstance, albeit an important one, that forces Meur-
sault, by causing his imprisonment and trial, and conse
quently his private self-defense, either to reassert his
junilateral position or find a system of values. Its
123
function in the novel is still to serve as one of a series
i
of complications, not as a point of reversal.
Rene Girard has already discussed the structural flaw
3
in L1 Stranger. In order to show that a man who refuses to
conform to society will be punished by it, Camus is forced
to have Meursault commit a punishable crime but one which is
also accidental and unpremeditated, so that the judges, and
behind them society, will appear guilty in executing Meur
sault. Meursault has to be led from the innocuous, at least
non-political non-conformism of refusing conventional hypoc
risy, to the guillotine. This is clearly the function of
the somewhat strained imposition of circumstance, the
reflex-voluntary shooting.
i
The novel proceeds through exposition intertwined with
i
jcomplication (the funeral), through additional complication
(befriending Raymond, facing the Arab, shooting him, stand
ing trial), to structural turning point (reacting to the
priest), to resolution (affirming universal absurdity and
I
|at the same time the value of his own existence). The mid
point shooting does not constitute a striking and unforeseen
3"Camus's Stranger Retried," PMLA, LXXIX (1964), 519-
533.
124
Change in the protagonist's fate after which a new direction
j
is taken (Tieck's turning point); nor is it a means of re
developing what went before. L1Stranger is not a novella
either by traditional criteria or by those developed here,
for it is progressive in construction and macrocosmic in
theme.
In part one, Meursault observes that life is absurd.
He therefore follows the path of least resistance, since he
has no other basis for making decisions. In part two, he is
participating in the absurd, since he is the defendant at
the trial. The novel as a whole is thus a straight-line
development of the concept of spectacle-spectator. In part
two Meursault continues to reject responses to the absurd
until the structural turning point, when he reacts with
ianger to the priest. The resolution quickly follows, with [
his affirmation. The center of the novel, then, is actually
another instance of the absurd, and an important complica-
ition in the plot, since it brings Meursault an intensified
contact with society. But the theme, man's isolation in j
society, continues to be examined through a series of events
which finally develops the wider theme, man's isolation in
an indifferent universe.
It is misleading, then, to use the term "turning point".
125
in any other sense than to refer to the structural turning
point which immediately precedes resolution, both in dra
matic and narrative forms. Tieck's concept would not apply
to this work in any meaningful way. Neither is this work a
novella by the criteria developed in this study, for as has
been shown, this structure contains a series of incidents,
whereas a novella presents a situation and reworks a coun
terpart of it. Given the terms established here by Camus,
a novella might have been constructed on the theme of uni
versal indifference by presenting Meursault first in pri
vate, then in political, terms. But L1 Stranger develops
private and public motifs continuously from the beginning.
Also, in a novella the theme of indifference might emerge,
|
jbut it would not be the subject. Rather, in order to pro
duce that intensity characteristic of the novella— as we
|
have seen in preceding chapters— the writer would keep in
focus a limited subject, such as the shooting of the Arab,
i
jin such a way as to allow larger themes to suggest them-
I . i
iselves. Again on this level of analysis, Camus maintains in
I L1 Stranger an objective different from that of the novellas
already studied. Thematically, Camus does not use clusters
of motifs which reflect back on each other, but symbols and
I
(
jmotifs which enlarge without limiting the theme of the
126
novel. The result is that he represents metaphorically a
i
view of the macrocosm, implied by his protagonist, the
events, other characters, symbolic language, and the very
content. In contrast, The Bench of Desolation implies in
[
its protagonist's specific and limited problem the wider
subject of the nature of vulgarity and refinement, and be
yond that, even a defense of experience. But the larger
!
problem, when it is resolved simultaneously with Herbert's
individual problem, is resolved by implication only. Should
it take over the narrative and become developed in its own
right, its universality would completely change the aes
thetic effect of the novella, which results from a micro-
cosmic viewpoint with macrocosmic relevance. That James
chooses to keep Herbert's particular situation in narrative
i :
|focus must be a result of his having a different artistic
purpose from that of Camus, who develops the macrocosmic
aspects of Meursault's situation until they overshadow it.
|The writer of a novella, consciously or unconsciously, se-
| ;
ilects and develops his material in accordance with a narra
tive purpose of showing wide implications emanating from a
concentrated subject, and his treatment results in the no
vella's repetitive structural pattern. Other forms of prose
fiction are constructed by a process of continuation instead
•__ i
127
of reworking, even when leitmotif is used as the basic
narrative technique, as in Per Zauberberq.
The psychological sequence that composes The Bench of
Desolation is the gradual enlargement and correction of
Herbert's consciousness of Kate, which in turn is a correc
tion of Herbert1s view of life in general. Twice he reverses
his estimation of Kate and Nan. He remembers Kate as a
representation of vulgarity but discovers her to be a lady.
He had married Nan because she seemed, with her "pretty
dotty veil," to be refined, but he discovers her to be dull
and spiteful. J. A. Ward concludes from this and other re
versals that it "is not just that Dodd's pride has distorted
his vision, but also that the real self can only emerge
4
ithrough the suffering of desolation." However, James pur-
i :
Iposely gives the reader no opportunity to assess change in
I :
the characters of either Kate or Nan. Rather, in order to
show that Herbert's views, not the objects of his view,
l
undergo transformation, James presents the situation out of
!
i
jsequence so that the reader, in unravelling the chronology,
is forced to interpret and reinterpret the facts. In this
4
The Imagination of Disaster (Lincoln, Neb., 1961), p.
162.
128
jway, despite the reader's advantage of aesthetic distance,
his awareness keeps pace with Herbert's. This chronological
manipulation intensifies the reading experience, as it does
in Brigitta, for the reader is brought closer and closer to
the truth.
In the first part of the novella, Herbert feels both
despair and righteous resentment at Kate's "trap." He also
discloses the distinction he feels most important in life,
that between natural taste and vulgarity: "he had never let
go his sense of certain differences . . . whereby everything
that was vulgar was on the wrong side of his line" (p. 374).
When Kate issues her ultimatum that she will sue for breach
iof promise unless he marries her, he decides that his orig-
i
inal impression of her position as being on the right side
i ;
jof the line must have been incorrect, since she is now
! !
descending to the vulgar. In later years, as the reader
discovers, he will always reassure himself with the thought
i :
jthat her ultimatum was a proof of her innate vulgarity.
i |
jActually, however, Herbert had changed his mind about her
i
before the ultimatum, ostensibly because he had seen her
with Bill Frankie, but really because he already thought Nan
more suitable as his wife.
In the second part of the novella, Herbert chooses
129
"romantic love" (Nan) as a "refuge from poisonous reality"
(Kate) (p. 377). But through Herbert's memory of life with
Nan, his wrong choice becomes apparent. Since the reader
has no means of understanding Kate any better than Herbert
does, the problem of alternative action still remains.
In the third part, we learn the twelve or thirteen
years1 history of his attempts to pay Kate off, his failure
to support his family, and his eventual detachment on the
bench of desolation. Nan has been no solace during all
this, as she "could have intelligently entered [into his
misery] only if she had been somehow less ladylike" (p.
381). Herbert has by this time descended the social ladder
from owner of a second-hand bookshop to worker at "a dirty
I
desk at the Gas Works." Thus the primary irony of the story
i :
;is now complete. Herbert's attempts to avoid the vulgar
have led him directly into what he considers vulgarity. At
the end of the third part he tries to decide whether Kate
could have done anything to him if he had not continued to
|pay her as long as he had. He is mentally stalemated on
this question and has still not proceeded to the real ques
tion, her motive. Herbert's life is now before us from his
own point of view. He is the "poor sensitive gentleman,"
land, sitting on the bench of desolation "as_ the man in the
130
;whole place, precisely, to whom nothing worth more than
tuppence could happen . . (p. 392), he bears a great
similarity to Marcher in The Beast in the Jungle. However,
Marcher1s recognition of his fate is the end and point of
that work, whereas here this recognition occurs in the
structural middle. In The Bench, James is not only depict
ing the poor sensitive gentleman who fails to experience
life, but he is also going beyond this revelation. The sub
ject of the whole novella thus becomes the man who experi
ences desolation and then emerges from it. The passage
quoted above continues: "... whereupon, in the grey
desert of his consciousness, the very earth had suddenly
opened and flamed ..." (p. 392). Immediately after Her
bert is presented as a man with "no social relation," Kate
|appears and life begins to take on a new, momentous quality I
for him. Now the entire situation can be re-examined in
present time.
; In the fourth part of the novella, James presents Her-
ibert:
. . . possessed . . . of the secret of the dignity of
sitting still with one's fate. . . . he would drop down
on it, the bench of desolation— which was what he, and
he only, made it, by sad adoption; where, for that mat
ter, moreover, once he had settled at his end, it was
marked that nobody else ever came to sit. (p. 388)
131
This summary of Herbert's situation serves, with all the
preceding material, as exposition to the rest of the no
vella. At this point Kate enters, and James enforces Her
bert's slow recognition of Kate's moral identity, her being
unquestionably a lady, by dwelling on his recognition of her
i
I
physical identity. As the scene progresses, Herbert real
izes that "she was understanding . . . more things than all
the years, up to this strange eventide, had given him an
inkling of . . ." (p. 394). In the fourth part, then, Her
bert and the reader are forced to re-examine the perceptions
developed in the first three parts. Upon seeing Kate, Her
bert immediately recognizes the reversal in their situa
tions : "So this mature, qualified, important person stood
jand looked at the limp, undistinguished— oh, his values of
j
aspect now!— shabby man on the bench" (p. 390).
1 :
In the fifth part, two especially important things
happen. Kate unceremoniously dismisses Captain Roper. This
demonstration of interest in Herbert causes him to succumb
to the social relation, despite his original intention of
maintaining social distance. Herbert's relaxation of pride
is followed by a revelation scene, in which a new light is
provided him, and in which he has also the vantage point of
literally seeing his "parade" and his bench from some
132
height. The light imagery and the seeing and unseeing out
of the window reinforce the effect of Kate's revelation on
Herbert's consciousness. She tells him that she has caused
him to keep paying for his own sake and that she has also
suffered. He says he could not ask a lawyer whether he had
to payj he could not be so vulgar. She replies, "I could,
by God's help! " (p. 410). This recognition is the struc
tural turning point of the novella, as its effect on Herbert
will resolve the action and theme.
In the sixth part, Herbert finds that he "had nowhere
to carry, to deposit, or contractedly let loose and lock up,
as it were, his swollen consciousness . . ." (p. 412). He
resists the temptation to retain his built-up image of Kate
jbut instead digests the truth that he has wrongfully be-
I
jlieved himself degraded. He does not want to take the money
j
she has saved for him but a week later accepts the envelope.
Now the previous desolation of the bench is resolved into
lanother chance, a redemption, for Herbert and for Kate as
Iwell. Herbert is enriched symbolically as well as literallyi
[when he accepts the letter of credit, for then he accepts
both the means of re-establishing himself in society and, at
the same time, the truth that has dawned on him in the reve
lation scene. It is in the last scene that the question,
133
stated in the first pages of the novella, is brought to its
resolution:
But there was no doubt, luckily, either, that he could
plant his feet the firmer for his now intensified sense
of these things. He was to live, it appeared, abominably
worried . . . he was to live perhaps even what a scoff
ing world would call abjectly exposed; but at least he
was to live saved. (p. 370)
This passage, which occurred early in the novella, is Her
bert's interpretation of his situation at the time he had
broken with Kate despite her ultimatum. He had thought to
escape her vulgarity, to live saved from it. But it is only
at the end of the novella that Herbert is really to be
saved, not from vulgarity, but from desolation. As. a mark
of his regeneration he now feels, ''with his letter there
against his heart, such a new agility, almost such a new
range of interest" (p. 421).
Herbert realizes at the beginning of the novella that
his intensified sense of "these things" is the saving factor
i
for all the suffering he must undergo and that the experi-
i
ence of reality is its own reward. The irony is that, abso
lutely correct in his statement, he is deluded in his per
ception of what "these things" are. His redemption occurs
only when he does confront and accept the facts, when he
stops "putting out his hand to save the past, the hideous,
134
real, unalterable past, exactly as she had been the cause of
its being and the cause of his undergoing it" (p. 394). He
realizes that "he should have been too awfully 'sold1 if he
wasn't going to have been right about her" (p. 394). Never
theless, he gives up his rationalization that Kate was the
i
cause of his misery, and consciously resists the temptation
to reject his new knowledge. Despite his several failings,
he realizes that she is right in not wanting to compare
miseries or to discuss the past in the light of his new
understanding of her motive. He rises to the occasion, this
time with justified pride, recognizing "that the nerve re
quired was just the nerve he had" (p. 413). Herbert's grad
ual acceptance of the truth dramatizes his capacity to dis
tinguish now between that indulgence in remorse which is
i
jemotionally unprofitable and essentially vulgar and that
i ;
suffering which is spiritually enriching and essentially
concomitant with the sensitive soul. Herbert keeps conjur
ing up the specter of Nan at this point but realizes that he
jhas misjudged her as well as Kate, for Nan, capable only of ;
pathetic complaints and remonstrances, had spiritually suc
cumbed to life long before she died. Herbert feels sorry
for her but is able to accept his own good fortune in good
conscience. It is already clear that Nan had been
135
responsible for herself. This final "doing away" with Nan
i
liberates Herbert completely from the past misery and leaves
him free for spiritual expansion.
Not only does Herbert have to overcome the temptation
of idealizing the past with Nan or indulging in useless,
isentimental regrets about her, but he has also to resist the
i
impulse to avenge himself on Kate, to release his emotions
through querulous complaints as Nan had done with him. Just
as Herbert's impulse arises to tell Kate she had been in
jlove with him and not the other way around, James tells us:
But he was to feel as quickly that, whatever the ugly,
1 the spent, the irrecoverable truth, he might better
have bitten his tongue off: there beat on him there
j this strange and other, this so prodigiously different
beautiful and dreadful truth that no far remembrance
i and no abiding ache of his own could wholly falsify,
! and that was indeed all out with her next words.
!
! "That— . . . using you yourself for your own future—
I was my motive . . ." (p. 409)
Thus Herbert's own sensitivity is self-redeeming and makes
i
jhim worthy of Kate's concern. Also, his silence at this
icrucial moment permits him to hear her explanation. He now
]
jperceives that he has been unable to view the past clearly.
!
jHis hurt pride has prevented him from correcting his vision,
i
iwhich became distorted when he began to seek refinement to
ibolster his own ego.
136
|
Reviewing the novella as a whole, then, we find that
both sections, the revelation and the redevelopment, follow
the same method of narration. The first section serves as
exposition to the whole novella. The novella turning point
occurs after the revelation of Herbert's desolation and is
the occasion for further development of the initial situa
tion. The structural turning point occurs in the fifth part
and gives way to the resolution of the whole novella.
EXPOSITION I
Complication II
Resolution III
Exposition IV
1
I
(Complication V
i
RESOLUTION VI
I
|
i
i
j
i
(The theme of the novella is spiritual deterioration caused
by excessive pride. Herbert believes that Kate has betrayed
him and while he relives the betrayal the reader becomes
aware that his views are distorted. James draws the reader
t
Herbert's attitude: vulgarity vs.
romance
Herbert acts according to attitude:
chooses Nan
REVELATION: result of action is
desolation
NOVELLA TURNING POINT: re-examination
begins; Kate enters
Kate offers Herbert the money: STRUC
TURAL TURNING POINT
Revelation scene: Kate explains
Herbert accepts the social relation
Dramatization of his real sensitivity,
in contrast to his false sensitivity
in I (Herbert's evolution complete)
137
away from Herbert1s view of the past without giving an
alternate explanation. When Kate enters in part four, a
process of enlightenment begins, during which Herbert comes
to understand that she has not betrayed him. He also dis
covers that he has betrayed himself, for by cringing from
what he calls vulgarity, he has failed to transcend it.
In terms of the entire action, the point at which re
examination begins is not a major complication in a series
of complications. Kate's entry at first seems to be the
point of reversal, but it really is a new donnee which pro
vides an opportunity to examine again previous events and
ideas, this time in a new context. Herbert and the reader
understand the past only when it is reflected in the pres
ent .
I The last three parts cover a short period of time,
about three weeks, but constitute three-quarters of the
length of the novella. These three parts dramatize exper
ience immediately present to the reader. Therefore, the
; ironic discrepancy between Herbert's judgments and the
reader's gradually disappears. In these three separate con
frontations, Herbert renews not only his relationship with
Kate but also his connection with society. Thus his initial
condition of desolation is resolved. This procedure, then,
138
is non-novel is tic and non-extensive, as it does not estab
lish a series.
The pattern of the first section emerges as remembered
experience followed by revelation of its meaning. The pat
tern of the second section consists again of exposition,
complication, and resolution. The structural turning point
occurs at the revelation scene, "revelation" being used here
in its non-technical sense. The resolution in part six re
solves the themes of the whole novella.
This redevelopment, built into the structure, accounts
for the aesthetic effect of intensity, an effect to which
the non-progression of events contributes. Everything cen
ters on Herbert's initial rejection of Kate and then his
reassessment of her and all the values associated with her.
I in Per Tod in Venedig also, the redevelopment is built
into both situation and language. Aschenbach's first situa
tion is his arrival in Venice. After his decision to stay
there, he must decide again whether to inform Tadzio's party
of the plague. Both decisions involve the same mental con- i
flict and are structurally parallel, but Mann uses in addi
tion elaborate stylistic repetitions to reinforce the in
tensity of examination.
i Himmel's analysis of Tod in Venedig as a three-part
139
structure, Apollonian, Dionysian, and the merging of the two
f
elements, is accurate, but only on the thematic level (p.
372). The structural pattern is the same as that observed
in The Bench of Desolation. The merging of the Apollonian
and Dionysian principles takes place twice in Tod in Vene-
dig, so that there are two parts to the structure, the first
occurrence of this conflict, and then its repetition. Part
one goes into complication almost immediately, with the
appearance of the first death figure and Aschenbach's hallu
cination. Part two is all exposition of Aschenbach's past
circumstances and present Apollonian condition, including a
summary of his mental and emotional evolution. Part three
is again complication (Aschenbach goes to Venice, exchanges
!
ja look with Tadzio), culminating in Aschenbach's realization
|
that he wants to remain in Venice on account of Tadzio.
I
Aschenbach relaxes in calm acceptance of this attraction.
This middle point concludes the revelatory half of the work.
iThe central conflict has been established as an Apollonian-
pionysian antithesis, which has been fought so far on the
i
iside of Apollo. The revelation consists of Aschenbach's
becoming aware of, and succumbing to, the Dionysian element
after a series of attempts to maintain the struggle:
. . . fuhlte er, wie der lassige Grufi vor der Wahrheit
140
seines Herzens hinsank und verstummte,— fiihlte die Be-
geisterung seines Blutes, die Freude, den Schmerz seiner
Seele und erkannte, daB ihm urn Tadzios willen der Ab-
schied so schwer geworden war....
Dann hob er den Kopf und beschrieb mit beiden schlaff
uber die Lehne des Sessels hinabhangenden Armen eine
langsam drehende und hebende Bewegung, die Handflachen
vorwartskehrend, so, als deute er ein Offnen und Aus-
breiten der Arme an. Es war eine bereitwillig will-
kommen heiBende, gelassen aufnehmende Gebarde. (p. 486)
Part four begins a redevelopment of the same conflict,
with Aschenbach now shown in a process of change. The first
Phaedrus passage states the problem in different terms from
those established thus far, posing the question of trans
forming the physical into the spiritual, of the beautiful as
a visible means of achieving the intangible ideal. Aschen
bach accomplishes this goal by using Tadzio as inspiration
[for one and a half pages of perfect literary creation, but
i
’ from this time on he is unable to maintain the tension of
the antithetical elements and, as he enters into his Panic
[phase, the Dionysian triumphs over the Apollonian for the
[second time. Part four culminates in Tadzio's smile and
|
[Aschenbach's subhuman articulation of desire in the dark
[garden, and is thus a further complication in the total
pattern of Aschenbach's downward movement. In part five,
Aschenbach is obsessed with the plague and follows more and
141
more intently in the footsteps "des Damons, dem es Lust ist,
des Menschen Vernunft und Wurde unter seine FiiBe zu treten"
(p. 502). At the structural turning point of the novella,
Aschenbach finally decides not to warn Tadzio1s family of
the plague. This decision mirrors the previous one to re
main in Venice and thus constitutes a redevelopment of the
same conflict, although now with the new narrative element,
the motif of human communication versus animalistic noise.
From the turning point on, Aschenbach is completely intoxi
cated with guilt and four events in quick succession bring
about the resolution: the Dionysian dream, the barber, the
over-ripe strawberries, and the recapitulated Phaedrus pas
sage. The resolution is anticipated in the tableau of the
degenerate game between the two boys, which parallels both
Aschenbach's degeneration from the inspiration of beauty
and the Hyacinth passage; the following Venus pose by Tadzio
and Aschenbach's simultaneous death constitute the resolu
tion of the entire novella. But, as Himmel points out (p.
i
|373), the resolution is open: the transformation of the
physical into the spiritual is presented both as the highest
goal of life and as the greatest sin against it.
More than the content, the language, the very method of
presenting the content, is what gives meaning to this
142
novella. Single and simple events become complications, not
only by their recurrence in the plot, but also by repetitive
language: persons, things, and events are invested with
dual or multiple meanings because of the different meta
phorical contexts in which they are consecutively placed.
Their recognition depends not only on their similarity to
other persons or events but also on the adjectival or meta
phorical context linking them to previous persons or events.
Tadzio, fully recognizable as a death figure from the first,
does not assume the posture that links him definitively with
the other death figures until part five. In the meantime,
the language describing him in terms of Eros, Hyacinth,
Narcissus, and other gods associates him with other motifs
iin the novella besides the death motif. Leitmotif is used
|
i - !
jin conjunction with action, so that the novella "event" is
a new thing in Venedig, even though it is still external,
las in the nineteenth century. The leitmotif is thus or-
I ■
ganic, not mechanical. Mann does not simply characterize
■or unify with his leitmotifsj they are the very basis of
his narration. In Venedig he repeats words, phrases, pas
sages, events, and symbolic figures. Even the following
breakdown will not account completely for the motifs, as
the language invests unclassifiable elements with the
143
jfamiliarity of repetition, as for example, the laughter
which recurs throughout the novella.
Certain words are repeated in varying contexts until
.the reader no longer responds to them as abstract words, but
invests them with all their historically traditional inter
pretations . "Love," "beauty," "art," "death," are, of
course,, the basic constituents of the vocabulary of Venedig.
Aschenbach calls Tadzio a Phaeacian at one point. The word
"Phaeacian" picks up the Charon-pilot motif and reflects as
well the Odyssey passage (which again is reflected in
Aschenbach's terming Venice an Elysium, and in a later ref
erence to impure sea birds) .
Certain phrases recur, as in the case of the opening
!sentence, or in the "suB und wild" used to describe both
i
Tadzio's name and the name of the god in the Dionysian
i 1
dream. Tadzio's head is frequently compared with a Grecian
statue's, with marble, and with Eros's likeness.
i
■ The two Phaedrus passages of course reflect each other,
!the first posing the problem of transforming the sensual
!into the spiritual:
Denn die Schonheit, mein Phaidros, nur sie, ist liebens-
wiirdig und sichtbar zugleich: sie ist, merke das wohll
die einzige Form des Geistigen, welche wir sinnlich emp-
fangen, sinnlich ertragen konnen. . . . So ist die
I Schonheitder Weg des Fuhlenden zum Geiste,— nur der
144
Weg, ein Mittel nur, kleiner Phaidros . . . (pp. 491-492)
i
'The second passage occurs after Aschenbach has successfully
created one and a half pages of prose out of the inspiration
of Tadzio's beauty. Now, after an arduous pursuit of Tad-
|zio, Aschenbach sinks down on the square where he had pre
viously decided to remain in Venice, a square surrounded by
beauty and also teeming with refuse, and ironically reworks
the above passage in light of his new awareness that he can
no longer maintain the tension, that he has given himself
over to the sensual and can no longer create:
Denn die Schonheit, Phaidros, merke das wohl, nur die
Schonheit ist gottlich und sichtbar zugleich, und so ist
sie denn also des Sinnlichen Weg, ist, kleiner Phaidros,
der Weg des Kunstlers zum Geiste. Glaubst du nun aber,
mein Lieber, daB derjenige jemals Weisheit und wahre
Manneswiirde gewinnen konne, fur den der Weg zum Geisti-
gen durch die Sinne fiihrt? Oder glaubst du vielmehr
I (ich stelle dir die Entscheidung frei), daB dies ein j
gefahrlichlieblicher Weg sei, wahrhaft ein Irr- und
Siindenweg, der mit Notwendigkeit in die Irre leitet?
(p. 521)
■In like manner, the Dionysian landscape containing the
i
tiger, which first occurs in the opening paragraphs of the
inovella, is repeated at length in part five. The Dionysian
i
idream, in which the tiger is fully released, is a develop
ment of this landscape and also a development of the "u"
sound associated with Tadzio's name. In this case, instead
i
145
of reflecting a previous passage only, the passage reflects
and develops previous words as well. Thus part five re
capitulates motifs established in part one but also reworks
motifs established explicitly for the first time in the sec
ond half of the novella, in part four (the Phaedrus). After
the revelation, the Phaedrus passage has served the function
of exposition to the second section, inaugurating a second,
almost autonomous, structural pattern with internal paral
lelism. It will have its own resolution, while at the same
time acting as counterpart to the whole first part of the
novella. Mann's quotations of Platen, Plato, Xenophon, and
Homer, and of course himself, are also reflections of themes
that recur throughout the entire novella. In addition to
parallel events— such as canal rides, pursuits along the
labyrinthine streets, parallel decisions, the ripe and over
ripe strawberries— certain recurrences become apparent to
the reader in leitmotifs established not by action, but by
language.
All the characters mentioned or portrayed are in some
way mirrors of other characters or of themes. Tadzio re
flects aspects of the Greek motifs, as in various contexts
he is symbolic of Hyacinth, Narcissus, Hermes, Dionysus,
Eros, and is a male Venus too; he is also a reflector of
the other death figures. The other four death figures are,
146
of course, symbolic figures, as is the British travel agent
t
j
who tells the truth about the plague and who represents
Northern, disciplined communication. These figures mirror
leach other, and finally Aschenbach participates in this
sequence of recurring death figures, as he becomes the mir
ror of the fake young man who had previously disgusted him
on disembarking at Venice, and later, he becomes the reverse
image of the travel agent. Friedrich, Aschenbach's hero,
and Saint Sebastian, who clenches his teeth in pain and is
thus akin to the Aschenbach who was like a clenched fist,
'reflect the Apollonian Aschenbach and serve as counterpart
to the increasingly Dionysian Aschenbach portrayed in the
present action. And the list of books Aschenbach has writ
ten, the prose he tries to write, are obverse parallels to
Ihis current history in Venice.
i ;
Aschenbach's confession at the midpoint of the work is
the point at which redevelopment begins. Before that, the
jApollonian-Dionysian conflict is made clear by the symbolism
jof Aschenbach's trip in counterpoint to his previous career.
! His confession reveals to the reader that the Dionysian
impulse is now the strong element. After the confession,
several motifs are expanded into new dimensions, but the
|
jconflict does not change. Rather, Aschenbach repeats the
147
mental process which has already led to his remaining in
Venice. When he decides to stay in the infected area, he is
reaffirming the previous decision. Now, however, the Dio
nysian element has been extended to represent the impulse of
Southern Europe. Thus the thematic level has expanded be
yond Aschenbach's specific problem, while the plot, hinging
on the midpoint revelation of Aschenbach's condition, has
remained fastened throughout the work on the same specific
problem.
Thus the simultaneous effect of intensity and expansion
is accomplished here not only by the usual devices of struc
tural reworking and of narrative suggestion, but also by
parallelism and elaboration woven right into the language.
;By merging the functions of language and plot, Mann makes
his narrative even more concentrated than the usual novella.j
The intricate parallelism of Tod in Venedig is given
different expression in Silone's La Volpe e le Camelie
I
1(1961). Like Tod in Venedig, it uses parallelism in both
plot and language. But it develops two aspects of a single j
| symbol, something that has not been done in the other no
vellas. For instance, in the James novella, the bench has
taken on levels of meanings but still represents an ex-
i
i
ternalization of Herbert's state of mind. In like manner,
148
the death figures in Per Tod in Venediq. or the symbol of
I
Venice itself, remain constant as symbols. But Silone's
fox represents two kinds of external threat, one natural,
the other political. The fox in the first part of the no
vella is the animal that threatens the farmers' crops, while
in the second part the fox is the Fascist agent who threat
ens the village. Neither aspect of the symbolic fox is
autonomous, however; that is to say, Silone does not start
with a literal fox and then develop its symbolic meaning.
Rather, the animal has at the start unmistakable political
connotations which make it already a symbol. In the second
section of the novella, the political implication of the fox
symbol is realized on a literal level without losing its
[former animal connotations. While the hero, Daniele, is
jconcerned as a farmer with exterminating the fox, at the
same time he is working underground with the Resistance
(against the Fox). And while the metaphorical language and
jthe situations focus on natural events, such as parasites
jon the vines, Nunziatina is already being hunted by the Fox.
Near the end, the festival1 s motto— a fox holding a dove in
its paws under a camellia bush— adds an allegorical level of
meaning to the fox symbol and combines both its aspects into
the portrait of prey.
149
Although thematically interwoven, each aspect of the
symbol is structurally independent. The animal and the
agent have separate denouements and each controls the plot
bf a separate section of the novella. The revelation of Per
Tod in Venediq concludes with Aschenbach1s realization of
the Dionysian element and the remaining section redevelops
and brings to resolution the same actions and themes. Simi
larly, Silone establishes the central conflict and then re
develops it by organizing the action around those political
implications suggested already but only now occupying the
literal level of the plot. By reversing the positions of
the plot and its metaphorical connotations, Silone is able
to present a whole complex of ideas in a very economical
manner. The method of his redevelopment differs from that
i :
|of James and Mann but the structural framework, when ana
lyzed, is the same in all three works.
The novella is written in eleven parts, with the reve
lation in part five. The first gives the exposition, with
ja flashback to Daniele's youth. In the second, Daniele and
I
Agostino deliver a sow and Nunziatina is approached by the
Fox. In the third, Daniele's daughters, Silvia and Luisa,
help him to exterminate vine pests, and Daniele discusses,
with other farmers the best means to trap a fox. In the
150
fourth part, the camellia theme is introduced, and while
protecting the orchard from parasites, Daniele reveals to
Silvia (who is wearing camellias) that no one is ever safe.
Thus the political implications of all the dangers of nature
have been introduced. Agostino then reports that Nunziatina
ihas an appointment with the Fox. Nunziatina's appointment
with the Fascist agent comprises the whole fifth part.
Since she realizes he is a liar, the reader will not be
sympathetic to Silvia's interest in him.
The action of the first section of the novella has been
'concerned with the extirpation of natural parasites, while
;the metaphorical implications have been political. The
second section will be concerned with the extirpation of the
Fox in a "new and unheard-of" manner, with metaphorical
ireference to natural parasitism. The novella now makes a
new start, in section six, with the information that Agos
tino had attacked the agent. This serves as expository
jmaterial for the political situation which is the subject of
jthe rest of the novella. A new complication is the presence
;of a man in Daniele's house. In part seven, Silvia's wish
;to marry this man presents an additional complication.
Daniele goes on an outing with his daughter, but after dis
cussing honesty in general terms, he is unsuccessful in
151
;changing her mind. In section eight, everyone unites
j
'against the police to protect the Festival of Camellias, a
situation which suggests a parallel to the one in part
three, where the farmers had united in their efforts to rid
themselves of a fox. The expulsion of Nunziatina further
complicates the plot. In part nine, Cefalu, Silvia's lover,
discovers Daniele's papers, and Nunziatina identifies him as
the Fox to Daniele. Daniele warns his political comrades
and receives two phone messages. At the same time, the
animal fox reappears. In part ten, Daniele and Agostino
discuss the meaning of their political activity and its
future. In the last part, the two messages turn out to be
assurance that no Fascist reprisals will be made. Immedi-
iately, the real fox is caught and Daniele hacks it to death
| — this end to the natural enemy was not remotely considered ;
in the discussion of strychnine and traps in part three.
Parallel to this surprise is Cefalu's suicide, again a
^solution to the political threat no one had anticipated. In
Iresolution, both the natural and political enemy finally
bring about their own destruction. In contrast to his bru-
I
ital behavior with the animal, Daniele is shown to be a moral
hero in his humane reception of the news of Cefalu's self-
destruction.
j
152
The novella as a whole, including the flashback, pre
sents Daniele's evolution from adolescence to maturity, but
the plot concentrates on a particular crisis he faces in
maturity. He does not exhibit change, and the motives for
his political and moral stance are not developed beyond the
suggestion of his mother's literary influence and his fa
ther's negative example. This novella, like the others,
does not present the evolution of the protagonist, but shows
a man of "fixed" political and personal attributes facing a
crisis. The effect is revelatory, but the revelation is
expanded from short story to novella proportions not only by
the double metaphor, but by the development of both its as
pects within the plot.
The limitation of the plot to the family circumstances
i
jis counterbalanced not only by the double metaphor, but also
by the brief portrayal of two other political leftists,
Agostino and Franz, as well as of the lawyer, to whom all
i
jthis is a game, of Nunziatina the victim, and of the police-
!
|
|man who is the direct agent of her fate. Still this inclu-
jsion does not reach novel proportions, for the basic focus
|
is explicitly limited to two very narrow situations, catch
ing a fox which is killing the farmers' chickens and, from
i
|the political aspect, combating a particular Fascist fox.
: 153.
Underlying the entire work is the theme of the Festival
which unites the entire community.
The extermination of parasites and preyers from nature
i i
is expanded into the participation in the social revolution j
hut limited to the leftist point of view. The revelation
i
centers on the father1s political ideas and personal rela-
; i
• I
itionships* and the redevelopment places him in contrast to |
I ‘ |
his daughter's lover, his political enemy. The resolution
iof the entire novella consists of his proven humanism, on
Ithe personal as well as on the political level, his ability j
! !
i j
! to continue to find objectives (the unions) for his faith inj
| i
humanity. Both aspects of the theme focus at the end on j
iman's spiritual ability to withstand external evil. j
Here too, then, while focusing intensively on a limited '
I subject— in this case Daniele's human qualities as portrayed
i
by his stubborn resistance to natural and social parasites—
I the narrative still suggests thematic dimensions expanding
jbeyond the immediately revelatory aspect of the definition
of Daniele's humanity.
Gide uses structural redevelopment in La Symphonie Pas
torale (1925) for the same purpose as Mann and James, but !
i
achieves it through different stylistic techniques. Mann j
i
uses expository flashback as a means of widening the i
implications of the situation in focus (he summarizes j
Lschenbach' s rise to. fame), whereas Gide has only a single j
; |
preference to the past, in the pastor's regret that his wife !
I
1
ino longer is a willing ear for his noble aspirations as she
i
iwas before their marriage. Instead of the flashback, Gide
uses only first-person narrative viewpoint to widen the j
j )
situation's focus, making the pastor reveal truths about
himself that he does not perceive. Thus the major stylistic
j
| I
Peffect here is irony. |
I i
In the first Notebook there are seven entries, some of |
; I
! |
Iwhich are divided into two parts by narrative breaks. The
|first entry begins with a frame— the pastor is writing now
jabout finding Gertrude. According to him, his narrative is
j
jto tell how he was led to occupy himself with Gertrude. His
| impress ion, as he begins writing, is clearly that he has
jbeen playing a pastor's role, and that in widening Ger
trude's spiritual horizons, he has been acting in the ser
vice of God. He discovers while writing that he has been
concealing other motivations from himself, so that he ex
periences during the 'first Cahier a revelation of the true j
I i
' ' I
mature of the past. However, as he writes the second Note- i
I
ibook, in present time, he has still not become completely
i
jenlightened, so that again, while the narrative redevelops
155
ithe preceding material in the new light provided by con
stantly expanding motifs, the same truth is reached at the
end as was revealed at the internal revelation.
In the second entry of the first Notebook, still about
events that took place two and a half years ago, the pastor
concludes the homecoming scene with the information that
Amelie, although initially reluctant, did wash Gertrude's
lice-ridden head and was smiling afterwards. It is perhaps
at this point that the reader begins to suspect that the
pastor is an unreliable narrator, a fact which becomes clear
in the second Notebook, and which is, of course, the under
lying irony of the whole novella. Here is the basic con
flict: is the pastor a noble person being dragged down by
:his wife, or is he claiming for himself the nobility of his
actions while selfishly avoiding their consequences? How
ever clear this becomes in retrospect, though, it is pos
sible to read the first Notebook for the first time and
accept the account as reliable. Considering things in the
unkindest way, however, at this point the pastor has brought
someone home in a spirit of noble duty, while letting the
work devolve on someone else, his wife.
In the next entry, the pastor describes how he led
Gertrude to an understanding of colors by associating them
156
With musical harmony. He casually mentions a concert in
i
NeuchStel which served this educational purpose. On the
next day he returns to the subject of the concert, which now
becomes a very important event. The concert happened to be
La Symphonie Pastorale, significant because its name under
scores the irony of the novella's title— the play on "pas
toral" meaning "rustic" and "pastoral" as "belonging to a
pastor"— and the concert also provides an occasion for the
portrayal of the pastor1s unconscious rationalization and
his own lack of innocence. Gertrude asks him whether what
he sees is as beautiful as the music depicts it. The pastor
pauses because he realizes that the music paints the world
not as it is, but as it could be without evil or sin. He
i
has not yet broached these subjects, despite his earlier
I
(intention of rejecting the artistic lies of Dickens, and now
| ;
still does not do so. He finally responds that those with
eyes do not know their happiness, an idea which will be re-
j
jstated, and which also reinforces the over-all irony of the
j '
novella. Gertrude asserts her present happiness but says
jshe prefers knowledge to blind ignorance. He does not tell
I
her that her happiness is a result of ignorance. As they
are walking, he becomes embarrassed that passersby overhear
some of her comments, which to him seem guilty. His
157
awareness of guilt manifests itself in this fear of being
overheard three more times in the course of the narrative.
He promises never to deceive Gertrude two pages after ad
mitting to himself that he has concealed the realities of
evil and death from her.
Upon their return, Amelie is a little upset because he
does not trouble himself with his own children. He excuses
himself in the journal with the thought that "l1on f§te
5
1'enfant qui revient" (p. 64) and that besides, Amelie does
not like music. But one realizes that he had not invited
the family beforehand. Thus this entry demonstrates the
pastor's lack of honesty, his own repressed awareness of
guilt, and concludes with a reminder of both concrete mani-
jfestations of the theme-complex, the statue-ego motif, and
i
I the lost sheep motif. In addition, since the pastor pre
sents the incident as unimportant, though writing some time
after the actual event, this section demonstrates his own
jcontinuing obtuseness.
■ i
! A week later he again expresses the idea that Amelie
has grown petty and is limiting his own spiritual
|
5
Citations from La Symphonie Pastorale m my text are
jto Andre Gide, La Symphonie Pastorale (Paris, 1925).
158
development, but at the same time the reader's sympathy for
the long-suffering pastor is greatly diminished by the evi
dence that he is not the religious leader he thinks he is.
After complaining that his wife has narrowed his life, he
mentions that she is still upset because he forgot to buy
j
her thread in NeuchStel when he was there for the concert;
but he dismisses her emotions by deciding to give a sermon
on "imaginary monsters." Now Gide has wrung everything
possible out of this single incident.
As mentioned in the preceding chapter, the pastor does
inot like Gertrude to read without him, especially the Bible,
t
despite his wish to open the whole truth to her. Three
weeks after the concert, his son Jacques enters the picture
I
lagain, as he is home on summer vacation. There is now a
j
jtime discrepancy between the entry (March) and the time of
1
|the action (June). Gertrude has in the meantime been learn
ing the organ. She now lives at Louise's house and the
pastor leaves her at the chapel alone because he is afraid
of gossip (as he had been after the concert). In early
j
August, the pastor decides to pick up Gertrude at the
i
chapel, and happening upon Jacques and Gertrude, he eaves
drops. Jacques is helping Gertrude, then kisses her hand
land leaves. The pastor describes himself as "plus peine
159
que je n'aurais voulu me l'avouer & moi-m§me" (p. 74) . He
takes immediate action, ordering his son to proceed with
his former vacation plans and to leave Gertrude alone. He
refuses to condone Jacques's wish to marry or court the
girl, on the grounds that he would be taking advantage of
her blindness. Shortly afterwards, he permits Gertrude (who
despite her blindness has perceived Jacques's feelings be
fore the pastor has) to tell Jacques there is no hope, say
ing to himself: "A son Sge est-ce qu'on connalt seulement
ses desirs?" (p. 92).
1 ;
The movement of the first Cahier has been toward reve
lation. The reader understands now that the pastor has been
;a hypocrite. The reader's recognition occurs with the
jmanipulation of first Jacques and then Gertrude, with which
jthe notebook concludes.., Obviously, the pastor has elimi-
j
Inated his son as a rival, although he does not recognize the
rivalry because he does not recognize his own motivation.
But the two major events, the concert and this last situa
tion, have shown the reader a different perspective from
that of the pastor.
The second notebook, half the length of the first, is
imade up of shorter and more numerous entries, reflecting the
.pastor's increasing lack of control. The entry of April 25
is introduced in a parallel way to the opening entry, with
the framing comment that the pastor sees now— that previ
ously he did not want to recognize the forbidden. Since he
had not felt guilt, he had thought it was not love (an echo
of Gertrude1s last speech that she feels innocent and there
fore must be, and of the pastor's conviction that ignorance
is happiness). He only understands now, he says. This
"confession" and recognition serves the same purpose in re
gard to the development of the narrative as Aschenbach's
confession of desire or Herbert's recognition of his hope
less condition. As in the other two works, the narrative
will now redevelop the situation which has already led up
: to this revelation. It remains to be seen, however, whether
this is more of Gide's irony, or whether the pastor is
jreally, like Gertrude, moving from darkness to light.
The theological question which was suggested in the
first Notebook becomes a subject now, as the pastor con
tinues to reject the teachings of Paul, in favor of Christ's
own messages. The pastor considers the words of Christ as
a method for arriving at happiness and, he says, he under
stands, just by seeing Gertrude's smile, that every creature
should reach for joy. Again he is channeling his attraction
ito her into an acceptable form. Before he thought of his
161
|wish to bring in a helpless creature as rescuing a lost
sheep; now his infatuation is, according to him, part of a
search for spiritual happiness.
With the entry of May 8, the major structural redevel
opment of this novella begins. The pastor reports that Dr.
Martins has examined Gertrude's eyes and after consulting
with a specialist will inform the pastor whether there is
■any hope that an operation may succeed. The pastor and the
doctor have agreed not to say anything to Gertrude for the
time being, and the pastor adds, "n'est-elle pas heureuse
ainsi?" (p. 117). So far the plot, despite its thematic
suggestiveness, has developed in the first Notebook the
contrast between the pastor's physical sight and Gertrude's
I
blindness, while at the same time leading to the revelation
jthat the pastor himself lacks perception. At the beginning
of the second Notebook this revelation is reinforced, when
the pastor himself recognizes his own lack of perception.
i
| Now the line of development turns back on itself and
leads to Gertrude's physical and spiritual vision, reluc-
i
itantly acceded to by the pastor, who remains in spiritual
darkness at the end of the novella. The events that follow
this entry are in such parallel to the ones previous that
Ithe effect created is not that of an advancing plot, but
162
'that of a plot repeating itself in somewhat different terms.
Gertrude1s previous moral education leads her to understand
ing in the first Notebook. Here the prospect of corrective
surgery foreshadows her physical sights which results im
mediately in moral perception. In the first Notebook Ger
trude has been dependent upon the pastor. In the second,
she is increasingly free of him, with the prospect of sight,
until her final, culminating rejection. The pastor, on the
other hand, in control during the first part, is threatened
with the loss of Gertrude in the second, and is more and
more dependent upon her emotionally.
Along with the redevelopment of the plot structure is a
redevelopment by parallelism of the motifs already sug
gested. Predominant in the second Notebook is the pastor's
i
jreluctance to have Gertrude submit to the operation on the
grounds that she is happy blind. This counterpart to the
previous motif, happiness in ignorance, is not actually a
^continuation of an idea, but a closer focus on the same con-:
i i
jcept. The irony inherent in the first position, due to the j
pastor1s repeated remarks that he wishes to open the truth
to Gertrude, now also underlies the pastor's attitude toward
the operation. The Biblical motif, whose main manifesta
tions were the Prodigal Son-lost sheep references, now is
163
developed with a new emphasis— the divergence between the
pastor's Protestantism and his son's growing interest in
Catholicism, or as simplified by Gide, Christ versus Paul.
Later, when Gertrude is able to see, she tells the
pastor that it is Jacques who looks the way she imagined the
pastor. This serves as accusation of the pastor, because
she has obviously realized that he misled her. The extent
of the pastor's guilt, already evident at the end of the
first Notebook with his manipulations of the two young
people, becomes developed and intensified in the second
Notebook, as the victims become aware of what has happened.
This, then, is the pattern of the second Cahier— it is
the same pattern already traced, the delineation of the
pastor's blindness through selected events and through his
own record of them. The pastor, finding it difficult to
communicate with his son, leaves him notes. He would like
to say, "nothing is impure except to the one who thinks it
so," but fears that Jacques "n'allcat supposer, en mon es-
i
prit, a l'egard de Gertrude, quelque interpretation injuri-
euse ..." (p. 120). For the third time the pastor,
vaguely conscious of guilt, fears it in the minds of others.
As the theological discussion goes on between father and
fson, the pastor rereads the whole chapter of Paul and then
164
writes:
C'est le depart d'une discussion infinie. Et je tour-
menterais de ces perplexites, j'assombrirais de ces
nuees, le ciel lumineux de Gertrude?— Ne suis-je pas
plus pres du Christ et ne l'y maintiens-je point elle-
meme, lorsque je lui enseigne et la laisse croire que
le seul peche est ce qui attente au bonheur d'autrui,
ou compromet notre propre bonheur? (pp. 121-122)
The ironies of his conclusion are several. He defends for
once and all his policy of withholding truth from Gertrude
in order to protect her happiness. At the same time, in
letting her believe that the only sin is destroying the
happiness of others or ourselves, he thinks he is falsifying
the truth, but in fact this is the truth the novella is
about to reveal. Gertrude's realization of sin is going to
revolve around her discovery of the unhappiness of the pas-
|tor's wife. She will blame not only the pastor, but herself
^as well.
The next entry, May 18, is the last entry before the
fast pace of the structural turning point and resolution.
;The pastor describes a walk with Gertrude, the first they
(have taken for some time, on account of the snow. He re
ports without comment that he picked flowers and wound them
in her hair. She wants to know whether Jacques knows that
the pastor loves her. He tries to avoid the question by
165
saying that everyone knows, but "Elle ne prit pas le change"
i
i
(p. 133) . She insists on keeping to the question, which he
does not answer. She knows that Amelie knows he does and
that Amelie is sad. She knows, too, that he keeps the ugli
ness of the world from her and she requests knowledge rather
jthan happiness. It is she throughout this conversation who
reprimands him and who guides the talk. He is barely able
!to withstand his own desiresj he expresses, without apparent
acknowledgment, the erotic nature of his feelings: "il me
semblait que le moindre caillou sur la route nous eut fait
Itous deux rouler a terre" (p. 138).
When Gertrude returns from the hospital, she sees Ame-
jlie's face and immediately understands her sin, and the
1
jpastor1s. Her suicide is partly motivated by her sense of
| . '
Iguilt and betrayal and partly by her loss of Jacques, who
| ;
has taken vows of celibacy. Before she dies, she tells the
ipastor that Jacques had read Paul to her at the hospital and
that she had then understood that she had loved not the
!
I
Ipastor, but Jacques. She cannot understand why he made her
|
Irepulse Jacques. For the fourth time, the pastor fears
someone will overhear the conversation.
After she dies, Jacques reproaches the pastor for not
jhaving sent for a priest. The pastor thus discovers that
j 166
^Gertrude, too, has converted. At the end, both have left
him and reunited in God. Thus the pastor's initial control
over the young son and the blind girl has reversed in their
complete rejection of him. j
Repetitive structure is not so clearly demarcated in j
I I
Miss Lonelyhearts (1933) as it is in La Symphonie Pastorale |
i
jor The Bench of Desolation, as there are fifteen subtitles
;and no major divisions. The basic theme of Miss Lonely- j
: I
i i
■ hearts is human suffering; the setting is urban. Miss j
! I
jLonelyhearts, whose real name is not given, explains in parti
I I
eight that he had taken his job— writing the advice column— |
| i
ias a joke. When the story opens, however, he has long sincej
ipassed the laughing stage. The first three parts take the j
j j
|reader directly into the situation of the novella, the ex- j
| i
| I
tistence of human suffering and the protagonist's attempt to j
j ' I
I find a viable means of coping with it. Nathanael West, like|
'the other writers studied here, does not spell out the dif
ferent perspectives on the single problem, but uses the
technique of theme-complex to expand it. The major compo
nent of the theme-complex here is religion, whose several
aspects will be suggested throughout the novella. Other
|responses will be suggested, attempted, and rejected as
167
Miss Lonelyhearts' problem is examined intensively.
In the first part, entitled "Miss Lonelyhearts, Help
Me, Help Me," Miss Lonelyhearts' problem is given three
examples: Shrike's facetious version of Catholic prayer,
Miss Lonelyhearts' inability to write his leader, and three
illustrative letters. After Shrike's parody, the first of
several, West describes Miss Lonelyhearts' crisis:
He had gone as far as: "Life is worthwhile, for it is
full of dreams and peace, gentleness, and ecstasy, and
faith that burns like a clear white flame on a grim
dark altar." But he found it impossible to continue.
(p. 169)
The text then includes three letters to provide the reader
direct experience of what it is that makes Miss Lonelyhearts
;unable to produce a sincere answer. It should be noted that
!he is trying to find an answer satisfactory to himself as
i
! ■ i
well as to the correspondents. The first letter is from a
woman who is about to have her eighth child and is suffering
ifrom kidney pain. Her husband, who is "so religious," will
jnot permit an abortion. The second letter is from a
i
six teen-year-old girl born without a nose, who wants to have
6
Citations from Miss Lonelyhearts in my text are to
Nathanael West, Miss Lonelyhearts and The Day of the Locust
(New York, 1962).
isome sort of philosophical justification that will make her
\
fate, if not more bearable, at least comprehensible. Her
father suggests the traditional explanation that perhaps she
is suffering for his sins, but she does not believe that he
has sinned. Should she commit suicide, she wonders. Miss
Lonelyhearts has no answer. The third letter is from a boy
whose thirteen-year-old deaf and dumb sister has been raped.
Miss Lonelyhearts feels that Christ is the answer but that
"if he did not want to get sick, he had to stay away from
jthe Christ business" (p. 172). Miss Lonelyhearts, the son
of a Baptist minister, is evidently undergoing a religious
crisis, which suggests allegorically the crisis of modern
society. Shrike's comment— "The Susan Chesters, the Bea-
i
jtrice Fairfaxes and the Miss Lonelyhearts are the priests of
t
|
jtwentieth-century America" (p. 173)— introduces the alle
gorical level as well as reinforcing the confessional as
pects of the letters. The people, represented by the three
i
I letters, seek solace from an anonymous newspaper column, no
j :
! longer from God or from a priest in a church. But unlike
religious priests, Miss Lonelyhearts has become involved in
ithe people's suffering; unable either to dissociate himself
emotionally or to withstand the painful knowledge confided
I to him, he has no message of consolation. But religion is
169
not the only possible response to suffering. The first part
i
'concludes with Shrike1s parody of platitudes on art as an
escape from suffering, which parallels his initial parody of
the confession.
The art motif is continued in the second part in con
junction with the theme of the breakdown of religion. In
Delahanty's bar, Shrike proposes a toast, advising Miss
Lonelyhearts to forget the crucifixion and remember the
Renaissance. He continues his mocking of religion by read
ing from a newspaper clipping that numbers on an adding
machine will be used for prayers for a condemned slayer.
Shrike next introduces sex as a solution, or escape,
again in a parody of religion, by using the wounds in
jchrist's body as the basis for an imagistic description of
J
man's body, with sexual and religious allusions combined:
I
Under the skin of man is a wondrous jungle where veins
like lush tropical growths hang along over-ripe organs
and weed-like entrails writhe in squirming tangles of
red and yellow. In this jungle, flitting from rock-
| gray lungs to golden intestines, from liver to lights
| and back to liver again, lives a bird called the soul.
The Catholic hunts this bird with bread and wine, the
Hebrew with a golden ruler, the Protestant on leaden
I feet with leaden words, the Buddhist with gestures,
the Negro with blood. I spit on them all. (p. 178)
The third part concludes the exposition with yet another
170
t
aspect of religious ritual. At home now, Miss Lonelyhearts
dreams of an ineffectual ritual, in which he and his friends
are unable to complete the sacrifice of a lamb.
The exposition is over. Miss Lonelyhearts, confronted
and personally addressed with human suffering, cannot pro-
i
duce comforting answers, for he no longer believes that the
recommendation of faith to an innocent sufferer is any help.
Shrike's cynicism is a catalyst for Miss Lonelyhearts' pres
ent lack of orientation, but not the cause. The dreams in
dicate his inability to hold onto conventional perspective:
his prayer, despite himself, comes out like a train conduc
tor's impersonal chant, and the sunrise ritual, the altar
flowers, and the baby lamb become grotesque instead of
i
spiritually purifying.
! Part four begins a development of the motifs estab
lished. Miss Lonelyhearts' relationship to inanimate ob
jects becomes an obsession now. His inability to answer the
jletters begins to obsess him also. In the first of a series
of images which will mark the stages of his inability to
accept or rid himself of the world's suffering, or to find
a means of expressing his vicarious suffering, or to deliver
a message, he feels that "his tongue had become a fat thumb"
(p. 183). Miss Lonelyhearts is experiencing a spiritual
171
nausea, but art will not be his answer, as it is in Sartre's
|
iLa Nausee. Art is an illusion here— people in Delahanty's
are telling stories about literary women who got what they
heeded, "a good rape." The men "had believed in Beauty and
in personal expression as an absolute end. When they lost
jthis belief, they lost everything" (p. 187).
In part six Miss Lonelyhearts' increasing withdrawal
continues, as well as the sexual motif. His heart feels
like a lump of fat at the beginning of this part, and like
the sexual image in La Nausee, the obelisk in the park be
comes a phallus. He continues a sexual relationship with
Mary Shrike, but, as usual, this results unsatisfactorily in
I "gamesmanship." At the restaurant with her, he feels an
!
j"icy fatness," the second use of this image to convey his
! sense of disgust and loss of compassion. He has no more
i
sympathy for people's dreams as manifested by the romantic
atmosphere in the Spanish restaurant, which aims to make
ipeople feel temporarily that they are attractive and inter-
i
estxng.
In the next section, Fay Doyle, a reader of his column,
i
;drags him into bed for a sexual experience he had not
!sought. In this major attempt to conquer his disgust and
I
|retain a human response, he is temporarily successful. But
172 ;
i
immediately after, the nausea returns. His sickness consti-j
: |
tutes the resolution of the revelatory section. The problem!
has been presented, Miss Lonelyhearts has tried to face it, j
land he has failed. We are now aware of the immensity of the!
problem. As this part continues, Miss Lonelyhearts' delir- j
j j
jiums about man's tropism for order and nature's for disorders
jagain echo the theme of Sartre's novel. Miss Lonelyhearts' |
j j
‘ conjuration of shifting shapes in a pawnshop and his imagi- j
; !
nary building of a cross out of marine refuse reflect his
inability to cope with external objects. His feeling of
idisorientation is a reflection of his religious disillusion-
! !
jment. These imaginings remind us of the previous dream of
I sacrificing the lamb and indicate that the redevelopment of
!
Jpreviously presented motifs is beginning. This adds no new
material, but brings back into focus the mental condition
already set forth and thus intensifies it. Shrike, as in
shis previous destruction of established ways of justifying
■the world's ills (religion, art, sex), mocks the remaining
possible escapes: escape to the soil, hedonism, suicide,
drugs, God. Shrike thus recapitulates the motifs. Miss
Lonelyhearts in part nine tries Betty's solution, escape to
the soil, but even in the country, the gas station attend-
i
ant's reference to "yids" recalls to Miss Lonelyhearts the
i
|hate and prejudice he left behind. He discovers he is not
cured, as the sights and smells of the Bronx slums assail
173
him. He recognizes that people's dreams help them to strug
gle against their actual misery, but their dreams do not
help him to accept their suffering.
He decides to take his job seriously and to take a
Christlike pose of humility. He first tries this attitude
while reading several letters from "Broad Shoulders." Again
the inclusion of the letters parallels the initial exposi
tion at the beginning of the novella and intensifies Miss
Lonelyhearts1 experience.
Practicing a saintly smile, Miss Lonelyhearts continues
to adopt the role of twentieth-century priest. His next
trial shows that it is harder to be saintly in direct con
frontation with others than when reading their letters. At
Delahanty's he reads Peter Doyle's letter, while Doyle sits
across from him, too shy to speak directly. Forcing his
hand back to an accidental encounter with Doyle's, Miss
Lonelyhearts manages a loving gesture. He now accepts a
dinner invitation at the Doyles', having twice tested his
new role. Struggling drunkenly but silently to formulate a
message, he is silent during most of the scene, during which
time Mrs. Doyle blatantly flirts with him. Finally he de
livers his message: Be a dream to your husband, let him
conquer you in bed . . . (p. 235) . The crisis of this situ
ation now develops. When Mrs. Doyle forces a kiss on him,
he feels like an empty bottle filling with warm, dirty
| 174 ;
water. His repulsion overcomes him, his attempt at accep- i
jtance fails, and hitting her, he runs out. '
From now on his withdrawal is complete and the image j
for his mental state is now a rock. Like a rock he re- ;
I • !
sponds to Betty's information that she is pregnant. Agree- ;
! i
jing to marriage, to a job, he feels no guilt, no sensation
' j
[whatsoever. A recurrence of his delirium precedes his acci-i
: • j
dental death. The would-be saint leaves the world slightly j
I j
worse than he found it.
: i
Although Shrike, the letters, and Betty provide addi- ;
;tional perspective on Miss Lonelyhearts' problem, the focus j
i ;
[is primarily on Miss Lonelyhearts in reaction first to Mrs. j
' i
I Doyle, then to her husband, then to the two together. By !
- !
!Controlling the plot with the Doyles, West limits the situ- ■
j |
|ation in the same way as James, Mann, and Gide have done. !
I
[But while Miss Lonelyhearts painfully seeks within himself a
!
I !
message that will free him of his Christ-complex, the narra-j
tive suggests, without explicit development, the urban so- j
icial crisis as it relates to poverty, overcrowding, unsatis-j
factory jobs, the lack of adequate medical care, and the !
|
j loss of spiritual values in any form. On the higher social
| !
I levels, the narrative also suggests a modern urban crisis as
: I
revealed by the inability of the Shrikes to maintain a sat- i
!tisfactory sexual relationship or to understand their own
personalities.
Thus the specific problem is subjected to exhaustive
examination, which in conjunction with steady focus and re- ;
petitive structure produces an effect of intensity. The
itechniques of theme-complex, leitmotif, double metaphors, j
rand narrative suggestion, however, produce widening circles j
!of associations, whose implications expand outward from the ;
! I
focal point.
1
The narrator's recognition that he must get rid of |
i i
jBartleby] Herbert's realization of desolation] Aschenbach's j
lconfession, which reveals his submission to the Dionysian j
| !
I impulse] Rosalie's admission of desire] the pastor's con- j
! • i
(fession that he loves Gertrude] Daniele's recognition of the!
! i
I i
iFox's identity] Miss Lonelyhearts' nausea— all these revela-!
; i
I I
stions occur during the course of their respective narra- I
I
tives, after which the narratives continue. Instead of
!
leading up to a single resolution, as in The Real Thing or
i Kleine Herr Friedemann, or to multiple resolutions, as in
jWashington Square of Memento Mori, the novellas redevelop
t ■
i
jthe truth already revealed and then bring it to its final
I resolution. Thus the novella's repetitive structure results
i
in an intensified resolution, as a consequence of having re-J
i
I examined the problem in the light of expanding motifs, addi
tional metaphors, or parallel events.
CONCLUSION
My aim in this dissertation has been to analyze se
lected novellas in order to determine whether a genre defi
nition can be arrived at descriptively. In my attempt to
define the novella I have tried to isolate the narrative
objectives that would permit distinguishing it from a long
short story or a short novel. During my study, I found
theme-complex and repetitive structure inportant to the
novella's narrative purpose, i.e., its manner of shaping
fiction. I have concentrated on these two techniques in
particular because since Per Heilige they have become a
major factor in producing the novella's narrative effect.
i
However, as indicated in the Introduction, I do not claim
that these, or any given techniques, are exclusive to the
novella. Neither am I describing several characteristics of
ithtr novella, but several techniques which are used together
to produce a combined effect. Thus repetitive structure and
leitmotif may be found in the novel and in the short story,
177
but since they are not operating as mutually dependent de
vices in these genres, they perform different functions in
relation to the narrative aesthetic effect. That which is
important about these techniques is their function, not
their presence. By examining the intrinsic purpose of no-
jvella techniques rather than by applying extrinsic criteria
to each work, I have been able to distinguish the novella
from other forms of short fiction. I found that the func
tion of the techniques used in each novella has been to
produce the aesthetic effect of simultaneous intensity and
expansion. Having found that the novella's aesthetic effect
is identical in both contemporary and in classic nineteenth-
century works, I consider the novella, in its formal con
tinuity, a distinct narrative genre.
j ;
i
i :
A P P E N D I X
178
APPENDIX
Almost all of novella theory is based on German liter-
mature, with only a few attempts by students of other liter
atures to deal with the novella as a separate genre. Those
who have been studying the novella from the generic point of
view may be grouped into three categories, in addition to
historians of novella criticism: historians, normative
jcritics, and teleological critics. The historians are so
:far the most useful, for they show the development of the
form and of novella critical theory. However, their dis-
jcussions of individual works tend to be uncritical; i.e.,
|
jthey describe a novella, they point out briefly its techni-
|
leal aspects, but they do not analyze it or distinguish it
from other genres. The history of the novella has been done
'especially well by Helmuth Himmel and also by Benno von
jwiese, who is valuable too for his bibliography."^" Both
I ;
i
I
i
)
I Himmel, Geschichte der deutschen Novelle (Bern, 1963);
von Wiese, Novelle (Stuttgart, 1964) .
180
writers trace the kinds of novellas that have been written,
ithe use of the term, and the history of novella theory.
E. K. Bennett and Johannes Klein have written slightly less
comprehensive histories, and Walter Silz has analyzed the
characteristics of some German novellas of the period of
i 2
jPoetic Realism. Himmel's history is the most comprehensive
available and is well worth consulting, although the author
makes no attempt to advance novella theory. Von Wiese, in
his monograph on the history of the novella, relies on and
defends traditional theory, especially its dictum that the
most distinguishing mark of the novella is its stress on
circumstance rather than character. Bennett, too, summa
rizes and accepts traditional theory, and concludes that the
novella is eminently bourgeois. Silz's generic distinctions
i
I
iare somewhat limited, since he is interested not only in
s
showing that the works in question are novellas, but also
that they are products of Poetic Realism. He lists the
characteristics which traditional German theory considers
I
2
E. K. Bennett, A History of the German Novelle (Cam
bridge, 1961), revised and continued by H. M.Waidson; Jo
hannes Klein, Geschichte der deutschen Novelle von Goethe
bis zur Gegenwart (Wiesbaden, 1956); Walter Silz, Realism
and Reality: Studies in the German Novelle of Poetic Real-
lism (Chapel Hill, N. C., 1962).
181
requirements of the novella and disposes of them as unre
liable and unessential. He himself points them out only for
historical interest, but rejects them as a useful body of
critical concepts. Silz's interest, however, does not lie
in substituting another approach.
Robert McBurney Mitchell's monograph on novella theory
3
is clearly presented and thorough despite its brevity. He
favors Heyse's definition: concentration on a singular
central theme in isolation. In his article on Poe and
Spielhagen, Mitchell says: "Novelle and short-story have
developed along very different lines, the one laying chief
■ stress upon the nature of the content, the other upon the
4
story's outward form." Walter Pabst, in his study of the
i
divergence between novella theory and practice, makes the
|following statement, which contrasts with views held by von
! Wiese and other contemporary critics:
Die antike Zwei-Gattungen-These lebt aber sogar in den
! deutschen Theorien des 20. Jh- fortj "psychologische
| Novellen" und Novellen "mehr schicksalsmaSiger, aben-
| teuerlicher Art" (Robert Petsch) Oder "Gesellschafts-
3
Heyse and His Predecessors in the Theory of the No
velle , New York University Ottendorfer Series of Germanic
Monographs, No. 4 (Frankfurt a. M., 1915).
4
"Poe and Spielhagen: Novelle and Short Story," MLN,
XXIX(January 1914), 40.
182
5
novelle" und "Schicksalsnovelle" (Hermann Pongs).
W. D. Williams gives a history of the novella in his work on
C. P. Meyer, in which he disposes of the concept of turning
point: "the novelle may have several, or no turning points
and the application of the term to this or that stage of the
6
action is ultimately arbitrary." Like Mitchell and
Hirsch, he says the novella is differentiated by "its ex
treme concentration of action and its concern with event
rather than character." He adds, however, a third distinc
tion in contradiction to Mitchell:
. . . its continual operation of a special type of play
with the reader, whereby the perspective in which the
events narrated are seen is subject to modification (by
means of frames or internal narrators, or other special
techniques) and sometimes multiplication, with the re
sult that the mode of narration becomes as important as
i the events themselves, and the story bears a meaning
j additional to that conveyed in the plot. (pp. 2-3)
This is essentially a restatement of the novella's subjec-
tive-objectivity, or irony, formulated by the Schlegels.
iFinally, Williams claims that the novella distances the
jevents and relates them to a wider vision of life than that
5
Novellentheorie und Novellendichtung: Zur Geschichte
ihrer Antinomie in den romanischen Literaturen (Hamburg,
1953), p. 237.
6
The Stories of C. F. Meyer (Oxford, 1962), p. 2.
183
specifically presented (p. 212).
Arnold Hirsch formulates the standard "Gestaltungsziel"
of the novella for the early twentieth century:
Der Novelle eigentiimlich ist, daB sie das Subjektive in
artistischer Formgebung verhiillt, daB diese Stilisierung
j der Ordnung und Fiille der Welt zu einer Beschrankung auf
eine Situation und zur Wahl von ungewohnlichen Gescheh-
nissen fiihrt.^
He does not apply this definition to his chapter on Tod in
Venedig, however, but treats only the novella's symbolic
meaning (pp. 135-145).
H. M. Waidson's article, "The German Short Story as a
Literary Form, " points out that Germany has been the only
country in which the constant presence of the Novelle along
with the short story has tempered the development of both
jforms and of the formal consciousness of both writers and
j g
^readers. Oskar Walzel questions the applicability of the
traditional novella characteristics, such as Spielhagen's
9
fixed characters.
7
"Der Gattungsbegriff 'Novelle'", Germanische Studien,
LXIV (Berlin, 1928), 147.
^Modern Languages, XL (1959), 121-127.
9
"Die Kunstform der Novelle, " in Das Wortkunstwerk:
Mittelseiner Erforschung (Leipzig, 1926), 231-259.
184
Among critical works which summarize the achievements
i
!of twentieth-century novella theorists, Hans Hermann
Malmede's history of criticism, concluding with von Wiese,
contains a useful discussion of genre theory as well as
novella theory.” ^ He categorizes the fallacies of six
theorists first, and continues to show that none of the
critics has defined the novella in a valid manner. Karl
Konrad Polheim also summarizes novella theory in the period
1945 to 1963.^ He distinguishes normative from historical
approaches and points out that those who have attempted to
;use a "teleologische Prinzip" have not isolated any prin
ciples particular to the novella, but rather those which
operate in every narrative form. The new characteristics
I these critics attribute to the novella have the same fault
las the old ones they attempt to replace: "sie konnen ein
j
spezielles Wesen der Novelle letzten Endes nicht bestimmen"
(p. 275). Whereas the characteristics isolated by former
~^Wege zur Novelle; Theorie und Interpretation der
Gattung Novelle in der'deutschen Literaturwissenschaft
(Stuttgart, 1966).
^"Novellentheorie und Novellenforschung (1945-1963),"
Deutsche Vierteljahrsschrift fur Literaturwissenschaft und
i Geistesqeschichte, XXXVIII, Supplement (1964), 208-316.
185
critics concentrated on matters of content and outer form,
those isolated by recent critics pertain to complicated and
abstract matters like Erzahlhaltung and relation to reality.
Joachim Muller's article, "Novelle und Erzahlung," presents
genre theory.
This summary, although quite brief, covers contemporary
German novella criticism. While interest in this genre has
been constant, the quantity of criticism has not been com
mensurate with the difficulty of the subject and certainly
jthe basic problems remain to be solved. Historical material
is adequate, but there is a great need for theoretical
criticism, especially that which establishes a valid ap
proach to genre, as well as for applied criticism. Most
critics accept traditional theory, which was developed in
Germany concurrently with the rise of the German novella,
iand in many cases by the writers themselves.
This body of theory was partly prescriptive and partly
descriptive. Unfortunately, it does not work, either to
jclassify works as novellas or to explain the ones that un-
jdoubtedly are. Walter Silz has been the only practical
! critic to say so and to reject German theory in his
i
i
i
i 12
Etudes Germaniques, XVI (1961), 97-107.
186
discussion of works whose generic classification as novellas
is unquestioned, such as Kasper1 und Annerl, Romeo und
Julia, Der SchimmeIreiter, Bahnwarter Thiel— works which
gave rise to traditional theory and which in some cases were
written by novella theoreticians. If the theory does not
i
work here, it cannot be expected to have validity in newer
developments in the genre. Other critics, who do not actu
ally say that they have found traditional theory useless,
still do no more in their analyses of novellas than to point
out which traditional requirements the works adhere to. It
iis not so remarkable that this theory goes unchallenged and
with it the general approach to genre distinction that
underlies its system of requirements. But it is surprising
jthat it should be so generally accepted by those who should
i
know its inherent falseness and validity by their own in
ability to make any practical use of it. Since Mitchell,
Bennett, and von Wiese give good summaries of German theory,
only a cursory review will be necessary here in order to
discuss what is wrong with the traditional approach, still
unaccountably prevalent in contemporary criticism.
The novella, according to Storm, should be dramaticj
according to Friedrich Schlegel, it should objectify the
.subjective (this was restated by Hirsch)j he thought the
187
novella also leaves its theme unresolved (Flower., too, says
the novella does not offer solutions to problems)] others
thought the novella does not concern itself with the psyche,
but with fate, or some pattern of circumstances (von Wiese
holds to this idea in his analysis of the generic difference
between Carmen, a novella, and Die Leiden des jungen Wer-
thers, a novel)j according to Wieland, the novella should be
small] according to Goethe, the basis of the novella is an
unusual, "novel" eventj according to Tieck, there must be a
turning point] according to Spielhagen, the novella treats
an isolated instance] Heyse required significant conflict,
;which became for Storm a single central conflict. Heyse
also required that the novella have an Idee, a theme and
istructure which could be summarized easily in a sentence,
land a FaIkon, a basic symbol. Spielhagen required that the
characters be static, i.e., fully developed from the begin
ning and only revealed by the plot, instead of shown in a
process of development:
I
I . . . die Novelle hat es mit fertigen Charakteren zu
thun, die, durch eine besondere Verkettung der Umstande
und Verhaltnisse, in einen interessanten Konflikt ge-
bracht werden, wodurch sie gezwungen sind, sich in ihrer
allereigensten Natur zu offenbaren, also, daB der Kon
flikt, der sonst Gott weiB wie hatte verlaufen konnen,
gerade diesen, durch die Eigentumlichkeit der engagier-
ten Charaktere bedingten und schlechterdings keinen
188
13
anderen Ausgang nehmen kann und muft.
Not only are these various requirements inapplicable to
the novellas they are supposed to describe, or to several
simultaneously, and useless in categorizing later works, but
jthey also have given rise to ambiguity. However, many con
temporary critics accommodate themselves to these categor
ies, attempting to prove or disprove the validity of this or
that characteristic. What should be placed in doubt, how
ever, is not the discussion of the validity of a character
istic for the novella, but the very concept of isolating
unrelated characteristics in an unsystematic manner. Martin
Kessel's study of novella techniques in several of Mann's
works breaks away from this traditional approach to the
inovella by discussing theme, composition, and structure as
| ;
jthe categories, and noting characteristics under these head-:
14
ings. In similar manner, the main part of this study
examines narration and structure in the novella to see
whether they operate differently in the novella than in
i
j I
other genres .
13
Friedrich Spielhagen, Beitrage zur Theorie und Tech-
nik des Romans (Leipzig, 1883), p. 245.
14
"Studien zur Novellentechnik Thomas Manns," Edda,
XXV (1926^,250-356.________
Werner Krauss gives a complete etymology and history of
15
the term "Novelle" in his article, "Novela-Novelle-Roman."
He proves by tracing the use of the term that there was no
such thing as the novella before German Romanticism and that
it is merely an abstraction, superimposed by German Romantic
critics on their own and previous works. He may be right
that the medieval and Renaissance novela and nouvelle have
no generic connection with those works being discussed today
as short novels and/or novelettes. In addition to his
etymological proofs, it is already an accepted idea that
genres undergo internal changes in form. For this reason,
this study has not concerned itself with works prior to the
nineteenth century. The main interest here is to distin
guish the recent novella from other genres.
There are a few works on the novella outside of German
t
scholarship, but these have failed to generate much interest
in other critics and in general do not focus with precision
i
Ion this genre, nor are they usually based on any given sys-
i
i
j
jtematic approach to genre.
Despite the increasing popularity of anthologies of
15
Zeitschrift fur Romanische Philoloqie, LX (1940), 16-
28.
190
"short novels" and "novelettes" for classroom use, the edi
tors of these collections still content themselves with two
or three pages of superficial generic distinctions and mi
nuscule bibliographies, often made up of discussion of the
least important theoreticians. Ronald Paulson, for example,
:in his introduction to the Prentice-Hall anthology of 1965,
draws the following general conclusions about the genre:
(1) "its scope is narrow"; (2) it has "no space . . . for
the novel's preoccupation with time"; (3) the characters are
already fully developed; (4) it is chiefly characterized by
16
its unity of effect. His "narrow scope" fails to account
for the wide implications most critics observe in the no
vella; his distinction on the basis of time does not recog-
jnize the chronological structure many nineteenth-century
j
iGerman Novellen used; the nature of the characterization is
I --------
in great dispute among expert novella critics; and the no-
ivella can of course be characterized by unity of effect, but
jso can well-written works of any genre. It may be thought
i :
|that the superficiality of Paulson's introductory remarks
jis due to the fact that his publication is destined for a
16
Ronald Paulson, ed., The Novelette before 1900
: (Englewood Cliffs, N. J., 1965), p. viii.
I 191
f
I
mass market. But there are few specialized sources on the
novella, even in academic publications. The bibliography of
short fiction criticism edited by Jarvis Thurston et al.
| 17
llists no genre studies; neither does The Year 1s Work in
1
English Studies for the years 1954-1969, nor The Year's WorkI
in Modern Language Studies for the same period (except for
I
I
jthose few and well-known works which have been cited here j
jfrequently). A few entries whose titles indicate that form
;will be discussed turn out to be descriptive. The Annual
■ Bibliography of Short Fiction Criticism, begun in 1964 and
|continuing the Thurston bibliography, has nothing generic
I listed, despite its coverage of American, British, and Con-
18
jtinental stories and novelettes. James Woodress's Disser-
j
I
j tations in American Literature, covering the period 1891 to
19
1961, has no generic listings.
17
Jarvis A. Thurston, 0. B. Emerson, Carl Hartman,
|Elizabeth V. Wright, eds., Short Fiction Criticism: A
{ Checklist of Interpretation Since 1925 of Stories and Novel-
l ettes (American, British, Continental): 1800-1958 (Denver,
| Colo., 1960).
1 f t
"Bibliography of Short Fiction Criticism Since 1960,"
Studies in Short Fiction, I (Summer 1964) and II (Summer
1965) .
19
Dissertations in American Literature, 1891-1955, with
Supplement, 1956-1961 (Durham, N. C., 1962).
192
One of the best-known French works, Paul Bastier's long
work on the German novella, deals with the form histori
cally, but is not very useful from any standpoint; he ac
cepts Goethe's "unheard-of event" as the clearest definition
of the novella and for this reason is considered outdated by
20
other novella theoreticians. Pierre Trahard, in a mono
graph entitled Prosper Merimee et l1art de la Nouvelle,
presents Merimee1s concept of the nouvelle, but does not
apply it or refer to it again.
Elle [la nouvelle] ne saurait etre un conte, puisqu'elle
introduit 1 'analyse dans le recit; elle n'est pas non
plus un roman, puisque, rapide et courte, elle simplifie
cette analyse et suggere au lieu d'expliquer.21
Trahard's failure to apply this theory to Merimee1s works is
probably caused by his reliance on the concept that the
novella is "short." Because Le Vase Etrusque (forty pages)
j :
and La Double Meprise (ninety pages) seem to Trahard too
long to still be considered nouvelles, he decides that they
may be considered either long nouvelles or short novels.
i
i
| Disons, pour les [les critiques] mettre d'accord, que
1
i
20
La Nouvelle individualiste en Allemagne de Goethe a
Gottfried Keller. Essai de technique psycholoqique (Paris,
1910).
^(Paris, 1941), p. 18.
193
ces deux oeuvres sont, au choix, de longues nouvelles
ou des romans courts. Merimee n'a cure de ces distinc
tions subtiles, et il a raison. Ce qui l'occupe, c'est
peindre la societe parisienne ... (p. 27)
Trahard is, of course, not interested in generic distinc
tions, as indicated by his willingness to call works by any
name one wishes. He seems also to be confused whether
realism, subject, or length can determine genre and in what
ways. He again manifests an inordinate concern for the
question of length when he wants to call Carmen an inter
mediate form between the novel and the novella and is
amazed that Paul Bourget "a montre que l'un et 1'autre
; [Carmen and Colombal sont traites en nouvelles, non en ro
mans . ... Mais ces nouvelles ont 100 et 250 pages!" (p. 30,
in. 1). Instead of discussing the composition of the works
jin terms of their manner of treating a subject, he finds I
I :
t !
1 !
'great faults of digressions and disunity in some works such
as Carmen, without offering any basis for these judgments.
I Although not a determining factor, length is not ir
relevant to genre. B. Q. Morgan's article on the nature of j
!the novella treats the aesthetic effects of length on the
i
i
Reader. Morgan indicates that length is more than a mechan
ical principle because it affects the "psychic aspect of the
ireader-response," which, he believes, accounts for the
194
22
Characteristic patterns of each genre. The short story,
jthe novelette (as he calls the novella), and the novel are
separate genres whose structure results from the writer's
ifilling up a certain amount of space, and whose effects
jdepend upon the reader1s taking up a certain amount of time
I — the length of time required itself affects the intensity
:of concentration. Thus the short story has "one single peak
of interest," whereas the novel has several, and the novel
ette a few. The novelette differs from the short story in
that it uses "a subject which can sustain a serious and
extended discussion" (Merimee's "analysis") and from the
novel in that it may choose "a theme which would be appro
priate to a full novel, but merely concentrate upon its
j
•essential aspects, and thus achieve a tension which the more
discursive novel often forfeits" (Merimee1s "suggestion")
i
(Morgan, p. 36).
A similar distinction is maintained by Mark Schorer in
i
|editorial comments in his critical anthology of the short
I ;
! 23
jstory for college classroom use. He distinguishes betweenj
i
i ■ ■
22
"The Novelette as a Literary Form," Symposium, I
(November 1946), 34-39.
23
The Story; A Critical Anthology (Englewood Cliffs,
N. J., 1967).
195
"an alteration in moral awareness" and "alteration in moral
j
being." The first is the aim of the short story, the latter;
of the novel: "In both story and novel there is change, but
i
|
jthe first is a change in view that we are briefly shown
j[without "analysis"], the other a change in conduct that
|
i
more leisurely we trace" (pp. 330-331). Like Morgan,
Schorer places the "novelette" between the other two forms,
!for it shares in the virtues of both, having the economy of
the short story while being able to explore the larger sub
ject of the novel. The theory of the novella suggested in
jthe present study is to some extent an elaboration of
j
Schorer1s conception of the novella. It is interesting,
i
however, that Schorer includes at the end of the anthology
!two "stories" to illustrate "this splendid form," the novel-
i
i
ette, that is. They are James's The Turn of the Screw and
Kafka's The Metamorphosis and they do illustrate the formj
!
but all possible terms for the form are used in the dis-
i
pussion except novella or Novelle.
Dean S. Flower, the most recent commentator, stresses
in his introduction to a paperback anthology of short fic
tion two "recurring patterns," which most "short novels"
follow. "These are (a) close similarities in character
|
types and (b) close similarities in character relation-
196
24
ships." He finds that in most novellas the characters
i
Jconfront their double in a triangular relationship, such as
i :
innocence and experience, confronting a third force of evil.
Or the triangle might consist of a character representing
i
'mind, balanced by one representing body, against the force
!
!of nature. This is indeed a perceptive generalization,
which follows his earlier observation that the novella is
;a "problem genre," one which sums up problems without offer
ing solutions. Often, in order to present a specific prob
lem in depth without extensively developing its ramifica
tions, the novella tends to use characters who represent
opposite poles. The presence of patterns of construction
; contradicts Mitchell's statement that outer form is impor-
i
tant only to the short storyj' the novella often relies on
the reader's interest in patterns of character relationships
and narration as much as on his interest in the actual char-
jacters and language.
i
Flower also finds the following characteristics in the
"short novel": it encourages "the summary of deep convic-
|
itions"j it "often abandons fiction altogether and employs
24
! Dean S. Flower, ed., Eight Short Novels (New York,
|1967), p. 24.
direct statement"; it uses "social counterweight or foil,"
which he defines as "an illusion of normal society just at
jthe edge of his [the writer's] radically simplified fic-
i
ition." This social counterweight "provides a convenient
jsubstitute for a long novel's extended portrayal of soci-
jety." And finally, the action frequently "takes the shape
of an ordeal, a painful moral test drawn out over a well-
defined period of time ..." (p. 22). Direct statement in
i
a work of fiction is, of course, not essential to the no-
i
vella as a genre. The social counterweight is, however,
essential, for it enables the writer to imply social and
universal conclusions without actually describing or narra
tively developing these, and this technique does point to
jthe novella's narrative objective in distinction to that of
the novel.
| Gerald Gillespie also points out that social background
25
is merely hinted at or suggested in the novella. In his
excellent study of the terms used for the forms of fiction,
he demonstrates in a number of narratives that length and
span of time covered are not in themselves indicative of
25
"Novella, Nouvelle, Novelle, Short Novel?— A Review
|of Terms," Neophilolocrus, LI (April 1967), 117-127, and LI
!(July 1967), 225-230.
198
genre. His articles should be consulted for a clear dis-
jcussion of problems historically related to the distinction
i
|
of the genres of fiction* as well as for several interesting
'suggestions of distinguishing generic factors. The present
j
jstudy is a response to his invitation to establish a "quali-
i
jtative definition" of the novella.
I
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199
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